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Chapter Text

The cold water laps at her ankles as Agatha stares out at the dark, evergreen trees all around the lake. Her boots and socks are soaked through, but she doesn’t care. The cool wind ruffles her hair, and she closes them briefly to immerse herself in the environment. An environment she'd experience hopefully for the last time if the universe was just.

Sophie sits a ways behind her, methodically tearing the petals off the wildflowers that grew where the sand met the grass of the plain behind them. Agatha is flicking matches that she lit on her wrist into the dark water, after opening them, eyelids only half-lowered, tired despite the thrumming anticipation under her skin.

“He’ll take us,” Sophie says.

“Sure.”

“He will.”

“You want him too.”

“Of course I want him to. We’re good enough.”

Agatha glances over her shoulder, half-smile, cool eyes.

Sophie smiles back, cunning in her gaze. “Bad enough.”

Agatha laughs, low and knowing. She tucks her matchbox back into her pocket and gets up to go sit beside her sister.

“He takes one of each. What makes you think he’ll make an exception this time?”

Sophie tilts her head, considering. This is the first time they’re talking about this out loud. “I can’t imagine him coming to a decision either way.”

“You think he won’t be able to decide, and that’s why he’ll take both of us?”

“Yes,” Sophie replies, she turns her head to watch Agatha. “Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?”

“No reason.”

Sophie narrows her eyes at her. “Agatha, darling.”

“I know you’re thinking the same thing.”

“I am not.”

“You think if he chooses it’s going to be you,” Agatha says, matter-of-factly. “And I think you’re stupid for it.”

Sophie scoffs, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Look at me and tell me I’m wrong.”

Sophie looks at Agatha from the corner of her eye. “So what. You’ve always thought you were the better witch.” Sophie rolls her too-pretty green eyes. “Why should I buckle-down just because you live in a graveyard and I don’t?”

Agatha’s brown, almost black eyes flash. “I never said you should buckle down. I believe in healthy competition.”

“Mm,” Sophie responds, scornful.

Agatha scowls. “It’s no use discussing it now. It’ll happen or it won’t.”

“What a wonderful attitude.”

They’re both silent for a moment.

“You know I’d miss you,” Sophie says quietly.

Agatha’s animosity softens, her expression melting into something less severe. “I’d miss you too.”

“But I truly believe we’ll both get taken,” Sophie insists then. “Just because I think I’m a better witch doesn’t mean I think you’re a bad one.”

Agatha laughs, dryly. “They’re going to love you at our school.”

Sophie smiles coquettishly. “They’ll hate me.” She flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “And I’ll love it.”

Agatha sighs, also smiling slightly. “Any press is good press.”

— — —

When Agatha sees Sophie slung over the dark shadow’s shoulder later that night, her heart drops into her stomach, and sorrow and anger and resentment all fill her veins like poison. Sorrow because of the rejection, resentment of Sophie for getting every fucking thing she wants, and anger at the injustice of it all.

She was twice the witch Sophie would ever be. Her sister had only just started pursuing potions and hexes after she’d seen Agatha in the forest, who had been cursing the miller’s son for spreading rumours about her mother.

Agatha steps out onto the porch of their cottage, gravestones littered before her across the lawn, bleak and dark gray in the weak moonlight, her black dress whipping about her in the strong wind. The porch creaks under her heavy clogs.

She stares after the black, wolf-like shadow with Sophie’s flaxen-haired form dangling from its hold like gold thread stuck in stuffy black cotton. When the School Master suddenly halts, and Agatha knows it’s that prideful School Master, she doesn’t react, and continues to stare after them, a raging storm in her heart.

Who gave a fucking shit what he was thinking.

When he turns back, and starts stalking towards her, Agatha crosses her arms over her chest, and watches him approach, uncaring, unafraid. Stupid fuck.

When he’s near enough, he reaches out a clawed hand, and it hovers in the air while Agatha watches it, palm up.

She cocks her head, considering him, still angry. Before finally reaching out with her own slender fingers, vampire-pale in the twilight, and as soon as he has a good grip on her, with super-human strength he’s throwing her over his other shoulder. The air gets knocked out of her lungs with the force of it, but in her next exhale Agatha is sighing in contentment as the ground speeds up below her eyes.

She should have expected as much.

