Gremlin. 😘

“Uh well, thanks for all your hard work. Uh, well…We cannot in good conscience continue filming, so we are officially stopping,” Matt told the production team, Matt stood there with his group. Quinn, Sal, Maya, and Tyler, all there as if it were the last supper or something. As you and the filming crew were supposed to watch like lost shepherds. The cops and detectives were all at the sidelines, waiting for someone to move out of place. To confess to being a serial killer maybe?

Your laugh broke through the crowd like a whip. A single manic noise in a frightful lot in Hollywood. You don’t see Maya smirk on stage. 

How many dead actors until a studio takes the hint and shuts the production down?

Three, it turned out, actually.

The FBI agent Vidal’s eyes were narrowed on you as you laughed inappropriately. She was sure you were guilty, which was comical, really. 

But then you weren’t being completely honest with Agent Vidal. You hadn’t mentioned the interesting communication you’d been having, the strange fucking phone calls, the gifts, what happened last night…

But you were desperate. 

You’d needed this movie, okay, half-truth.

Yes, you wanted to do this horror movie, and your career was in crisis. 

But it was deeper than that.

Sicker, if you were telling the truth.

The killer with the mask was on a rampage, but he was killing…bad people. 

People who were cruel to you on set. 

First was a casting director who implied you should blow him for the part.

Poor Mark was stabbed through both eyes with his member cut off. He’d been with the studio since the 70s. (And instantly replaced without a thought, but that’s LA for you).

The next day you got a letter with a single black rose.

Apologizing for the hideous remarks and saying that this admirer would never be so crass. That they would make love to you slowly. 

You didn’t tell the police, unsure why. Something felt wildly too revealing. You’d have to explain and - you didn’t want to.

Instead, you ate the story and placed the flower in a vase. 

Then, the excuses tacked ontop of each other. You stuck to your complicity. once the murder had passed, and the press got more excited for the film. You didn’t want to get into trouble for withholding evidence. 

The next week of filming, everyone was on edge, some even implying it was a stunt from the studio to boost marketing sales.

Then the next victim. The second was a costume artist who implied you’d been too fat to fit into the negligee for the opening running scene.

His fingers were found, and they were able to identify his body in a bad part of town, skinned like someone was partial to wearing him. Stabbing to his major arteries, slow bleed out.

At that point, rumor had spread that you might be behind it.

Cops watched you closely.  

A tail everywhere you’ve gone. 

That's when you’d gotten the first phone call.

“You liked my rose.” The voice asked, and you inhaled sharply. Not a person you recognized. You should hang up. You should call 911. You should at least lock your doors. Instead, you spun to look at the rose, and answered back like you were some stupid final girl in this horror movie;

“I’ve never been given a flower before.” You say too honestly.

“Not even for your school performances?” The voice was shrill, through some kind of voice jumbler.

Giving you the reality that you knew this person. Not recognized, but they were concerned enough to go to this length. Could it be someone on set playing a trick? No, how would they know about the rose unless it was the killer. 

Why were you impressed they’d gone to all this trouble? You were fucked up.

They were guilty, that this was wrong. 

“I should call the police.” You tried to reason with yourself more then the killer, but gripped your phone tighter.

The sinister answer was fast, not liking you pussying out. 

“No, no, no, not a good idea.” They threatened.

“What exactly is the endgame here?” You said, contemplating if you should try your pager. Page the studio or Agent Vidal, her card still on your kitchen table. 

“You.”

The phone line cracked, you feel cold sweat roll down your back. 

You don’t know how to answer that; they can’t be serious.

“That’s not very funny,” you reason back, and whatever voice scrambler did a little sadistic laugh. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like scary movies?” The voice sounded masculine, but something about this felt too smart; you imagined a woman. 

You move the landline phone away from your mouth for a minute, rubbing your lips together, trying to think of a way to not incriminate yourself. 

What if you gave the killer the wrong answer? What if you lied? What if you didn’t turn them in?

You bite your lip, but bring the bottom of the phone back to answer;

“Of course I do.” It would be dumb to lie as the person enrolled in the lead of a horror movie contract, and a franchise no less.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” The voice asks, seeming to be enjoying themselves. 

“Why? Do you want a date night?” You snark back, and the laugh on the end sends your hair on edge. 

