Chapter Text
They say that when you die, your life flashes before you in an instant. The highlight reel begins, a moving motion picture in your head that lets you retread every step and misstep you’ve ever taken.
Agatha had always thought that a little too cutesy. She’d seen the face of death too many times, knew what the dark entity was capable of. So she found it a bit rich in regards to the lore of reliving at the precise moment between the last beat of your heart and nothingness.
Yet here she was, death spreading out from her jaw in jagged tendrils, swirling around as she began the fall. The venom of endings swirled and burrowed, moving throughout her entire being. And ridiculously, foolishly, Agatha found herself thinking, Well, I suppose they were right.
Because as her fall began, the flashes came. One after another, in quick succession. Every one of them a breath of time but stretching out into oblivion, feeling like she was touching them with forever.
One, two, three…infinity.
If only life had that many memories , a whisper within her corrected. For Agatha, however, she had done living for several lifetimes over. This meant the reel that might have just been a heartbeat for some pulled itself long for her.
Meaning she got to put her foot in old prints one more time but for the past 300 years.
//~~~~~~~//
Breath 1
The first time it ever happened, the first time she came face to face with a visage that would cause fright, curiosity, anticipation, love, revilement for three centuries, she was but a young girl.
Salem was falling from summer to autumn, the time when witches should feel the height of their strength, their power. And yet, Agatha found herself away from the Coven and alone, sitting in the forest on a rotting log.
Her skirts swayed as she swished them back and forth, singing the beginning of a song, the words bubbling up and popping out of her mouth. But it was forgotten when she noticed a stirring beyond the treeline, the rustling of the bushes close by.
Rising from her perch, she slowly approached, sensing something out of view. Agatha felt herself adopting the stance she always took when she cast her spells, whispering a quick incantation so that violet sparked at her fingertips.
“Show yourself,” she announced, approaching the foliage and underbrush. Her magic flared higher at the prospect of meeting a foe. “I said exit the woods!”
With a lazy leap, the creature moved from the darkness and Agatha had to pull up short. “And who might you be?” she asked, tilting her head to appraise the visitor.
Rounded ears stuck up, curious eyes darting back and forth to determine whether Agatha was friend or foe. Fluffy fur covered its body, the color of a fresh winter’s snow, and its paws padded the needles underneath. Looking for food, Agatha, assumed, since it had determined her of no import. But it was wrong.
At a clip, she glided to the rabbit, bending quickly to scoop it into her arms. At seven, she was a bit slighter than most but capable of more than anyone would give her credit for.
“You’re right,” Agatha sighed, burrowing her face into the downy fur. “I wouldn’t harm a fly, yet the Coven girls sneer at me. They tell me I’m evil personified.”
Her palms ran across burrs on the animal’s belly, scratching her wrists and forearms. “Aren’t you a scratchy thing.” For the first time in a long time, Agatha felt something instead of incredibly alone.
“If I promise to always be your friend, can I keep you?” Agatha said quietly as if conspiring between the two of them.
Unfortunately though, promises are not always made to keep.
//~~~~~~~//
Agatha was not used to receiving, so naturally she found herself inclined to hold onto goodness for as long as she could. Senor Scratchy, she dubbed him, was her first friend. Her only friend.
When time permitted, she found herself slipping away to scratch his ears or feed him carrots. Each time, she held him tightly, afraid to let go. Each time, it was harder to put him back into the makeshift cage, the tangle of bundled sticks, and leave him for their next meeting. All day long, she dreamed of having him in her skirt pocket, hidden but there.
One day, time did not permit. Time eeked away and took. She found herself unable to reach her companion for many moons, so upon her return, she lifted his dwelling to find him stark still.
“No,” she shook her head in disbelief. “Not like this.” His body was stiff and gave little when she tried to find any warmth in him, pressing his fur to her face. The unfamiliar stench hit her nose and she scrunched it up violently.
(How she had been disgusted by that scent then. How it would become like perfume eventually.)
“Did you do this?”
Another voice, startling Agatha and jolting her away from the lifeless body in her small hands. On her log, a child of similar age. Her hair was the color of ink and her eyes just as dark as the woods. Yet something about her erased the shock from Agatha’s bones.
“No, I don’t think…” her voice trailed off as she looked to her full palms.
The girl gave no indication of her beliefs in Agatha’s guilt or innocence, just sat watching. Staring. Tears clouded her vision, but Agatha managed to look around. Back to the barrier she had made.
“Maybe I did.” It came out as a croak. I made him a place to stay so that I could come to visit him. But I couldn’t get away from the co…” she tapered off, afraid to say more. Aware that if this girl was from the village, she could tell them where the witches lie.“Are you from the town?
“Death is a part of life. Without it, living wouldn’t be near as beautiful, would it?” the girl said matter of factly, very sagely. Not the words of a little girl.
“But I made it come quicker, didn’t I?” Agatha bit out, her voice raw. She futilely imagined a shiver going through the rabbit, but it refused to take in a breath.
“Don’t be afraid,” the little girl whispered, now close by. Hovering over the body as Agatha held him near. “Death is power too.”
