Disc-laimer: Pratchett's.
Characters: Young Esme Weatherwax, Lily, Gytha
Rating: K+/PG for violence

Easy Virtue, Hard Malice

Gytha Ogg, they said, was no better than she should be. Esme found her just as good as she ought to be.

Esme'd known the back of her father's hand just for being friends with she, but Esme was growing up now and there were places in her head he couldn't penetrate, places she would not let him touch, and Gytha inhabited one of them. Darker things lived in the others.

Lily knew how to play their father better than Esme did, always had; where Esme defied, Lily soothed. Lily was the good daughter, everyone said, the pretty one, though they shared all their features, and truth be told neither of them was particularly handsome. But Lily was pleasing. Esme was like sour milk to her sweet wine.

'I don't know why you insist on goading him,' said Lily once while applying foul-smelling lotion on another bruise down Esme's back. 'He thinks you'll become a strumpet like the Ogg. Just leave her be and all will be well.'

'That's a lie, Lily, and you knows it,' said Esme as she concentrated on not wincing. 'He'll beat me anyways.'

Lily clicked her tongue.

Esme had no intention of becoming a strumpet, but she needed Gytha to keep her sane. Gytha was free.

Gytha was beautiful, and somehow Esme knew, in the way of witches, that they'd be together for good. It felt right; she'd scowl, and Gytha'd laugh; and they'd both be ten times stronger than her father ever could be.