Sophie hasn’t said anything, and Agatha waits. But after a few minutes, with still no words from her sister, Agatha bites the bullet and turns her head.

Sophie’s eyes are closed, and she seems to be unconscious. Agatha blinks in surprise, and reaches out haltingly to shake Sophie’s shoulder.

Sophie doesn’t respond, and Agatha finds herself perplexed, suspicious. Sophie would have been too excited to fall asleep, and she surely should have woken during the School Master’s kidnapping.

Her brows stay furrowed as she watches scraggly branches and barren trees pass by them in a blur, only flashes of the navy sky and twinkling stars occasionally peeking out in the small spaces between overarching boughs. Agatha grows bored quickly, but as soon as she’s wishing that they’d finally get there already, the world upends and Agatha and Sophie are thrown down what looks like an oversized rabbit hole, her last glimpse of the forest blocked by a menacing head and glowing red eyes.

They tumble down the winding tunnel for what seems like forever, and Agatha quickly grabs Sophie’s wrist, their limbs knocking together but somehow not breaking. When she feels for the side of the hole, soft moss tickles her fingers as they rush past, and their lack of injury starts making sense.

The light is blinding when they roll out into some sort of open plain, and Agatha has no time to adjust before something skeletal is snatching them up off the ground, yanking them into the air, and just as Agatha’s kicking feet leave the ground, Sophie is gasping awake beside her in the creatures claws.

Emerald eyes are wide and seeking as Sophie’s head whips from side to side, taking in her surroundings with a fervor that she usually only reserved for the gathering of her herbs and medicinal flowers.

When Sophie’s eyes land on her, Agatha raises her eyebrows.

“You’re here!” Sophie gasps.

Agatha shrugs as best as she can in the bony talons of whatever flying demon has them miles up in the air. The cold is biting, but all that is put aside when Agatha sees it.

They don't fly long, and in the next moment as soon as they crest a ridge dotted with pine trees, Sophie sees the two schools at the same time she does, and her mouth drops open, eyes filling with stars. “Aggie, it’s real!”

The two quickly approaching schools glint in the early morning light like two sides of the same coin, one glistening obsidian and the other glimmering like a pearl. And even though she'd felt the conviction of their existence in her heart, Agatha still can't quite comprehend their new reality, and can't stop the next words that leave her lips.

“I don’t believe it,” she breathes to herself, wind whipping at her hair.

The creature dips towards the two great castles, and makes a beeline towards the darker one. Both their eyes widen, and Agatha’s knuckles whiten as she grips an ivory talon subconsciously harder.

When the claws loosen around her waist, Agatha’s eyes close in relief.

When they drop her, she smiles.

As she's falling she opens her eyes, ready to see Sophie’s fate, whatever it may be.

When she watches Sophie’s pink-wrapped form plunge after her, only the barest twinge of disappointment twitches in her heart, but it leaves as soon as it comes.

Chapter Text

When Sophie catches sight of that surely insipid heir to Camelot, golden hair like a halo around his head, eyes like blue diamonds, green eyes flash like a predator’s, and Agatha watches prince promptly become prey.

A flash of jealousy springs forth in Sophie’s gaze when they spy a petite little princess on Tedros’ arm. She has a delicate arm looped around his elbow, and Agatha almost laughs at the rage in Sophie’s eyes. The prince and princess have matching skin, matching eyes, matching hair and matching noses, straight and aristocratic in their ridiculously ethereal beauty.

“Who is she?” Sophie hisses.

“They’re twins, you hag,” Agatha cackles.

Sophie’s eyebrows raise, and her face smooths off its lines. “What? Oh. Well, that’s fine then.”

Agatha shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re not creative enough.”

“What’s creativity got to do with anything?”

“Tell me Agatha, what do you think is the best way to take over an Ever kingdom?”

“Conquer it with your insurmountable army,” Agatha says immediately. “At least that’s the only honorable way to do it.”

“No, no,” Sophie shakes her head smiling, before glancing up from beneath her lashes. “You marry into it.”

Agatha wrinkles her nose. “I can’t imagine spending that much time with someone I hate.”

“Your ambition is too low, my darling,” Sophie sighs, then dreamily looks towards Tedros. “Or maybe it’s your libido that’s too low.”

