BabyBee

She willed her thoughts to change, that it wasn't the time for a pity party. She needed to make things right by you. She needed to wrap you in her arms and apologize over and over again for hours on end. She needed to write you endless hand-written poems, poetically intertwining every moment of your lives. She needed you to know that everything she said was the farthest thing from how she truly felt. There is nothing she could possibly do in her mind that could your mangled heart. But she'd do anything to try. She'd sew it back together even if it took her til her last breath.

And with that very need, the fingers that pulsed the purple poison into the life around her, now reversed the direction of the toxins. She watched the magick flow through the tips of her fingers, feeling how her poison affected the life around her. It was painful. It was the very feeling she avoided by lashing out at others, deflecting her emotions onto those she loved, to save herself the heartache.

She knew she had to change. It wasn't fair of her to pass her pain onto the loves of her life just so she didn't have to feel it. It wasn't fair, especially to you. You were like the sun, shining light and providing warmth for everyone except yourself. You never deserved to deal with this side of her, even though she knew you'd do it every time if it meant it would help. It was who you were.

Reeling it all back in, the blackened stems of the azaleas began to fade, the creeping veins of decay receding as if time itself were rewinding. The petals, curled and dry, fell, allowing new buds to blossom. Their vibrant purple hues brightened the garden, returning in soft, glowing waves. The lifeless grass beneath her knees began to green again, the blades rising as if winter was over, allowing spring to give life back to Mother Nature.

Agatha’s breath hitched as she watched the garden come back to life. It wasn’t perfect. The scars of her grief were still visible in the faint discoloration of a few flowers and the uneven patches of grass, but it was healing. And that gave her hope that she could too.

-

Walking up the stairs to the second floor, Agatha's feet felt heavy. All she could feel was fear. Fear to see you, fear of what to say, fear of the ending.

She stood behind the closed door, resting her hand on the doorknob, encouraging herself to open it. She felt like a coward, having said all those nasty words to you, not being able to just go in. She owed it to you. She needed to pack up her pride. She needed to make it better.

Pushing open the door, Agatha’s eyes fell onto your exhausted figure. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. You lay still, your breathing shallow but steady, your face pale against the white sheets. The sight of you hit her like a sack of bricks. She froze in the doorway, her hand gripping the frame for support as her heart began to shatter.

Then her gaze dropped to the sweater you were wearing, and her breath caught in her throat. It was hers. A soft, oversized, knitted sweater in a deep shade of purple, the same as her powers. Seeing you in her sweater, something so intimately hers, made the guilt in her chest twist even tighter. It was as if you had reached for the closest thing to her presence, seeking comfort in the absence of her warmth.

She moved to your bedside on unsteady legs, her footsteps silent against the wooden floor. Slowly, she sank into the reading chair beside the bed, her eyes never leaving your face. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, but the shadows under your eyes and the faint tension in your brow betrayed the trauma you had endured. Agatha reached out, her fingers trembling as they hovered above your hand. She wanted to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin and reassure herself that you were still here, still alive. But she couldn’t. She didn’t deserve to.

Agatha pulled up the sleeves of her royal purple sweater you loved to steal, and the nauseating sight shattered her heart, immediately retreating. The scars on your arms were stark against your skin, raised and angry, a brutal reminder of the pain she had caused not even an hour ago. Despite Rio’s healing, the marks remained, a testament to the unnatural use of her powers. Agatha’s gaze lingered on them, her stomach churning with guilt. She had done this. Her words, her anger, her inability to cope with her own grief had driven you to this. The weight of it crushed her, pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe.

Her gaze drifted back to the sweater, and a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender and something uniquely hers. It was a scent that you had always said reminded you of home. The thought that you had sought solace in something of hers, even after everything she had said, broke her all over again. How could you still want anything to do with her? How could you still find comfort in her presence, even in its absence?

The tears showed no signs of slowing as she clasped her hands together in her lap. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her grief and guilt pouring out in waves. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the edge of the bed, her breath hitching as she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The minutes stretched into an hour as Agatha sat by your side, her eyes never leaving you. She re-memorized every detail of you, the furrow in your eyebrow, the way your lashes fanned against your skin, the faint rise and fall of your chest. She prayed to whatever gods might be listening that you would wake up, that you would give her a chance to make things right. But with every passing moment, her fear grew. What if you didn’t wake up? What if you woke up and couldn’t bear to look at her? What if she had lost you forever?

Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more devastating than the last. She imagined you waking up and recoiling from her touch, your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. She imagined you leaving, walking out of her life for good with Rio in tail.

Oh, and Rio. She didn’t even know where to begin.

Every time she had thought she had moved past the resentment, she'd see the ghost of Nicky staring back at her and feel it all build up again. The thought was unbearable, not having either of you in her life. She clutched the edge of the bed as if it could anchor her to reality.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. Rio watched her for a moment, then pushed off the doorframe where she had been leaning. She crossed the room and knelt beside Agatha, her movements slow and deliberate. “I know you didn’t mean it,” Rio said softly, her voice carrying a weight of understanding that surprised even herself. "But it doesn't make it okay."

Agatha looked up, tears still streaming down her face. Rio reached out, gently wiping the tears away with her thumb. The gesture was so tender, so unlike the hostility Agatha had expected, that it only made her cry harder.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Agatha choked out, her voice raw. “How could she ever forgive me after the things I said? I’m the reason she- and you. I've not been fair to you at all. I know it broke you to do what you had to do, but all I could ever see was him when I look at you and it hurts so-” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, the words catching in her throat.