“I would love date night, but you’d have to follow the rules. And big stars like you, I’m afraid the femme fatale type doesn’t listen to rules. But would you, for me? In my spooky, scary mask, with my long knife, could you be a good girl for me?” The voice asks, and you hated how your breathing was coming out on the phone now. 

“I think I should hang up now.” You say, but the uncertainty is clear. And the killer just laughs again. 

“Don’t be boring, I know you're not boring. Don’t start now, tell me - would you behave for me? Would you lick the mask? Would you bend over in those black cute panties with your ass cheeks peaking out, and let me spank you? Or is that too vanilla- too girly for a woman of your needs?” The voice hits you right at your core, fuck this.

You look down, how could they see you were wearing your black panties? Were they inside the house? You look over at your kitchen window. Moving to pull the blinds down-

“Don’t, you’ll make me so sad.” The killer says.

You know what they do when they’re mad, you hate to see them sad.

You stood still staring out into the night, no lights to be see . Just pitch black outside your window.

“I knew you’d want to play. You’re just as bad as me.” You hear from the speaker, you're holding the phone like it’s a lifeline.

You still don’t hang up. You need to hang up. 

“I don’t want to play anymore.” You answer slowly, but you both know it’s a lie.

“Oh come on now, if you don’t play, you can’t win.” The caller tries to entice you.

“What could I possibly win that I’d want?” You snarl back but you already know.

“I’ve already given so many fun gifts, don’t you doubt me now. Not when you see how much I can make happen.” The threat gives you insight.

You're suddenly freezing cold in your hoodie and black panties, in your kitchen, waiting to die, waiting to be stabbed. 

You imagine the knife penetrating your skin, then the image bounces in your mind where your bleeding out with the phone in your hand and a knife in your chest. 

The image leaves, and the adrenaline washing through you is both alluring and horrifying. 

“Aren’t you a bit curious who I am?” They taunt and it’s killing you, you have to know. 

So much of your life you felt forgotten, looked over, ignored. Why else would you choose acting? To finally be seen.

But here was your secret admirer, your very first one. And they’d do anything for you…Perhaps that was so worth the gamble with your life. 

Your fingers grip the landline so hard your white knuckling it. 

“You’re not some sicko assistant tech or something, you work higher up.” You string it together and hear a hum through the speakers. They liked that.

“They’re my girl.” The caller says the praise, and it rocks your whole being. Why are you so fucked?

“You work at the studio.” You repeat it, like you can’t believe your actually getting somewhere. Suck it Agent Vidal, how far had she made it in the case? Fuck her perfect smile and sexy boobs, you were an actress making better headway then her. 

“You already said that kitten.”

“I’m not your kitten, I’m not your girl, now tell me who the fuck you are?” You spit out, taking a step closer to the window, hoping they can see you now.

“Oooh, look at you. I knew you had guts, knew it before the silly director saw you. Knew it before the studio got word of you. But seeing you here in your little panties mean mugging me, well this really gets me going.” The caller said excited, and you got a gross idea. 

“Fuck please don’t be Matt or Sal, I’ll never be able to unimagine that. Sal already gives me the creeps.” You feel like you might throw up, another laugh on the line. 

“No, remember I have power, real power, not a simpleton. Pay attention, or I’ll have to make this more painful.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

“Is that what your going to do, hurt me?” You swallow drly, and you can see your reflection in the window. 

There’s a pause.

“Do you fear that, it doesn’t sound like you do. How cute. Is that what you want, pain? Would that make you quiver?” The voice jumbler can’t hide how the killers voice deepens. You’ve made them aroused. 

You twist around you, grabbing the cord of the phone like it might save you. You rock back on your heels, ready to turn away.

“You aren’t even here, I’m not-I’m not going to dirty talk on the phone-to-to a murderer! I’m not flirting some sex game-” 

“Isn’t it though?” The ask hits you in the chest, your heart pounds. 

“I’m hanging up.” You sound less and less sure, and the psycho on the other end knows it. 

“No your not, you’re mine. We both knew that before you even answered the phone.” The caller says and you bite your lip so hard it bleeds. 

Neither of you say a word. 

You scrunch your toes and stare into the night imagining what they might look like. 