“Ew,” Agatha says, and fake retches. “My ambition is just as high as yours, darling. But nobody’s libido will ever be as high.”

“You got that right,” Sophie purrs. “I’ll have him by the end of the week.”

“Sure,” Agatha rolls her eyes. “But you’ll have to get his attention, and I’m pretty sure he’s preoccupied with keeping the other princes away from his sister.”

Sophie looks over again, and sure enough, Tedros has a firm hand on another prince’s shoulder, face serious, as he clearly explains something. Essa is blinking coquettishly up at the offending prince from under her brother’s arm.

“He could probably use a distraction, poor baby seems so tense,” Sophie says, faking a pout while her eyes gleam.

“Of course he‘s tense, every other prince is after his sister,“ Agatha says, rolling her eyes. “And his sister seems to relish in the attention.”

“But he‘s the heir, why would they even care about her?“

“For as much as you know about inheritance law, I‘m surprised you don‘t know that marrying the sister of the king comes with a myriad of benefits.“

“Oh, pish posh,“ Sophie replies. “Why would I care about the second-place prize?“

Agatha sighs. “Sure, understandable.”

— — —

Later that week, when they’ve already had a couple classes at the School for Evil, and they’ve more or less settled into their dorm rooms, Sophie with an established coven and Agatha with another, they are first introduced to their only “co-ed” class with the Evers: Forest Group.

Lucky Sophie, both Tedros and Essa, as they later find out her name is, are both in their group. Along with Beatrix and Hort, the first of whom Agatha can’t stand, and the second which Sophie can’t stand.

“Pros and cons,” Sophie exhales, blowing a silky strand of blonde hair out of her face. On the surface uncaringly, but Agatha knows it’s a not-so-subtle way to catch the attention of the object of her pursuit.

She’s caught the attention of Hort, but Tedros is still talking to his sister, seemingly frustrated, the receptacle of his frustration on the other hand completely indifferent and waifish, wickedness gleaming in her eyes. Essa’s chest is practically bursting out of her corset and her skirt is leagues shorter than is likely allowed. When Tedros tries to give her his jacket she shrugs it off.

Sophie pouts and Agatha snickers. “You have better chances at getting her attention.”

Sophie stops pouting immediately, and a sinister smile takes over her face.

“Sophie…”

“You’re right, Aggie. I have better chances of getting that darling little princess’s attention.”

Agatha closes her eyes, immediately tired of her best friend. “Go then.”

When she opens them, sure enough, Sophie is sauntering over to the golden Camelot pair, and saying something surely cheeky and girlish to Essa, ignoring Tedros completely.

Agatha watches Tedros frown and narrow his eyes at Sophie. This, the green-eyed witch pays no mind, instead taking Essa by the hands and continuing to speak, proceeding to fake a sweetness that makes Agatha gag every time.

Essa seems delighted, and the genuine joy that the princess exhibits at Sophie’s attention seems to rattle the witch slightly, luckily for her only Agatha notices, before Sophie is gently pulling Essa away from her brother and launching into an animated conversation that could only be about boys, makeup or books and fairy tales.

Tedros watches them, suspicious frown still fixed to his face, before he suddenly looks up, and meets Agatha’s eyes, which widen slightly at being caught.

Agatha breaks into a glare, daring him to react. In response, the prince just raises his hands in a show of supplication and smiles, good-natured charm dripping from his every stupid pore. Agatha only glares harder, more irritated by him than she’s ever been.

Tedros seems shocked that his friendliness has been rejected, and looks away, cheeks coloring.

Agatha nods, satisfied, with her eyes in slits. That’s how Evers needed to react to Nevers. Pretty eyes to the ground, submissive and meek.

— — —

During lunch, funnily enough Essa is glued to her brother’s side and Tedros seems calm for the first time in ages. His arm is draped over his sister’s shoulders, and he’s talking with Chaddick with a relaxed grin on his face. Essa doesn’t seem to mind being used as an armrest, instead curling closer and staring hard at the open book in her hands, not conversing as she usually did with the other princesses.

“Sophie…” Agatha begins.

Sophie blinks innocently at her fellow villain. “What?”

“What did you do?”

“Became best friend’s with our darling Essa and–” Sophie says, pointing toward the Camelot twins, “–recommended that little novel to her.”