Rio’s hand lingered on Agatha’s cheek, shushing her as Rio tried to catch her eyes.“She loves you,” Rio said simply. “And so do I. But let's deal with one thing at a time. We both have to focus on her. You have to face this grief you've sheltered for too long. It's not only hurting us, it's hurting you, and it kills her to see you so lost. All she has ever wanted is to see you smile just as bright as you did when Nicky was born. You have to show her that you're open to change.”

Agatha's breath hitched as Rio leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. No one is expecting you to deal with the grief the way she does, or the way I do, but you need to be willing to confront it, and I know from the bottom of my heart she'll be there holding your hand the entire time."

A quiet whimper from the bed shattered the moment.

Your fingers twitched first, then your eyelids fluttered like wounded butterflies trying to take flight. Agatha froze, her entire world narrowing to the slight parting of your lips as you drew a deeper breath. Rio's hand tightened around hers in silent support.

When your eyes finally opened, still glazed with exhaustion but unmistakably aware, Agatha's mouth worked soundlessly. Every apology, every plea, every promise she'd rehearsed while waiting at your bedside dissapeared. Her hands trembled violently where they hovered above yours, afraid to touch yet desperate to connect.

But you knew Agatha, truly knew her, in ways no one else ever had. Maybe Rio could hold her own candle, but not in the same way as you could. It’s who you are. You read people so easily, it’s your own superpower.

Even through your own haze of pain and medication (Rio's magick), you could read the storm in her eyes as clearly as if she were screaming. The sadness that hollowed her cheeks. The shame rounding her shoulders. The regret etched into every tense line of her body. And beneath it all, that raw, terrified fear. It was same look she'd worn when Nicky took his last breath in her arms.

You didn't need words. Had never needed them with her.

With effort that made your fresh scars protest, you lifted your hand. Not halfway, and not hesitantly. You reached all the way across the chasm she feared had become uncrossable, your fingers brushing the tear-streaked curve of her jaw.

Agatha shattered.

She collapsed forward, her face pressing into the hollow of your shoulder as sobs wracked her body. Her hands clutched at the sweater, her sweater, as if it could anchor her. "I'm sorry," she gasped between heaving breaths, the words muffled against your neck. "I didn't mean…I could never…you have to know I didn't -" Each fractured phrase dissolved into another wave of tears.

Rio moved to pull her back, but you shook your head minutely, wrapping your arms around Agatha despite the pain it caused. You cradled her like something precious, your fingers carding through her hair as she wept. "I know," you murmured into her hair. "I've always known."

Agatha's grip tightened, her entire body trembling. "How?" she choked out. "After what I said… after what I did to you…" She didn't deserve the love you always had to give.

You pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of her magic and her grief. "Because I know what grief does," you whispered. "And I know who you really are beneath it." Your eyes met Rio's over Agatha's shaking shoulders, sharing a quiet understanding that spanned lifetimes. "We both do."

Rio's hand came to rest on Agatha's back, completing the circle. For the first time since Nicky's death, perhaps for the first time ever, there were no barriers between them. No magic, no anger, no carefully constructed walls. Just three broken people who had somehow, against all odds, found their way back to each other.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be setbacks and tears and days when the grief felt fresh again. But in this moment, with Agatha's tears soaking through your sweater and Rio's quiet strength anchoring you both, something fragile yet unbreakable took root.

A beginning.

A promise.

You had so many memories of Nicky etched into your heart, moments that glowed like a lighthouse in the violent weather of grief.

The day he first came into your lives, his tiny hands were gripping tightly to your fingers as Agatha held him, and his wide, curious eyes darted around the unfamiliar space in the bedroom of the little cottage you shared.

Rio had been cautious at first. Viewing his birth from the door frame, knowing she was going to be the one who would lead him to the afterlife before he could truly live.

Yes, she created him, but she also knew the possible complications of creating a precious life unnaturally. But when Agatha looked at her, tears brimming in her eyes as she nodded her head, she could see Agatha was thankful for giving her the time he deserved. To Rio, the pain would be worth it.

Anyone could tell Nicholas was made from Rio. The resemblance was uncanny as he grew older. His facial structure mirrored hers perfectly, from his sharp jawline to the delicate angles of his cheekbones. His eyes a warm chocolate, filled with mischief, were identical to hers. Even down to the smile lines that shined so brightly with his perfect smile. He truly was a mirror image.

There were the little everyday moments that had became everything.

Rio kneeling in the backyard, dirt smudged on her cheek as she pressed her hands to the soil, coaxing life from the earth. Nicky crouched beside her, his tiny fingers buried in the dirt, eyes wide with awe as delicate petals bloomed before him. Every time a new bloom appeared, he’d clap his hands and turn to Agatha with Rio's smile.

Then there were the nights Agatha loved most. She would sit on the edge of his bed, her hands glowing with a soft purple light as galaxies lit across his bedroom ceiling. Stars twinkled, planets drifted in slow, mesmerizing orbits, casting his room in a cosmic glow. Nicky’s small hands would reach up, tracing constellations only he could see, his laughter light and full of wonder.

It was all the things Agatha didn't want to remember.

Her shoulders stiffened while she was putting away laundry. “Why?” Agatha asked finally, her voice low and clipped.

You frowned, caught off guard by her tone. Feeling the sudden change in energy, you began to rub your scarred arm, a self-soothing habit you picked up when you began to feel on edge. “Why what?”

“Why do you have to bring him up?” she said, halting the chores. She turned to face you as you stood beside her. Her eyes were trained on yours, unwilling to break eye contact. “Do you think that helps? Reliving every little memory like it’s going to bring him back?”