“Pull your underwear down.” 

It wasn’t a question. The killer was telling you, in the middle of the night, in front of the window.

You slowly raise your left hand, your thumb playing with the elastic, a bit of your pubic hair peaking out. 

That was the first time. 

The first of many, so many calls, so much touching. So many things you swore you’d enver do. 

Your pulled back into the present day as FBI Agent Vidal walks in front of Matt now, and she’s eyeing you more than the crowd. 

The third victim had been found, Sal. He’d evidently made a remark about you needing to do more ‘nude work.’ They’d taken his body off of the Hollywood sign, guess he finally got instead of gave some of the ‘D,’ he was so found of talking about. 

You’d stared at the photo’s this morning, the stab wounds were consistent. 

Your admirer was dramatic if not reliable. 

You never should have mentioned Sal, had you wanted this?

“If you have any information, please come forward. If you are hiding something or aiding in this killer in any way-” Vidal’s trying to make you feel the heat. But you disasociate as her lips move. Unaware of the head of marketing watching you just as closely. Her blue eyes remembering what you looked like bent over naked, screaming and moaning as you were inscructed where to put the closepins. As you ruined yourself for a masked crazed lunatic…..with a knife.

Agent Vidal tried to say something about how if everyone co-operates this will all be over soon. 

They were all wrong. It won’t stop it. 

Your lover won’t stop until she’s satisfied, and they weren’t smart enough to catch them.

You were biased of course….

But then…..after last night, you don’t know if you want this ever to end. 

Fuck you don’t know anything after last night….

Everything had changed;

You’d been waiting by the phone, only no call. 

Everynight they called, every single night. 

So you waited by the tv, it quietly playing a slasher film. You were already, your panties on and nothing else. 

Something must have been broken inside of you, that you didn’t care about anything else anymore. Not acting, not the studio worrying about this stupid film. 

Your mind was consumed.

You stared at your corded phone like it was the only thing that could save you. 

You were past hating yourself for craving their attention. Past being embarrassed while you defiled yourself for their enjoyment. 

Something about the carnage, all that murder in your name…. delighted you. 

The clock ticked on the wall. 

The phone didn’t ring. 

You waited. 

You would learn in the morning why your admirer was so late. Traffic from the Hollywood Sign wasn’t easy at any time of night. 

You tried so hard to stay awake, but your eyes got heavy staring at that phone. Sleep stole you before your killer could ring. 

You woke up with a start, grabbing the phone to answer it, only to have dreamt it run in the first place. 

The dial tone was practically taunting you. 

“Hello? Hello?” You said to the phone lines to no one. But still the dial tone run like a bad dream. 

You put it down and groan, attempting to wipe the sleep from your eyes. This would be the first night of not hearing a word from the killer. 

Your monster. 

You decide to go to bed, no use enjoying the feeling of being stood up. 

Yawning and half asleep already, you carry your exhaustion out of the living room, towards the hall with your bedroom. 

You don’t get that feeling that happens in horror movies, where something is off. Don’t notice a change in your surroundings. 

You walk into your bedroom, confused why all the blankets are gone, the candles lit, rose petals on the ground. 

You spin on your heel and run towards the front door, only to see a figure step out. 

The mask was nightmare fuel, simple, yet the deep black eyes gave you nothing. 

No idea what emotion was held. Long mouth something akin to a psychotic childs drawing. A halloween mask, the terrifying figure was taller than you. Wearing a black robe and boots. 

They pulled from behind their back a long black knife, you stepped back. 

This is the part where you run. 

You watched as your intruder didn’t step forward, didn’t lunge, didn’t cut you up. 

You took a shaky breath opening your mouth to say something, anything. 

You’d asked for date night, it seemed your admirer had delivered. 

You tried to calm yourself but your heart was pounding in your ears and you were somewhere between excited and mortified. 

The killer tilted their head to the side, like a dog who is trying to understand a command. 

“You-You came.” You say lamely and instantly wish you’d been more creative. 

Your intruder tilted their head back, walked forward slowly, knife raised to the side, you walked backwards. 

Unsure why you weren’t picking up speed, weren’t screaming bloody murder. 

But you walk all the way back to your bedroom, with it’s flicker candlelight, the rosepedals are softer then kittens cheeks under your feet. 