“So you took care of Tedros’ problem.”

“Essa is embarking on significantly less dalliances with his friends, yes.”

Agatha considers Essa and the happy glances Tedros keeps shooting his sister, and feels something pitiful and foreign in her chest. “Essa is really sweet, isn’t she?”

Sophie seems taken aback at Agatha’s words. “Sure, she was very eager to please.”

“Don’t hurt her, Sophie,” Agatha says. “It’s like kicking a kitten. And even I don’t do that.”

Sophie is even more shocked at this. “Agatha…”

Agatha sighs. “It’s just a loose request. You’re better than that.”

Sophie narrows her eyes. “What brought this on?”

Agatha considers Essa again, and is once again struck by her obvious fragility. “Easy to break” basically stamped across her forehead. “Tedros is happy when his sister is happy, keep that in mind.”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot,” Sophie says, rolling her eyes.

“Good.”

“Do you still hate him?” Sophie asks, smirking.

“Of course,” Agatha shoots back, mimicking Sophie from before. “He’s too fucking proud and vain and that annoys the ever-hating fuck out of me.”

“You’re so strange,” Sophie cackles.

“Strange gets better grades than you do.”

The laughter wipes clean away and Sophie’s green eyes harden. “Oh, yeah? First time you’ve verbalized that.”

“First time I’ve felt the need to knock your ego down a couple steps.”

“Oh, Agatha. Enjoy it while you can.”

Agatha nods, brown eyes darkening to black under her half-lidded eyelashes. “I’ll wait while you work.”

Sophie declines to respond and instead leaves without another word. Agatha pulls in a deep inhale, and exhales. She and Sophie had always had this kind of relationship. Camaraderie in one second, and lethal antagonism in the next. From friendly banter to freezing anger, crinkled eyes to straight, furious mouths.

Sometimes Agatha thinks in another life they would have been the arch-enemies of a famous fairytale.

Chapter Text

In the coming weeks, Sophie and Essa grow closer and closer. Agatha watches with a mix of mild amusement and suspicion, while Tedros seems positively elated that something other than princes is occupying Essa’s mind. Sophie has found a permanent place between the Camelot twins during lunch, and does not shy away from brushing up against Tedros whenever possible.

Tedros, the idiot that he is, does not notice these advances in the way that Sophie wants him to, and simply beams at her like they’re best friends. Which they are now, Agatha thinks. She isn’t entirely sure of the rules that pre-meditated friendship and the titles that went along with it, but she thinks Sophie has approached solid ground on that front.

Agatha turns back to her own lunch pail, and finishes the gruel inside without as much as a sneer. This food was leagues better than her mother’s, and she didn’t understand Sophie’s aversion to it at all, because the blonde witch ate worse in her pursuit of “staying thin”. Which Agatha found to be the most boring and empty-headed aspiration in the history of the world.

When the bell rings, signalling the end of lunch and the incoming start of Forest Group, Agatha tosses her empty pail in the large bin with the rest of the Nevers, and heads towards where Yuba is already waiting.

Brown eyes narrow when they take in the positively nefarious grin on the little gnome's face, and Agatha reminds herself to be extra careful this period. Who knew what he had up his sleeve.

“Today, boys and girls, we take a trip down memory lane, and practice some good old-fashioned dueling,” Yuba announces, after everybody has arrived.

Agatha smiles, scanning her possible opponents one by one. This would be a piece of cake.

“To make the matches fair, I will be pairing each of you up with your equal from the other side,” the gnome continues. “Luckily for us, each pair is relatively balanced, and will give the rest of us a very good show.”

Agatha frowns now, because who the hell from the talentless Evers could possibly be her equal?

Yuba answers her unvoiced question the very next second. “First up, Agatha of Woods Beyond and Tedros of Camelot.”

She blinks, then immediately scowls. Oh, please. As if he could even scratch her with that overzealously decorated sword.

“Winner shall be the one who captures the jewel from the other’s neck,” Yuba finishes, placing a necklace with an obsidian stone around Agatha’s neck, and one with a sapphire around Tedros’. “Good luck!”

Agatha lets her fingerglow bloom to life and turns to face Tedros, who stands opposite her, about three meters away, looking less afraid than she’d like him to be. When the scythe appears in her hand amidst crackling lightning, that brings a shocked light to his eyes, as well as to those in the eyes of everyone around them.