The words stung, but you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I don’t bring him up to hurt you, Agatha. I just... I miss him. I thought maybe we could talk about the good times, try to focus on—”

“On what?” Agatha snapped, her voice rising. “On how he was never ours to keep him? How we couldn't heal him? On how everything we tried wasn’t enough?” She slammed her hand on the dresser in agitation causing you to jump, eyes-widened as your breath was caught in your throat from surprise. “Because that’s all I see when I think of him.”

Your heart clenched as you watched her unravel, the grief in her voice morphing into anger. “It wasn’t your fault, Agatha,” you said quietly reaching out for her hand. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head as she avoided your touch, crossing her arms defensively. “Of course you’d say that. You always have to be the understanding one, don’t you? Always so composed, so...forgiving”

Her words hit like a slap, but she was being unfair. “You’re not the only one who lost him, Agatha. I lost him too. And Rio—”

“Don’t,” Agatha interrupted, her voice cutting through the room. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”

The tension between you thickened as your shared grief and unresolved pain collided.

“Why not?” you challenged, ready to defend. “She loved him too. We all did. And maybe it’s hard for you to see, but she’s been trying, Agatha. She’s been trying to make things right with you.”

Agatha's lips curling into a bitter smile. “Trying?” she repeated mockingly. “Trying to what? Pretend like everything’s fine? Pretend like she didn’t—”

“Like she didn’t what?” you demanded as you cut her off, beginning to believe she had never truly forgiven Rio. “Say it, Agatha. Whatever it is you’ve been holding in, just say it.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her body trembling with fury. “Like she didn't take him from us. He’s gone, and all you can do is sit there and talk about him like that’s going to fix anything.”

You stared at her, a silent conformation of your theory. "It wasn't her fault and you know it. He was our boy too," you whispered in defeat. You weren't sure if she had even heard you. But her response showed you she did.

"It wasn't her fault?"

But before you could respond, she delivered the blow that shattered your soul.

“He was never your son,” she said, her voice sharp as she looked at you like you were nothing to her. “Not you. Not Rio's. He was my son. I'm the only one that did anything and everything to keep him alive, and here you are defending Rio like you always do,” she spat out with a sneering expression.

The words hit you hard. You felt physically sick. Your breathing was shallow like Agatha's words were constricting your lungs.

“No,” You protested, your voice breaking. Your eyebrows scrunched as your eyes shone with tears, searching Agatha’s face, desperate for any sign that the woman you loved hadn’t truly meant those words. “You don’t mean that."

Agatha’s expression hardened leveling down to look you straight in the eyes. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart,” she seethed, annunciating every word. “God, I can’t even look at you. It's pathetic. You have no right to be crying right now.” Pushing past you, she walked to the door like your very presence disgusted her.

You staggered back a step, clutching the edge of the dresser to steady yourself. Your tears fell freely now.

“Where are you going?” You asked, your voice thick from crying, inadvertently pleading for her to stay.

“Anywhere but here,” Agatha bit without looking back.

With that, she stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the stairs. The back door slammed shut moments later, leaving the house in a suffocating silence.

Letting the dam crumble, you clasped your chest, trying to ease the ache that felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.

Your legs seemed to move on their own, carrying you to the bathroom in a haze.

As you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the reflection staring back at you felt foreign, like someone you barely recognized. You searched your own face for something, anything, that might explain why you weren’t enough. Why Agatha couldn’t bear to look at you.

"How could anyone love you?" that dark, familiar voice in the back of your mind whispered. It had been gone for a while, held back from the unconditional love of the two women you'd do anything for, but it has returned making its mission to demolish all the progress you've made.

You gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. Agatha's words echoed endlessly.

"He was never your son." "Not you. Not Rio. He was mine."

The venom in her voice, the disgust in her eyes—how could she say something like that? How could she not see how much you loved him, how you would've given everything if it meant saving him?

You couldn't wrap your head around it. She couldn't actually think that of you, right?

The intrusive thoughts came in waves, each one dragging you deeper into despair.

"She doesn’t want you anymore. She'd be better off without you. Rio too." You squeezed your eyes shut, as though it could stop the endless spiral.

The thought of Rio did it for you. Rio’s face flickered into your mind. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth, was devoid of any love for you. She's death, literally. She is a cosmic being, and you are so...ordinary. You didn't have a sharp, captivating aura like Agatha who demanded anyone and everyone's attention the second she walks into a room.

Your love wasn't worth all the pain. You weren't worth all the pain. You're a burden to them.

The weight of those thoughts pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You needed both of them. There was already a piece of your heart missing, but Agatha and Rio kept your heart from crumbling. You wouldn't survive that pain again.

You glanced down at the sink, where droplets of water leaked from the faucet. For a moment, you began to visualize your arm as the faucet, slowly leaking blood.

Your gaze shifted back to the mirror. The self-hatred hit you like a tidal wave. How could they love you? Agatha’s words weren’t just anger—they were confirmation of your deepest and darkest fears. They didn't need you the way you needed them.

The familiar ache in your chest morphed into a dangerous mission. You opened the drawer beneath the sink, your trembling hands rummaging through its contents until they found what they were looking for. You hesitated for a moment, pausing as you were unsure if this is what you wanted. You had been so good, so happy. Then you remembered what your reality had shifted to.

It was a little purple jewelry box. It once held the ring on your finger from a day you'd never forget. A vow of a love that would be everlasting. But as you opened the box and found the blade hidden within, none of that mattered anymore.

Freeing it from the packaging, you noticed it still had the same sharpness from the last time you used it, and the glint made your stomach twist in anticipation.

