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A faint glow of moonlight trickled from the clouded sky, casting its light on darkened waters.
Agatha Harkness sat against a thick sideways log, letting her back collapse toward its splintered surface. Her breaths came out in frenzied huffs as she attempted to quell the uneasy shaking of her hands.
The young witch had always thought she was awful, ever since it dawned upon her that her first memories were the harsh words of her mother saying so. And yet, as Agatha’s tears spilled down her cheeks in long, rushing streams, she was left only in complete silence by the lake.
It was not far from where her coven had been killed – and was the only place Agatha found peace while they were alive.
The witch looked down at her fingers as an unfamiliar blue circled around them. The colors of magic that was not hers began to die, fading into the purple Agatha knew well.
It was then she realized they were all truly gone forever.
And Agatha knew how she should feel.
Any daughter would have mourned the loss of her mother, but the unending echoes of Evanora Harness’ voice still loomed in the back of the young witch’s restless mind. Even in death, she could not escape the poisoning scars of her mother’s tongue, or the gasping that left her own throat at Evanora’s magic twisting her insides with river-blue streaks of merciless magic.
Agatha watched as chest rose and fell while she attempted to steady it. Fear still trickled through her veins, every passing second feeling like the coming opportunity to hear Evanora’s words once more from behind – snapping Agatha out of her daze and freedom forever. Ripping her from this life she had given herself.
And yet, that moment never came.
The lake’s edge was quiet, clouds of fog lazily stretching over its surface.
Agatha wiped away the final tear that stained her soft cheek before scoffing.
Why do I cry for her? For them? After everything I’ve been put through, I deserve this power and this chance at existence that they tried to rob me from.
I’ll never let Mother tell me who I am.
I can be whoever I want to be. The witch I am. I’ll survive, and it won’t be with her. Never again shall I see her face, or hear cursed words release from her lips.
I’m finally free.
A twisted smile found its way onto Agatha’s face as the witch dusted off her dark robes. Until, without warning, the familiar sound of a tree branch creaking ever so slightly roused her from her once unending thoughts.
Agatha froze, breaths constricted and body deathly still.
She’s found me.
She’s come back from the dead and Mother is going to take me away forever.
Agatha let purple light envelop her hands, though not after it flickered that same blue one final time – as though the light of a candle had finally been snuffed after a great struggle.
A cloaked figure made her way curiously from the treeline. She was wrapped in green, her robes the color of the leaves Agatha had seen all her life.
This woman was not her mother.
The young witch turned her head to the side, eyeing the woman cautiously. Black hair began to slip from the shadows of her hood, and big, almond eyes blinked against Agatha’s glowing purple light.
“There was blue in your magic,” the woman said softly. “I saw it.”
Agatha stood taller, brow furrowed. She said nothing, though the other did not speak of her silence.
“You were the one who killed those witches. I feel the strength and life that was drained from them flow into you, spilling from their corpses even in this moment.”
Agatha let their energy mix with her own, flowing further from her fingertips as she eyed the other woman.
“Guess that means I’ll have to kill you too then, now that you know,” she said with a short, humorless laugh. Agatha took a step closer, though the cloaked woman stayed still.
She heard a real laugh from behind the hood, and its cloth slipped back to reveal a face Agatha had never seen before.
The person before her was not from here. Her face wore no lines of age, and her hair reflected the moonlight on its silk, thin strands.
Agatha’s heart fluttered for a moment before she composed herself.
“What’s so funny about that?” she said sharply. “Do you seriously want to die? I can make it happen, right here, right now.”
The cloaked figure only smiled softly before she shook her head.
“I drain life, so you cannot take mine. But I’ve never seen one as bold as you before.”
Agatha scoffed, the light of her magic fading at her own command.
“You’re trying to say you’re Death?”
The woman nodded, body still. Her figure radiated an unusual gentle curiosity.
I won’t ever cower, not from Death. No one can bring me back to my mother and her cold, untouched hands.
“If you’re trying to claim my soul too, it’s not going to happen,” Agatha said suddenly. The other woman cocked her head to the side, eyeing the young witch with a new look Agatha could not decipher.