Agatha smirks slightly. “Don’t look so surprised, you think you’re the only one with a weapon?”

Tedros exhales, slowly, looking her up and down. “No. I thought you preferred spells.”

“Well I broke out my favorite toy just for you.”

“I’m honored,” Tedros replies. But there’s the slightest tremble in his voice that lets Agatha know she has him, and it brings the most wicked sort of gleam to her eyes. Oh, she would eat him alive.

Agatha doesn’t have the patience for any more chit-chat, so she halves, then quarters the distance between them.

Tedros doesn’t let Agatha get closer after she decides to make the first move, and when they’re but a mere breath away from each other, he moves under and below the deadly swing of her scythe.

Agatha rolls her eyes, whirling to face him again.

“So eager to win the challenge, pretty boy?”

Tedros frowns at her, likely unused to hearing ‘pretty’ spit at him like an insult. Well, Agatha means it as one.

“Aren’t we all?” he asks, so sincerely and innocently that it makes Agatha want to throw up.

Agatha points a bony finger at the leaderboard high above them, visible even at their position on the edge of the blue forest. “You’re sitting safely in first place for Good. With plenty of points between you and your princess.”

Tedros shakes his head but doesn’t make a face, ever the gentleman. “Trix isn’t my princess.”

”Oh, I’m very sorry,” Agatha says, “I seem to have forgotten that that’s important for you, Evers.” With each word she takes a stalking step forward, eye on the prize. “Sophie’s the one you’re taking home every night, right?”

Tedros ignores her provocation, surface-level nonchalant, but watches her approach, and slips smoothly into a stable, defensive stance. “Why do you want to win so badly? You yourself are at the top of the Never scoreboard.”

Agatha shakes her head, still advancing. “Too few points between me and my darling best friend. I’d like some air,” Agatha licks her teeth. “So why don’t you give it up easy, sweetheart?”

Tedros turns pink at the pet name. Agatha allows herself a half-smile, how interesting.

“Just because I’m first doesn’t mean I should stop trying,” he counters, finally taking his sword from its sheath.

Agatha grins. “How heroic. At least it’ll be more fun taking that jewel from you.”

“Try me.”

Agatha shrugs, loosens her grip on her scythe, and lazily starts putting the fear of God in Tedros’ pretty little head.

Her blade is a blur, and so is his, because it has to be if he doesn’t want to be seriously injured. Agatha catches multiple slack-jawed stares from the corner of her eye as she and Tedros continue to spin around each other, sometimes growing close, and then ricocheting in the next second, sparks flying between the steel of their weapons.

A trickle of sweat criss-crosses down Tedros’ neck and under his shirt collar. Agatha has the disturbing urge to lick it up and taste what his fear smelled like. Even though he’s holding his own, Agatha can tell that the prince in the ring opposite her is starting to get tired.

A couple minutes in, Agatha had noticed Yuba draw a circle around them, either to keep the others safe or to present the two of them inside with a border they could not cross.

A mild, simmering anger starts bubbling under Agatha’s skin when despite Tedros’ clear exhaustion, he presents no openings for her scythe to slide under the cord around his neck and yank that sapphire free.

She loathed enemies who didn’t give up. It was irritating like nails on a chalkboard. The longer it takes Agatha to win, the more vicious she becomes.

Tedros notices, and his eyes go wide in surprise when Agatha’s blade clashes down on his sword with particular ferocity. Agatha grins, sharp canines like a tiger’s glinting in her mouth. She would end this quickly.

Tedros’ strength is the only thing keeping him afloat now, along with his reaction times, which have likely been trained to superhuman levels by Professor Espada. But those reaction times start to wane too, the longer the fight extends, and Agatha watches his biceps strain under the rage that is driving Agatha’s own steel down.

When the sword is finally, finally, driven from his grip, sliding across the grass, Agatha is on him before Tedros can even take another step, she forces him to the ground, pinning his arm with her knee and his torso by sitting on his hips, other arm forced to stay pressed against the grass because Agatha lets her scythe hover against the soft skin of his forearm.

Agatha hears the Evers gasp and rolls her eyes. Overdramatic pansies.