The blade felt cool and familiar in your hand as you slowly sank into the cold, empty tub, the icy surface sending a chill down your spine. You hesitated again, gripping it tightly, the thoughts racing through your mind almost convincing you to stop. But one reason kept you going: you were doing this for them. This way, you could take the burden of yourself off their shoulders. You were doing them a favor.

With a shaky exhale, you glided the blade lightly across the center of your arm, testing the waters. The first cut was a shallow line that only allowed little bubbles of blood to come to the surface, but the sting grounded you nonetheless.

With more urgency, you pressed down harder, carving another line into your skin. Blood welled up, slowly making its way down your arm like raindrops rolling down a window.

Taking a deep breath in, you moved the blade down to your wrist where you knew the blood would really flow. As you exhaled, face scrunched, you swiped quick and deep, finally getting to the point where you knew you did damage.

But it wasn’t enough. You craved balance, symmetry. You mirrored the cuts on your other arm, your movements growing more frantic, wanting your relief to come faster. The tears flowed in rhythm with your blood, causing a hysterical laugh to escape from your throat.

Your vision swam as exhaustion began to set in, your body growing heavy. The pain that had once felt grounding now dulled, your consciousness blurred. It never really dawned on you who would be coming soon.

On cue, a familiar presence filled the room. The usual warmth was now an unwelcoming cold. Her usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide-eyed panic as she took in the scene before her.

“No, no, no, no,” Rio panicked, her voice raw and breaking as she kneeled beside the tub. Her hands were trembling as they hovered over your wounds.

“You can’t do this to me. I won't do it. I refuse to take you,” she cried out in anguish as tears streamed down her face, denying her duty as Death, defying the natural order.

Her hands glowed a faint green as she pressed her palms to your arms. A tingling warmth spread through the cuts, knitting the torn flesh back together. She murmured soft reassurances under her breath, though they were more for herself than they were for you. Her power wasn’t meant for this, for preventing death, but she gave freely to herself, pouring every ounce of her strength into pulling you back from the edge. The strain showed in her creased forehead, but she fought against it because her heart depended on it.

When the bleeding finally stopped, Rio sagged back on her heels, her hands trembling as the adrenaline drained from her body. Her breath came in uneven gasps, her pulse pounding in her ears. She stared at you, her vision blurring with a mixture of relief and pain.

Carefully, as though you might shatter at the slightest touch, she reached out and gathered you into her arms. Your body was limp against her, your head lolling weakly onto her shoulder. She could feel the shallow rise and fall of your chest—too faint, too fragile—but you were breathing. That was enough.

She pressed a trembling kiss against your temple, her lips barely grazing your skin as she carried you from the bathroom. Each step was slow, deliberate, as though she feared moving too quickly would send you slipping away from her again.

By the time she laid you down on the bed, the world around you was a hazy blur, shifting in and out of focus. The weight beneath you felt unfamiliar—softer than the cold tub, warmer than the tile floor. A distant pressure tugged at your limbs, grounding you, but your thoughts drifted in a fog. Sounds came muffled, like you were underwater.

Rio’s voice, low and strained, broke through the haze. You couldn't make out the words, only the shape of them, the warmth in them. Then she was gone, footsteps fading, leaving you adrift in the silence.

A moment later, something soft slipped over your head. The scent of lavender and something faintly smoky curled into your nose, stirring something deep in your chest. A trembling breath left your lips, the familiarity of it pulling you in, dragging you closer to the surface of awareness.

Your lip quivered. A whimper—barely more than a breath—escaped instinctively. The sweater clung to your skin, warm and safe, and for the first time since your body hit the tile, the numbness began to melt.

“What is it?” Rio asked urgently, cupping your face with her hands, searching your face for any signs of pain or discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you whispered, still dazed, “She doesn’t want us anymore.”

Rio froze, her heart dropping at the words and the hopelessness in your voice.

She cupped your face, shushing you as her thumbs brushed away the tears that continued to fall while she forced herself to stay steady her voice, to stay calm. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “Agatha loves you. She loves us. She’s just... hurting.”

You shook your head weakly, your gaze unfocused, lost in the thick fog of exhaustion and heartbreak. "She said it. She said... he wasn't ours, only hers. She doesn't want us.” Your voice cracked, breaking on the last sentence. “She doesn’t want us.” Your words grew softer, fading into incoherent murmurs as exhaustion pulled you under.

Seeing you like this brought bile up. Your pain was making her physically nauseous. Rio’s arms wrapped around you tightly, as though sheer force alone could keep you from slipping away again. “She’s lost in her grief,” she said softly, resting her chin on top of your head. “She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t.”

But your eyes were already fluttering closed, exhaustion and despair pulling you into an empty, restless sleep. As your breathing evened out, Rio stayed by your side, her hand resting on yours.

For a long moment, she simply sat there, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

She wanted to believe Agatha hadn’t meant it, that the words had been spat out in grief and anger, not truth. But seeing you like this—weak, barely conscious, drowning in the pain Agatha had inflicted—made it impossible to excuse.

“She’s lost in her grief. She didn't mean it," Rio murmured again, this time to herself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The argument replayed in Agatha’s mind as she sat on the bench, viewing the garden Rio created centuries ago as the cool night air brushed against her skin. Her fingers pressed against her temple, rubbing slow, desperate circles as if she could knead away the headache forming beneath her skull.

She took a swig from the half-empty beer bottle, the taste flat and useless to distract her from the ache in her chest. Her words had been cruel, sharp-edged daggers thrown in anger. "He was never your son. Not you, not Rio. He was my son." The memory of your devastated expression was seared into her mind.