“I cannot kill what’s not dying,” the woman in green replied. “I came only to admire one who could do such a thing. Usually I feel wavering regret wash over the bodies of the ones that had been killed. The hands of their murderer are not so proud to be wielding blood, or in your case, flashing the colors of the magic they’ve stolen. You’re not like anybody else I’ve seen. I simply wanted to see who could feel such a way about death. Normally, people fear what they do at my hand – whether it be because of the death they instilled, or their anxieties of what will come after.”
Agatha shook her head slowly.
“I’m not scared of you, because you’ll never take me. Death cannot be in a physical form. It cannot
feel
the emotions of the ones that kill with it, or the spirits it takes.”
“And what’s where you’re wrong,” the woman said, eyes wandering to every inch of the young witch.
Whether she’s Death or not, I won’t let her rob me of the life I deserve and finally have with them gone.
At that thought, Agatha let her hands explode a fiery, chaotic burst of purple. It rippled energy through the air, hitting the cloaked woman with a resounding crackle. Agatha watched her body slam against the lakeside dirt, robe dirtied in a way it looked they had been before across a million days.
The woman only laughed, shaking her head and muttering to herself.
“Trying to fight Death? Now I’ve really never seen anyone like you.”
Before Agatha could send out more of her magic, the other witch cascaded green hurling in her direction. She instinctively ducked out of the way, panting. The looming fog of the lake’s moonlit waters seemed to drift over, coating itself over every inch of earth.
The other witch continued laughing as Agatha fired another wave of her purple magic. This time, her opponent merely let it hit her – and she reveled in the feeling that spread across her skin and through her bones.
Agatha’s mouth was agape in a way it never had been before.
There’s someone who’s not scared of me either?
Before she could form another thought, the green witch sent wind hurling toward Agatha. She let her purple magic shield her as she ran closer to the other woman. She held the second witch down with lavender binds, cackling.
It was now she could truly see every part of her attacker.
The woman smiled at Agatha as her dark hair dangled against the green witch’s face from above. Her warm brown eyes sparkled with the sense of memories soon to be unlocked and felt by the pair.
Agatha’s mouth grew wide at the feeling that seemed to overtake her. In a second’s time, the cloaked witch now lay over top of Agatha, having grabbed her and thrown her back mercilessly into the ground.
And yet, the gesture was hung with a sense of gentleness – she was holding back. And having fun with the purple witch.
Agatha had met her match.
After shoving the other woman away with an ungraceful kick, Agatha finally stood again. She wiped the dirt off her robes before staring into the eyes of the one that smiled at her.
After a long silence, Agatha spoke.
“Are you
really
Death?”
The green witch nodded again.
“I’m not here to take you,” she said at last. “I was not lying earlier. But you… you’re different from the other souls I’ve encountered in this world. You’re not scared of me, and you’re not scared of others. You protected yourself back there, and gave your life new meaning. I’ve seen very few look at death that way – as a start rather than an end.”
Agatha sighed, stepping closer to Death.
“And I’ve never seen someone unafraid of me either. You’re weird – I kind of like it.”
Death smiled, raising a hand to remove her hood. Agatha saw now the beautiful black that descended from her head, and noticed the way it flowed smoothly down like a river of life that never ceased.
“I hope this is not the last time we meet, purple witch,” Death said as she moved to stand only a breath’s length away from Agatha.
The young woman nodded slowly, her eyes of autumn blinking in awe at the gorgeous figure before her.
“If you see me again,” Death continued, “call me Rio.”
Agatha swallowed after nodding.
“I’m Agatha.”
Rio tilted her head as she raised the cloak around the sides of her face once more. A smile of life seemed to find its way to Death’s lips, and she let one finger trace the sleeve of Agatha’s thin arm.
“Te veo.”
The green witch turned back to the forest, stepping away into its darkness slowly. It was at that moment Agatha saw the lines of a skull creep onto the once human features of Rio’s face.
And again, she did not run or fear.
She saw the woman as beautiful, and her power as worthy.
And though it would be years before they saw each other again, Agatha remained breathless every night – hoping to spot again the same almond eyes that saved her.