She leans down to his neck, breathes against his jugular, teeth scraping against the tender pulse there, and bites his necklace away, looking up at Yuba in mild satisfaction.

“Winner: Agatha of Woods Beyond,” Yuba breathes. Even the gnome is impressed. “A commendation to Tedros of Camelot for exhibiting some of the best defense techniques I’ve seen in my long years here at the School for Good and Evil.”

Agatha sighs. Evers needed to be coddled to a frightening degree or else their self-worth would plummet like a wounded bird from the sky.

She slides her free hand to his neck and squeezes once, staring down into his eyes, her own half-lidded and dark, before releasing him and getting up, vanishing her weapon with a snap of her fingers.

Tedros gets to his feet as well, albeit shakily like a virgin who had just had their innocence stolen, and sheathes Excalibur, eyes not lifting from the ground as he did so. His face remains flushed for a good deal after, and Agatha notices because she watches him for the duration of the other duels, half-smile ticking the corner of her mouth up.

He doesn’t respond to his friends when they try to talk to him, clearly too lost in his own thoughts.

Agatha has never felt more satisfied in her whole life.

This feeling floats her all the way to lights-out.

Chapter Text

Although Agatha had left that Forest Group lesson with immense pleasure, the pleasure had soured to an annoying charge. She obsesses over the duel like a drug-addict, her compulsions not allowing her to release the emotion, like a pitbull with a bit between its teeth.

Something changes between them after that fight.

Something that Agatha is finding herself dislike to a rageful degree. She can tell Tedros is worried about it, like the fucking coward he is, and she takes every chance to scare him more. Because he’d made a fatal mistake that day, revealing how he’d reacted under her touch.

Agatha would be solely pleased with the result of their match, had it not ignited something else inside her lower stomach that she was currently, quite vehemently, shoving down deep into a part of herself that she religiously ignored.

There he had lain, panting and flush-cheeked underneath her, looking more like something to eat than an enemy prince, blinking up at her with those ridiculously pretty eyes, swallowing thickly under the hand that she had briefly slid around his throat…

Agatha scowls and walks faster, descending the dungeon steps to their Curses classroom with the deftness of a thousand thunderstorms. She pushes open the rotting door with an uncaring shoulder, scowl still on her face, and slouches into the seat closest.

Lady Lesso is already present at the blackboard, looking as severe as ever, and the only other student in the room is Sophie a few desks over, looking mighty pleased with herself.

Agatha doesn’t pay her any mind, preferring to scratch expletives and gory symbols into the surface of her wooden seat.

Once the rest of the students have filtered inside, one no more distinctive than the other, black rags and haggard faces, the ‘image of evil’, Lady Lesso turns around from what she’s written on the charred and scratched-to-death blackboard, and fixes them with a stare that indicates she’d rather murder than teach them.

Agatha reads the slanted, cursive phrase behind her professor.

“Exploitation without Empathy.”

Agatha sighs. Here they were, exploring the basics yet again.

Lady Lesso opens her blood-red mouth to speak. “If we are all Nevers, that means we are all evil, correct?”

There’s murmurs of assent from the students.

“Does it mean all of us are capable of the same Great Evil?”

Silence.

Lady Lesso shakes her head, an expression of disappointment taking over her marble-carved features. “No. Some of you are weak.”

That garners a couple scowls and hissed expletives.

Their professor sighs, still ever so disappointed. “Doesn’t exploiting an Ever sound nice?” The Never students hoot and holler in assent. “Yes, expected,” Lady Lesso comments dryly. “Are you little goblins capable of exploiting a pretty face and offering no sympathy once the tears at your betrayal arrive like stinging morning rain?”

How poetic, Agatha thinks to herself. But she refrains from rolling her eyes out loud.

There are cries of ‘fuck yeah’, and ‘to hell with those pansies’, and ‘those stupid Evers can suck it’. But Lady Lesso shakes her head yet again.

“Today,” she begins, waving her long-nailed pointer finger. “We’re practicing. Because I fear I cannot trust you to be as Evil as you promise.”

Agatha allows herself a small, vindictive smile. This exercise would be a piece of cake.

“You will all be facing an individual I shall draw from your minds. This will not be as easy as some of you think.”

Agatha glances towards the front of the classroom at her professor, and finds Lady Lesso already staring at her with a raised eyebrow. Agatha glares back, before getting into the messy line that formed in the center row of their desks.