She’d meant it in the moment. Or at least, she’d convinced herself she did. Grief over Nicky had festered into something raw and ugly, and in her anguish, she had taken it out on you—the person who had only ever tried to love her through her faults. Your love was pure.

While Nicky had inherited little of your features, what you had given him was more personal than any resemblance could ever be. Your ability to love someone regardless of their past and all the terrible things they've done is one of a kind. Agatha was sure there was no one who could ever grace this world the way you did. That was what made you stronger than any power she or Rio could ever possess.

But that purity was suffocating. It was too much like his. It was like he had never left. And yet, he was gone.

That was the worst part. Every time she looked at you, at Rio, it was a reminder of what she had lost. Of what she could never get back.

It wasn’t fair that you and Rio were still here with her when he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that you kept loving her, even after all the ways she pushed you away. It wasn’t fair that you could carry on, bearing his memory with softness, while she was drowning in the weight of it.

Maybe that was why she lashed out. Because she hated that you were proof love could survive grief. And she hated herself even more for resenting you for it.

But now, in the openness of the garden, regret gnawed at her, eating her alive. She wished she could take it back, wished she could go back in time to undo the pain she’d caused. She hated herself for how easily the words had slipped out, sharp and unforgiving. It was a defense second nature to her. It was as unstoppable as her magick siphoning. It relented before she could remember that the people she lashed out at were the ones she loved most.

The sound of the back door slamming and heavy footsteps jolted her from her thoughts.

Agatha shot to her feet, as she carelessly discarded the bottle she had been nursing. She turned sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs as Rio strode toward her. The guilt and sorrow clung to Agatha like a shadow, but Rio wasn’t here to acknowledge her pain. This wasn’t about her.

She didn’t speak at first, only stood before Agatha, her entire body trembling with a rage barely containable as she tried to formulate her words carefully. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, her fists curling so tightly at her sides that her knuckles went white.

Agatha froze. Her gaze flickered around Rio's figure, taking in the rigid set of her shoulders, the barely restrained fury rolling off of her in waves. Then Agatha saw it—dark stains smeared across Rio’s hands, stark against her skin. The realization hit her like ice water.

Blood.

Her stomach twisted violently. She felt the breath hitch in her throat as her gaze snapped back to Rio’s face. The rage was still there, burning bright, but beneath it—buried just deep enough to go unnoticed by anyone else—was fear.

“You know what you’ve caused?” Rio’s voice was low and deadly, trembling with restrained rage.

Agatha swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I—”

Rio cut Agatha off before she could try to explain. “Do you know what Y/N tried to do because of you?” The words were spit through clenched teeth, but her voice cracked on your name.

“What... why-” she stammered. Once again, getting cut off.

“She thought you didn’t want her anymore. That you didn’t want us anymore.” Rio’s composure shattered, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to find the love of our lives bleeding out in our tub? Because of you? Because you let your grief fester into something that poisoned her?”

Rio’s hands trembled as she dragged them through her hair, her breath coming in sharp, angry heaves. Then, suddenly, as if overwhelmed by the weight of it all, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and let out a harsh, shuddering breath.

Agatha couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Her vision swam, your face flashing in her mind—not the way she had last seen it, but in a way that it looked utterly lifeless.

Tears welled in her eyes, her hands trembling as she clutched at the edge of the bench for support. “I... I didn’t know,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Rio dropped her hands, her gaze snapping to Agatha with something close to disbelief. Then she laughed, humorless and bitter. “You didn’t know?” she echoed, voice raw. “How could you not know, Agatha? Don’t give me that pathetic reasoning. You know her more than you know yourself. You know how deeply she feels everything. Love. Pain. And now she thinks you hate her.”

Agatha’s tears spilled over, her chest heaving with the weight of her guilt. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just... I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to-.”

Rio’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, the raw pain in Agatha’s panic stirring something deep within her. But she quickly steeled herself, unwilling to let sympathy distract her from the truth.

"You need to fix this." Her words were quiet, firm, and final.

Agatha blinked through the blur of tears. She hadn't felt this fear since Nicky.

“If you ever loved her, if you ever loved us, then you’ll make this right,” Rio said filled with tiredness and desperation. “Because if you don’t, you’ll lose us both.”

Agatha’s breath hitched.

Rio’s words hung in the air like a heavy, suffocating fog. Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode back inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a thud.

She had been so consumed by her own grief that Agatha hadn’t realized she had become the very thing she feared, the thing that had broken you.

Agatha stood there stunned in silence, her mind reeling. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into the dirt of the garden. Her fingers dug into the soil as though it could somehow anchor her to the ground. The weight of Rio’s words crashed over her like a tidal wave, and for the first time, the full gravity of her actions hit her.

Her guilt twisted like a knife in her gut. Her sobs were quiet at first, but soon they grew louder, wracking her body with the force of her grief. Her pain pulsed around her, a sickness that spread without forgiveness. Her gaze darted around, watching in anguish as the pink azaleas she had once tended with such care now wilted, their petals curling in on themselves as if recoiling from her presence. The energy emanating from her twisted the life around her, black veins creeping up the stems, the poison of her emotions seeping into the earth. Just like she did to you.

It was a silent parallel of how she had poisoned you.

The thought made her sick.

After Agatha is assured Teen is okay, she went to join the others by the campfire where everyone traded stories of the scars they've collected throughout their lives. She situates herself in the available spot to the right of me. Unfortunately, for Agatha of course, she found herself seated next to her former lover.