Agatha came back to the present, stepped out of her dream. “I asked you who you were. Why are you here, little girl?”
Obsidian eyes met hers, a pursing of lips. “I’m not exactly who you think I am.” The girl’s voice was slow, melancholy. Almost like a funeral hymn.
“Why not show me who you are?” Agatha found herself taken aback by her own question. It’s not how she had met to word it at all, yet it had come out unbidden.
“Because this is how you need to see me,” the girl with no name said softly, her fingers brushing across snow to skim against Agatha’s. Ice . “Because the truth is too awful.”
Agatha felt her childlike antagonism rear its head, emptying poison into her tone. The ache of loss, of having and losing, clutched with blackened hands at the shape of her heart.
“If you’re so scary, prove it,” she growled, done with the speech of a grown up in the form of a child. “I’m not afraid of anything.” Even though the streaks on her face clearly indicated otherwise.
“Maybe someday,” the girl murmured, another cold brush against Agatha. Feeling like something she should internalize, something to be remembered. “But you’re not ready for me yet.
//~~~~~~~//
Breath 2
By the time Agatha is a teenager, the incident in the forest has been whittled away to a dark memory. At the forefront now is not would be familiars but gaining ground within the coven. Of gaining their respect.
Power. That’s the only way Agatha knows how to do it, but they still hold her back. Her mother clips her wings every chance she gets, tries to get Agatha to forget she wants to fly. No amount of potions and herbs can make her lose the one dream she’s had all along.
When an older member of the group falls ill, Agatha finds herself sitting vigil with her mother. The silence eats at the room as heavy breaths rattle in rib cages. Evanora is a statue, never even seeming to blink as the minutes turn to hours, to days.
At some point, it’s over. The last breath has been breathed. Agatha looks at the dead witches now frail bottom, sees the sallow hue of her skin. She jumps a little when she sees another figure across the bed, immobile but staring right at Agatha.
Ink and obsidian.
It’s her, after all these years. How has she managed to go so long without seeing the girl in the forest? Only now, the girl has filled out some, looks more mature. It would be the face of a stranger if Agatha couldn’t detect the tell-tale markers of someone familiar.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed but jumped when Evanora turned, anger burning in her eyes.
“How dare you speak, child, when we’ve just lost a high member of our coven.”
Agatha ducked her head in acquiescence, knowing that any more words would do little good. There was little demurity she could continue to offer though when she watched the other member of the room sweep by her and make for the door.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she weighed the outcome of the choices she could make. The potential hard road won out as she dipped into a curtsey to Evanora, excusing herself so that her mother could attend to the dead.
Bursting through the door with more vigor than she intended, Agatha followed the retreating form to the outskirts of the witch’s area.
“Hey!” she called out when she felt safely away from the house where her mother remained. A couple of witches milling about looked at Agatha with questioning eyes, but she skirted past them with a glower. “Will you wait!?”
The girl spun around then, almost bringing Agatha straight into her chest. Instead of dodging away, she stood her ground, an amused look gracing her features. A quirk of lips, a flutter of eyelashes.
“Yes, Agatha?” Sweetness, pure cane sugar. Innocence in words. Agatha knew better somehow.
“So you clearly know my name, but I haven’t a clue on yours.” Agatha eyed the girl up and down. “You keep showing up, usually when someone…”
She couldn’t help but trail off, thinking. Realizing, in a way. ”I’ll ask you again. Who are you?”
A look Agatha couldn’t categorize flickered across the girl’s face and she spun quickly, dashing toward the forest. For another time, Agatha found herself in pursuit and yelling after the blur.
Miraculously, Agatha managed to close the gap and latch onto the girl’s shoulder. Jerking, she tried to bring them face to face, but all she could do was gasp and retreat back a few steps, stunned.
Because there in front of her, for the briefest of moments, she’d seen not the face of who had stood over the coven member’s bed but that of bleached white bone, a deep socket, and an eye of pure darkness.
“I told you,” came out a whisper but by the time it was said, Agatha was questioning whether her mind had played a very mean trick on her.
A boldness that didn’t quite reach her entire body bloomed, started to take root, and she found her feet moving closer. “Do it again,” Agatha commanded, hoping that she was right. That there had been no deception.
As commanded, the girl gave Agatha what she asked for. Like ripples on water, one side of her face changed revealing a skeleton underneath. She held up a hand, the skin dripping away as if melted by a candle and turning to bone.
“I can feel your fear,” the girl approached, a surety to her steps that hadn’t been there before. Bolder too, perhaps because Agatha had begun to be.
“Yes,” Agatha admitted yet didn’t back down on the approach. Made herself not flinch when her personal space ceased to exist and their bodies were pressed together. “But can you feel this?”
Inexplicably, Agatha reached out to touch the cheek bone, tracing her thumb along it. The fleshless nose began to nuzzle against Agatha’s hand, chasing a feeling the witch was providing.
“You’re a daring one, Agatha Harkness.” The girl’s eyes had closed but now they opened. “No one reaches out to touch death.
“I see you,” Agatha said. Holding on to something, unwilling to let go—no matter what.
For a few moments, a few beats of Agatha’s heart, only silence. Then… “You can call me Rio.”