She’s at the very end, while Sophie is standing to go second.

Hester is first of course, and everybody expects her to ace it, craning their necks to see her victorious exit.

When she walks into the black fog that Lady Lesso has created in front of her desk, likely some portal to an opened, pocket dimension, everybody eagerly awaits her return, as well as her grade.

Five minutes later, Hester appears, eyes wide and blood-shot. Lady Lesso sighs. “I expected more from you Hester.

“You said it would be Evers–” Hester replies hoarsely.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Lady Lesso says. But she pats Hester on the shoulder in a rare show of sympathy. “15th out of 30 for now, let us see how the others do.”

Sophie raises a delicate hand, and Lady Lesso nods in her direction. “What did she do wrong?”

“Completed her task, but with more difficulty than is expected from a student of her caliber.”

Only Agatha catches the furtive glance Hester shoots at Anadil. Agatha narrows her eyes. It seemed Lady Lesso was employing people they cared about, not just possible Evers. Agatha puffs at her bangs to get them out of her eyes. Then at least she wouldn’t have to face that insipid Tedros. Maybe she’d get Sophie or something.

Sophie walks into the fog next. One minute later, she walks out, smiling. A flaming “#1” appears above her flaxen-blonde hair like a diabolical crown. Lady Lesso finally shows the beginnings of a smile. “Excellent work, Sophie.”

“Thank you,” Sophie preens, fluffing her pink cropped jacket, arranging her fur-lined hood around her shoulders. “That was too easy.”

Agatha eyes her sister with distaste. The ease with which Sophie had eliminated her opponent, an opponent she apparently cared about, was slight cause for concern. Agatha would have to do better than her or Sophie would never let her forget it.

More and more students go in, and come out. Most of them place behind Hester, which improves her grade, but none surpass Sophie. When Anadil’s turn comes, Hester watches with rapt attention. Anadil is in there for 5 minutes, then 10, before she’s walking out, the white of her eyes pink and her irises redder than they’ve ever been before.

A rusty “#28” appears above her head, and when Anadil walks past Hester, she ignores her coven leader. The only ones who do worse are Hort and Dot, both finishing with the stinking numbers 29 and 30.

It’s finally Agatha’s turn, and she walks into the curling black fog with no hesitation, only briefly closing her eyes when the smoke curls across her face and neck, sliding probing fingers into her hair like the fog was searching her thoughts. Agatha sneers internally. She’d finish this faster than Sophie, no issue.

When she opens her eyes again, she falters back a couple steps at the sight before her.

Her heart does a horrible, shrinking, tightening squeeze inside her ribcage, and only the individual across from her sees Agatha shake her head in disbelief.

“I don’t care about you,” she hisses.

Tedros stares up at her from where he’s sitting on his heels, tears streaking his face, hands buried in the ash covering the ground all around them. When Agatha glances off into the distance, she can see the ruins of a still burning castle and the setting sun, fiery red, behind it.

“Why?” he pleads, and it’s barely above a broken whisper.

Agatha recoils. He’s so life-like she grows nauseous, unable to look at him. This scenario likely entailed some sort of romantic and kingdom-abolishing betrayal. Tedros’ crown lies discarded a few feet away, stained with blood. In Agatha’s hand is a dagger.

But she feels the seconds ticking by, and knows she can’t waste any more time if she wants to be better than Sophie. She turns back to face him, and advances until he’s less than a foot away from her. She slides her long, pale fingers into golden hair and shudders.

His eyes remain open, wide and honest, shimmering blue. His hands clench in the fabric of her dress, knuckles brushing her thigh through the fabric.

But she cuts his head off anyway, eyes squeezed shut, and exits the space, only opening her eyes again when she feels the cool air of Lady Lesso’s classroom on her face.

Lady Lesso is gazing at her speculatively.

“You were faster than Sophie,” she comments, which causes Sophie to frown. “But you were unable to look your victim in the eyes.”

Jade-green eyes flick upwards to the number above Agatha’s head and those same green eyes crinkle at the edges as Sophie beams. Agatha cranes her neck to find the number 2 glaring back at her like a brand. She scowls.

“Class dismissed,” Lady Lesso calls. “Get the hell out of my classroom.”