Jen asks Agatha about her own battle scars. She shares a story about one of her many infamous witch-killing rituals, which earns some laughs. That's when Rio decided to share a story of her own.

"I've got a scar," she admits.

Uh-oh.

"No you don't," Agatha denied without even glancing over at her, continuing to fix her sleeve after showing the others her knitting needle scar. I begin to think that whatever Rio has to say is going to hit a nerve.

"Yes I do. A long time ago, I loved someone," she began her story of the only scar she has, a scar that cannot be physically healed. "And I had to do something I did not want to do, even though it was my job." She was attempting to rationalize the situation to Agatha, wishing hopefully that after centuries of separation, her lover would see the bounds of her nature, her job, the shackles that weigh down her arms. Rio cautiously glances over at her occasionally, trying to read her expression as she finishes, "And it hurt them. She is my scar."

Rio then held eye contact with her, trying to see if she got through to her, even if it was only a little bit. She wanted Agatha to see she had her hands tied. I watched Agatha carefully, as I knew this sensitive topic was going to do no good. Rio and I both see she is trying to avoid eye contact with her, knowing that despite her devoid expressions, her eyes hold all of her emotions. I watch her hands move, almost as if she is unconsciously trying to summon her purple. Agitated, Agatha gets up from her spot as she exhales, "I'm gonna go stretch my legs." She walks off hastily, away from the others. Rio started to move, wanting to go after her, but I shook my head to express to her that it wasn’t a good idea. That she needs the time to cool off. I stood up, lightly squeezing Rio's shoulder to comfort her.

She knew I never blamed her. Rio did everything she could to give him borrowed time. We had accepted Nicky's fate long before he passed, we mourned together, but Agatha refused. She did everything in her power to find a way to keep him alive. Agatha was so lost in her denial, her mission to save our son, to see that there was no other way, to see that Rio didn't have a choice. The aftermath of Nicky's death was even more painful than losing Nicky. I was put into a situation where I had figure out how to handle the split of my partners. Rio made the decision for me. She knew Agatha was going to need me more than ever. But Rio never lost me. In the moments when Agatha rested, I would check up on Rio. Making sure she knew I'd never leave her alone.

I trailed behind Agatha. When we were out of the eyes and ears of the others, we stopped.

As I close the space between us, I turn her around to face me. I reach out to place my hand to her cheek. As I look into her distressed, blue eyes, I see her facade crumble. I quickly pull her into my arms, wrapping her into a familiar comfort she always felt around me. She collapses in my arms as she muffles her sobs into my chest. It physically hurts to see her in this pain. Our bond, so deep, creates a gateway from her heart to mine. I feel her pain, her grief, her torment. I feel the restless resentment she holds towards Rio.

"I will never forgive her," she whispers, her voice trembling under the weight of her pain. Tears streak down her face, paths were made that glisten in the moonlight.

Pulling us apart to hold her face, I wipe her tears from her cheeks, and I whisper back with a heavy heart, "I know." Nose to nose, I go to kiss her softly, hoping to lighten her pain. When our lips meet, I'm hesitant at first, unsure if this was what she needs. She closes the space between us, deepening the kiss. Our kisses are delicate, slow, passionate, as I feel the tides of her emotions rushing in.

“Y/n, you look as stunning as the day I met you. Truly, you age like fine wine,” is the first thing Agatha chooses to say, her cautious expression melting into a sly smile as she stepped forward.

Without sparing her a second glance, Y/n turns on her heel and walks away. “Where the hell am I, and how do I get out? I’m not doing whatever it is you summoned me for,” she states firmly, leaving no room for debate.

"You're on the Witch's Road." Y/n halts in her steps. "There is no leaving," the defiant voice of a young boy calls out.

Y/n chuckles, now annoyed. "The road is imaginary my naive child," she reprimands, turning to make eye contact with him. He's a tall boy, youthful. He exuberates a confident and rebellious aura with his dark curly hair and eye-lined makeup. He's young, and most certainly foolish.

"Then how do you explain where we are? Hm? You cannot deny what is before you, my love," Y/n's former lover explains with a witty smile on her face, stepping closer to her.

"You don't get to call me that," she seethes through her teeth, while rage-filled eyes burn into Agatha's soul, having no effect on Agatha.

"Come on my love, it's been centuries. Why can't bygones be bygones?" Agatha drags out with a sheepish laugh, now closing the distance. She's trying to coax Y/n into shrugging centuries off, to bandage up the gaping wounds in her heart, leaving it to beat in agony. It's like Agatha believes time heals all. They both know it doesn't. She shattered her heart.

Y/n scoffs. She almost can't believe her audacity, but then she remember, it's Agatha. Of course she would expect the woman she'd left broken to erase the raised scars of their history for her benefit.

Shaking her head, Y/n chooses it's best to not let her have any of her energy. Turning her attention to the group, who had been staring at them with a mix of curiosity and caution, she chooses to introduce herself. “Hi, I’m Y/n. Can someone explain why I’ve been dragged onto the road?” she mockingly questions, rolling her eyes.

The woman with a fiery punk appearance speaks out in response, "We needed a green witch." Her presence stands out from the others. She's bold, charismatic, yet reserved. Her strong features and clothing stand out almost like an armor of protection. Her wild and messy, black hair has streaks of vibrant orange that match the edgy outfit she adorns.

Y/n glances briefly at Agatha and lets out a humorless chuckle. “Okay, if that's what you want to call me,” she replies, indifferent, before walking down the road, further leaving the group puzzled.

...

