Chapter Text
1693
The trees were already bare and the air was cool enough to leave a chill. At this time of year, away from the village, Salem was nearly soundless: no crickets, no animals, no trees blowing in the breeze. Except for the occasional rustle of wind swirling the last of the autumn leaves, darkness and silence enveloped the woods. On a normal night, all would be quiet until the sun rises, waking the sleepy town. But this was not a normal night.
Screams and flashes of blue and purple happen fast. Agatha Harkness was only nineteen years old, but her coven lays dead around her. Her now unbound hands tingled with her newfound power.
“Please,” she looked up at her mother, almost pleading. “I can be good!”
“No you cannot,” Evanora said with no hesitation.
Immediately, she raised her hands and struck her only daughter in the heart with a blast of magic. Agatha braced against the wooden post, preparing for the pain to come, but it never did.
Instead Agatha felt more powerful, almost euphoric. She closed her eyes as she spread her arms and smiled, absorbing her mother’s power. She opened them just in time to look into Evanora’s, the eyes so much like her own, and watch the life drain from them. Her mother’s body fell against the ground with a thud.
Agatha looked at her for a moment, her frail frame still at last. She walked over and pulled the brooch from her dress, a final power grab from the women who tormented her for so long. Finally Agatha Harkness walked away, leaving her coven dead in her wake.
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Eight dead witches. More than that, eight dead Salemite witches. Death wasn’t often impressed, but this was something. She led the Salemites to the afterlife as they cursed and drones on about someone named Agatha Harkness.
Agatha Harkness.
Witches take centuries to die and are too good at protecting themselves, and Death knew that. It was a rare treat for her to collect the soul of even one witch, maybe two. But eight witches at one time? A witch with the power to accomplish something like this? Now Death was curious.
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Agatha stormed away through the dark woods, with only the sound of her boots against the leaves and her still-panicked breathing surrounding her. She stopped suddenly and sat against a tree to catch her breath, the adrenaline starting to wear off.
Her hands were cold from the night air, and she reached for the brooch deep in her pocket. She picked it up and held it in her hand, still warm from where it hung on her mother’s dress against her skin.
“You were born evil.”
“No you cannot.”
“I ought to have killed you the moment you left my body.”
Evanora Harkness had been the leader of the Salemites. One of the most powerful witches of her generation. But she was a cruel mother, and if anyone knew that it was Agatha. She had hated her daughter for her entire life. Agatha’s earliest memories were of insults and beatings, and she had the scars to prove it. She really must be evil since she never thought she would be capable of-
“Agatha Harkness.”
Agatha jumped up from the ground and hastily shoved the brooch back into her pocket and blinked back the tears she didn’t know were forming. Her hands lit with power as she turned to try and find the voice.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a woman's clear voice said from the dark.
Agatha brightened the power in her hands and faced them towards the dark figure coming towards her.
“I’ll do it I swear,” Agatha told the shadow. The woman must really be a shadow because there was no other way for her to sneak up on her without making a sound.
“I believe you will. I just don’t think it’s in your best interest to do so.”
“You don’t know me. Show yourself,” Agatha kept her voice steady as she talked to the darkness.
The woman suddenly stepped into the light. Agatha quickly ran her eyes over her green dress and matching green hood before bringing her eyes to her face. Dark eyes set in an oval face with high cheekbones. Yes, she was pretty and Agatha knew that, but there was something else about her. Something that made her feel… unsettled.
“I’ve your work, Agatha. I know what you did,” the woman looked into her face. To Agatha, it seemed like she was looking right through her.
“How do you know who I am?”
This amused the woman enough that she almost smiled. Almost. Her face hardened more to compensate.
“Unimportant,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Eight witches at once? That’s very difficult to do, you know,” the woman tilted her head and studied Agatha.
Purple power still lit her hands, illuminating her. Long brown hair framed her face and flowed across her dark dress. Dark brows, high cheekbones, clear blue eyes, full lips-
She blinked to clear those thoughts, and waited for Agatha to answer.
“I didn’t…” she started before deciding not to lie. Whoever this woman was, she obviously knew way more about her than she knew about her. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly, not knowing how else to respond.
Death had existed since the beginning of time. She’d guided countless mortals, witches, and beings to the afterlife. But only a few times has she ever talked to the living. After all, she was Death. What did she need with the living? But there was something about this witch. Something that intrigued her.
“You have unheard of power, Agatha. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” she nodded slightly. Searching her face for any hint of tease or malice. She couldn’t find any.
“Don’t waste it,” Death pulled her hood up higher around her head and turned on her heel to leave.
“Wait! Who are you?” Agatha called out to the woman.
Death turned her head back and looked at Agatha. Looked into her clear blue eyes, perhaps for a moment too long, and gave her a slight smirk before pointing behind her.
Agatha turned back quickly to look behind her, but only trees stood out against the dark woods. When she turned back to the woman she was gone.