Work Text:
her name is Lust
Agatha loved Rio the way fire loves air. Desperate, consuming, certain it would end badly. With Rio, everything burned brighter. The smiles. The fights. The silence afterward. Lust was the only word that made sense for how badly she wanted what she knew she could never keep.
she's fooled the mightiest of men
Rio was never fooled. That was the cruelty of it. Agatha could charm gods and monsters, but Rio always saw her clearly, saw through the jokes and the hunger and the lies Agatha told herself. Being known that completely felt too close to mercy.
nations crumble from within // all it takes is just one sin
The sin had a name. Nicky.
Agatha did not ask for an explanation. Death never gives one. One moment she had a son asleep against her chest. The next she had empty arms and a scream lodged permanently in her throat. The world did not end loudly. It ended quietly, from the inside.
lips red as blood
She tasted Rio’s mouth the night she left. Salt and grief and something final beneath it. Agatha kissed her like an accusation. Like a wound meant to scar.
she'll take your money and she'll run // oh, her beauty is a gun
Agatha ran because staying would have meant killing Death or begging her. She did neither. She chose distance and centuries of bitterness sharp enough to survive. It was easier to turn love into rage than to live beside the one who had taken her child.
no, you can't fall in love with Lust
She carved it into herself as law. Love made her careless. Love made her human. Love gave Death something to take.
-
her name is Pride
Rio Vidal wore many faces, but with Agatha she wore none. To love as Death was to accept being hated for doing what must be done. Pride kept her upright when Agatha’s eyes filled with blame, when grief hardened into something cruel.
she's never wrong and always right
Death does not choose. Death arrives. Rio told herself this when she remembered Nicky’s small hand slipping into hers, the way he went without fear. She told herself she had done nothing wrong. It still hurt anyway.
stares for hours at her might
She watched Agatha survive centuries without her, watched her grow jagged and loud and legendary. Watched her use the Darkhold (t̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶m̶i̶n̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶) to hide herself from Death. Power clung to Agatha like a challenge. Rio didn’t interfere. The Darkhold was Agatha’s punishment and her proof of refusal to rest.
oh, her darkness lies inside
Agatha’s darkness fascinated her. Death understood darkness better than anyone
sharp as a knife
When they met again, Rio kept her voice precise and distant. She was Death, not comfort. Any softness would have been a lie.
never a doubt inside her mind
She did not doubt what she was. She doubted whether Agatha would ever forgive her.
but her ego makes her blind
Pride kept Rio from reaching out first. Death does not beg the living to understand.
no, you can't fall in love with Pride
A̶g̶a̶t̶h̶a̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶.
-
her name is Lust
The Road stripped Agatha down to what she was willing to lose. Power. Control. Time. When Billy stood in front of her, scared and stubborn and alive, she saw Nicky as he might have been. The choice came instantly.
nations crumble from within
(So did she.)
She kissed Rio knowing exactly what it meant. Death’s power burned through her veins, intimate and familiar. Agatha used it the only way she knew how. She turned it inward. Intentional. Final.
no, you can't fall in love with Lust
She smiled as she fell, like she had finally won.
-
her name is Pride
Rio caught up to her. Death always does.
Agatha tasted of grief and relief and something unfinished. Rio hated that Agatha used her power to die. Loved her for choosing to save someone else. That was the cruelty of loving a witch who never did anything halfway.
oh, her darkness lies inside
Rio let her go gently. Let her leave as a ghost.
Not because Agatha deserved it, but because she had always been hers.
no, you can't fall in love with Pride
Death stood alone again, carrying the weight of everyone she had ever loved.
Lust burned itself out.
Pride remained.
And somewhere, beyond blame and time, Rio wondered if this quiet, aching absence was the truest punishment of all.