After time passes, everyone makes the collective decision to set up camp and rest for the night. The bright and warm fire casts a soft hue that illuminates everyone as they surround the flames. Wanting to be as far away from Agatha as possible, Y/n deliberately chooses to sit across from her, the flames acting as a partial barrier between them.

In her spot, Y/n notices the particularly intriguing witch sitting next to her, the one who was first to address her. She glances over at Y/n and introduces herself. "My name is Alice. In case you were wondering," she adds to her introduction, hurriedly, still unsure about Y/n's intentions and role in the group. Y/n hums in response, moving her gaze to focus on Alice, encouraging her to continue.

She takes the sign and begins to open up a little. "I never wanted to believe any of this, you know?" she starts, her eyes staring into the fire. "The generational curses. The Witch's Road. I thought it was all just stories my mom made up before she died. I thought she was just...unwell."

Y/n sighs, exhaustion lacing her voice. "I don't know what this is, but the road isn't real."

Alice frowned, disbelief evident in her expression. “How can you say that when we’re here? You weren’t here for the trials, maybe that’s why you think that, but this road is very real. Teen almost died. Mrs. Davis did die.”

Y/n ignores her question, her gaze distant, and doesn't say anything. Alice sighs, giving up on the short-lived conversation. Until, out of nowhere, she start to explain her past, not looking at her. "A long, long, time ago, when Agatha and I were just girls, we were a part of the same coven. We weren't the same as the others. We possessed powers they couldn't fathom. Naturally, they wanted us dead. They tried to kill us because they were scared of the things they couldn't comprehend, the things they knew they'd stand no chance against if we were to betray them. Agatha and I escaped of course, but we were alone. We only had each other. And yet, she left me," she ended, never really ever had processed her grief. She wiped away a stray tear that threatened to roll down her face.

Alice could tell there was a lot more to the story, but she doesn't push. Instead, she tries to sympathize, "Wow, that's-"

Y/n cut her off before she can say anything else, "I don't believe this is the road because I don't trust Agatha."

Alice bites her lip, trying to think of what to say. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing. "I can't imagine how scared you must've been. No one should have to go through that," she says cautiously, leaning closer to Y/n. She reaches her hand out slowly and lays her hand over Y/n's hand, causing her to look at Alice. Her eyes and smile hold sympathy. "You don't have to be alone anymore." Her comfort was warmer than the fire than cracked before the both of them, sending smoke and sparks of the fire through the air. Much like the anger burning in Agatha's mind.

"When you've been alone for so long, it's-"

"Hard to rely on other people?" Its her turn to cut Y/n off. "I know," giving her a half-smile.

She smiles the same back to Alice. The warmth in her words comforting and real. In that small moment, the chains around Y/n's heart loosed for the first time in centuries. It seems like its been forever since she'd been treated so softly, and with genuine care.

Inside, Agatha was seething. You could almost see the smoke steaming out of her ears like a cartoon character. It was the first time she has seen her only love face to face in ages, and here she was, being wooed by someone else. She would never tell Y/n, but she has always make sure she was safe. She was always there to protect her in the shadows. She wished nothing more than to march over and push Alice away from Y/n, letting her know she is hers and always would be. Agatha was beginning to think that's what she had to do. She can't lose her again, not to someone else. Agatha knew Y/n deserves to be with someone far better than her, someone like Alice. That was the entire purpose to why she had to leave her. But the thought of her falling in love with someone else, tore deep into her soul like it was nothing. Watching Alice move closer to her love, and Y/n reciprocating her affection, made her physically sick. She had to do something.

"Maybe its best if you all leave Y/n to rest. Being summoned sure does take a lot out of ya, doesn't it hun?" Agatha fakely humors with a smile, attempting to separate Y/n from Alice in the most discreet manner as possible. The last thing she needed was for Y/n to hate her from ending the witch who was flirting with her. Nevertheless, that plan backfired immediately.

Alice raised an eyebrow in her spot, unbothered. "I think Y/n can make that decision on her own," Alice retaliates, her hand never leaving Y/n's, smirking. She can see right through Agatha's blatant attempt to separate them. She knows what Agatha's trying to do.

"Oh, is that so?" she feigns surprise, holding her hand over her heart. "Cause I'm sure you know her a lot better than I do from this knockoff game of 7 minutes in heaven. " Agatha condescendingly riles up the easily tempered witch, both of them standing now.

"Agatha, you need to calm down. You have no right to be acting this way," Y/n intervenes, shooting daggers at Agatha as she stands up as well. Agatha's angry and pissed, never a good combo in that one. Y/n know how this will go if it continues to escalate. Agatha has always been protective over her, possessive even. Its why is was so much harder to understand why she left to begin with. It never made sense.

Looking over at Alice, Y/n notices her hand start to glow in a closed fist, restraining her will to blast Agatha, knowing what will happen if she does. Y/n takes Alice's hand into her own, trying to calm her down, but this pushes Agatha over the edge.

"Get your filthy hands off her you hag!" Agatha snarls walking over to the two of them, ready to get her hands dirty. Before she can even think about her next move, Y/n blocks her from reaching Alice. She grabs a hold of Agatha's arm as she drags her away from the group, her grip firm and tight around the jealous witch's arm. The others sat silently by the fire, exchanging cautious glances, but unwilling to intervene. Alice, though defiant earlier, held back, crossing her arms, sensing that this confrontation was long overdue.

Y/n didn’t stop until they were far away enough that the only sound was the rustling of leaves, and the faint crackle of the campfire in the distance. Finally, she released Agatha, forcefully pushing her away as if she was disgusted by Agatha's touch, turning to face her with an expression caught between fury and hurt.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/n demanded, her voice trembling with barely contained frustration and confusion. “You have absolutely no right to talk to Alice or me like that. You’re the one who left me, remember? Whatever I do now and whoever I choose to do it with, is none of your business.”

