Chapter Text
It started with a feeling. Like she was being watched.
Her bodycount was in the hundreds, and this coven was no different from the others - wrinkled and drained, four dead witches lay collapsed around her, and Agatha could still feel the tingle of their power in her veins. Enough magic to keep her alive and make her near-invincible for years to come.
But hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and she found herself glancing around the woods - for once, not feeling like the all-powerful being who should command respect…
But like a deer, who couldn’t find the predator that stalked her.
Then there were the flickers of black.
It never became rote, the dance that she had down to a science - the teasing and the taunting until a frustrated witch took an impulsive shot. Sometimes Agatha attacked first, but only if she were truly starving. It was simply more fun to lead a coven into a trap.
But with each new body, she started to see… cloth. Lace. A shift out of the corner of her eye, accompanying the nagging sense that someone or something was watching her.
Once, in the dead of night, with nothing but three deceased witches and a flickering fire, Agatha thought she heard a laugh.
She was being followed.
It wasn't until after she had taken eight more lives - a veritable feast for her soul - that she realized the wake of silence that had surrounded her in that stretch of woods. The birds in the path behind her had ceased to sing, the squirrels and lizards ceasing to rustle. And then she saw the flash of that damn cloak.
She turned, her eyes landing on a smirking brunette. “Who the hell are you?” she startled.
“An old friend,” the woman replied.
Death didn’t hide anymore.
Death couldn’t hide anymore. Agatha had killed so many, had slowly become so attuned to her presence, that Death began to follow her out in the open as she hunted more covens. “They will hear you if you’re not quiet,” Agatha growled.
“Only you can see me, love.”
“Love?” Agatha smirked. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Why?” Death said simply, “I’m in love with you.”
“Bad decision,” Agatha said, “I destroyed everyone I ever loved.”
“You cannot destroy me,” Death mulled, “My powers would kill you. So much as kiss me, and you will die.”
Agatha threw her a curious glance. “Charming.”
The thirst for power seemed to grow insatiable - worsening, blossoming, in a way she couldn’t understand. Somehow, four moons had already passed when she finally realized she had not bled. How?!
“The child is hungry,” Death observed.
“Fuck off,” Agatha said back.
Death smirked, her eyes practically glowing, and after a moment it drew a laugh from Agatha. “I guess you’re excited by the prospect,” Agatha said, “More souls for you.”
Death quirked her brow in admittance. Agatha bit at her lip. “Truth is, I do not know how this happened.”
“Death is simple,” Death said, “But life is mysterious.”
Agatha tilted her head. “Is Death really your name?”
“Death is who I am,” she responded. “But my name is Rio.”
It became a game, and it was much more fun when it was two.
They gambled on which witch would attack first, on how long it would take to provoke such a reaction. They would laugh as they recalled the blazing light, the final look of shock in a victim’s eyes before the spark faded for the last time. Stories that would warm the heart of any psychopath who stumbled upon the couple.
Lust for power shifted into a relationship beyond. Agatha would never allow Rio to be bored - sinking the occasional whaling vessel became par for course in those months. She once set fire to all of Salem, just so Rio could watch the glow.
Though they could not kiss, there were other ways to touch - and sometimes, it almost felt like enough.
But as the ninth moon passed, and Agatha felt the first ripple within her womb, she saw the furrowed look of concern on Rio’s face. “No,” Agatha said, stumbling backwards into the woods, desperate to escape before Rio could answer, “I can’t let you do this-”
It wasn’t going to be the end. She wouldn’t let it be the end.
But Rio caught up to her. “It cannot be,” Agatha gasped. “You do this, and I will hate you forever.”
But Rio only watched on, expression drawn for the first time in Agatha’s memory. “Please, let him live!” Agatha begged, “Please, my love-”
Another contraction struck as she wept, as she screamed, and it seemed the green witch took pity. “I can offer only time,” Rio finally replied.
She disappeared, and soon after Agatha held an infant boy in her arms, praying that she would never see Death again. “I spoke no spell, I said no incantation,” Agatha murmured, cradling the babbling babe. The trees rustled with the breeze, and bright eyes stared back at her.
“You…” Agatha whispered, “You were made from scratch.”