Agatha grimaced at her harsh words, but her expression quickly hardened. “None of my business?” she shot back, her voice rising. “Do you think it was easy? To hurt you terribly? Trust me when I say it was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. You have no idea what it did to me to walk away from you.”

"What are you talking about? Protect me from what? Explain to me what was so serious that you chose to abandon me."

Agatha faltered, her defiance wavering. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to find the words.

"Answer me, Agatha. Or I swear, you will never see me again," Y/n said, dead serious.

Agatha’s gaze dropped to the ground. For a moment, it seemed as though she might retreat into her usual wall of protection. But then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached Y/n’s ears, she answered her. “Myself,” she admitted, her voice unsteady.

"Yourself? You've got to be kidding me. What kind of excuse is that? Is that some kind of joke? You think you can come up with excuses that will change all the pain and suffering, the abandonment?" Y/n was fuming. She couldn't believe the situation she was in.

“I was protecting you from myself,” Agatha said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, voice now unwavering. “You don’t understand Y/n. That power was intensifying the darkness inside me, You always saw the best in me, but I knew what I was capable of, what I am capable of. And I couldn’t bear the thought of that darkness corrupting you, of hurting you.”

Y/n stared at her, the weight of her confession sinking in. “You left because you thought you’d hurt me?” she asked, her tone disbelieving.

Agatha nodded, her composure fracturing. “I thought if I stayed, I’d ruin you. When I obtained the dark hold, everything changed. I no longer had control over myself. I was consumed by the power. And I couldn’t live with myself if I were to hurt you. So I left… I left to keep you safe.”

"You don’t get to make that decision for me, Agatha. You don’t get to decide what I can and can't handle. Do you know how long I waited for you to come back? How long I wondered what I did wrong? I needed you Agatha! I still do. But instead, you left me to suffer alone. You did hurt me.”

"I know, I know. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought you'd be better without me," Agatha said regretfully, grabbing onto Y/n's arm in solace. "I see now I made the wrong decision."

Y/n back away from Agatha's touch. "That means nothing. That doesn't fix anything. And just then, you were acting like you can take claim over me?"

“I never stopped loving you,” Agatha blurted, desperation bleeding into her words. “Not for one second.”

Y/n froze, the rawness of her confession slicing through the layers of anger and pain. “That doesn’t change what you did,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t erase the centuries I spent trying to heal the wounds you left behind.”

Agatha took a hesitant step closer, her hand reaching out but stopping short of touching Y/n. “I know, and I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it,” she acknowledges. “I just need you to give me another chance, to give us another chance, to end this heartbreak I've brought upon us,” she pleads, borderline shaking

Y/n takes time to respond, mouth open, trying to muster the words she needed to say. “I...I d-don't know if," she stutters, but her voice is silenced by the connection of Agatha lips onto hers. Agatha’s hands find Y/n’s waist, urgently pulling her into her arms. Y/n melts into her immediately, her mind racing with memories and unresolved emotions. The heat of the kiss spreads through her veins, the walls she’s built begin to crumble. Her hands grasping at Agatha’s shoulders as if anchoring herself to the moment, to her.

The kiss deepens, and time seems to collapse around them. It’s been centuries—centuries of separation, regret, and longing—and yet, none of it matters anymore. The world around them fades away, leaving only the warmth of Agatha’s lips and the electricity sparking between them. Agatha’s fingers trace the curve of Y/n’s back, igniting sensations long buried. Y/n’s hands slip from Agatha’s shoulders to cup her face, the touch tender yet desperate.

When they finally break apart, their foreheads rest against each other’s, their labored breathing mingles in the cool air of the night. Agatha’s thumb brushes gently against Y/n’s cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. Y/n’s eyes flutter open, meeting Agatha’s gaze—a mixture of vulnerability, remorse, and unyielding love. Agatha holds onto Y/n face delicately, searching hopefully into her eyes. Y/n's eyes water, grasping her hands lightly onto Agatha's wrists as she bites her trembling red-kissed lip. It takes her a bit to form a decision, trying to decide if she could fully trust her again. "Okay," she says, her lip quirking into a small, vulnerable smile. The word lingering in the air.

Agatha’s breath hitches, her wide eyes brimming with disbelief. "Really? Are you sure? I know I made the wrong choices, but I will spend every second of the rest of my existence I have to fix the damage I've cause. I will give you the love you've always deserved, my love," she vows. For the first time in centuries, Agatha looked vulnerable—her mask of confidence shattered, leaving only raw emotion behind.

"I'm sure. As much as I tried to hate you for leaving me, I never could. I've loved you for centuries, and I'll love you for centuries more." Her voice softens, but the conviction in her words is unmistakable.

Agatha lets out a shaky laugh of relief, and without another word, she pulls Y/n into her arms. They hold each other tightly, as though trying to make up for the centuries of separation in this single embrace. The weight of the past doesn’t vanish, but for the first time in a long time, the future feels possible.

Their forms are cast under the moonlight, a glow bathing them as they stand intertwined in each other’s arms. The world around them seems to fade away, leaving only the sound of their breaths and the steady rhythm of their hearts. The love between them begins to grow stronger with each passing second.

The moonlight reflects in their eyes as they pull back just enough to share a small, soft smile. Agatha presses a gentle kiss to Y/n’s forehead, a silent promise of devotion, while Y/n rests her head against Agatha’s shoulder, finally allowing herself to relax in her embrace.