Your butt hits the end of your bed and you almost stumble but manage to catch yourself. 

The masked assailant walks the distance until they’re body bumps against yours.

You’re sure it’s a woman now, her chest presses against yours, up close like that - you can smell expensive perfume and something….salty? No what was that? It was…Coppper, it was…blood?

They lunge forward and you stay still as your killer stabs your bed with the nine inch blade.

You jump but don’t run, the gloved hand grabs your throat, and it’s wet - bloody. 

You don’t move an inch, terrified it’s about to be the end, terrified you’ll wake up and this will be another hot dream. 

But as the masked killer’s bloody hands moves down your neck, smearing the sticky substance down your throat, down down - she pushes down your underwear. 

You must look like some sort of bad fingerpainting, but the message was clear. 

You were staying still, silent, as your admirer marked you. 

She grabbed the end of your top and ripped it through the middle, you gulped and she watched the way your red coated throat bobbed. 

Her greedy hands pushed the fucked fabric until your breasts were hers to play with. 

The black gloves cupping them, pinching and twisting, making you try your best not to moan. 

The masked head tilts, like she’s learning you, learning how to play your body. 

You bite your lip trying not to make noise, not to lose it, but as your nipples were now crimson and her hands roamed freeling down your rib cage, you thought this might be the most alive you have ever felt. 

On the verge of death. 

You try not to yelp when the voice scrambler finally makes it’s appearance again, and the masked individual sounds just like the phone calls. 

“I thought you wanted date night?” It says dripping with charm. 

You are too scared to laugh, but too horny to scream, of course now’s the time she makes a joke. 

“Take off the mask, I want to see you.” You say with more confidence than you thought possible. 

Your hand reaches out and she pulls back. 

“I thought you liked the mask? Kitty doesn’t like my games anymore?” Your bloody killer is so flirty you are already dripping wet and somehow covered in someones blood. Who’s you don’t question, too busy with your tits out, nipples hard as diamonds. 

“You wanted me, you have me. I think I’ve proven I’m not going to the cops, please?” Your voice cracks at the end, your killers thumbs go back to your nipples. As if she’s mesmerized by you, now you feel powerful. 

Her gloved fingers pinch your nipples painfully and your knees buckle just a bit, but your masked woman won’t let you fall yet. 

Even through the voice machine, you hear her anger.

“I’m not scared of your horny Agent Vidal, she couldn’t make you cum. Not like I have. And you know better to play with dead things. She will get got on her own time.” The masked killer gave you the clue, a little treat. What was that phrasing? Who else said things like ‘get got?’ 

“You’d kill her, just to-”

Her mask comes impossibly closer to you, and your eyes widen at just how intimidating she is. 

“I’ve killed so many more, for so much less. You have a way about you, my little muse.” 

You can practically hear her smiling. 

You could unpack that later, you’re too selfish you have to ask;

“I want to-” You start but stop, feeling stupid. 

“Do it.” Your lover says so strong it fills you with something. 

You lift your face  up, heavy brath, hesitant, afraid she would deny you like past lovers.

But your staring into the black holes of a dark mask. Souless, empty, and unyielding. 

You’ve never felt more alight. Every nerve ending on fire. 

You place a kiss on the white plastic jaw, once. 

The moan you hear is both from the voice changer, and in her chest. 

It gives you a head high. 

The blood starts to dry on your skin, you are baptised.

You kiss down the jaw once, twice, then you feel bold. 

You let your tongue lick the black fabric, and feel a hard wet muscle through the fabric lick back. 

You both moan now.

Adam and God’s first touch.

Two wet tongues ready to devour each other whole, with that thin barrier.

You’re fucked. 

The bloody glove grabs the back of your head, your hair fisted, you scalp burns. 

You whine, missing the wet tongue more than oxygen.

“You didn’t say you liked the room, easy kitten. All in good time. But you promised me you’d ride me. I think it’s time you make good on that, don’t you think?” She tells you, and you look down to her crotch and she laughs. 

“Uh uh, turn around my little star. I have something thicker for you to ride.” Your masked terror tells you, spinning you with the foce of her grip. 

You see the knife, jet black blade, sticking out of your mattress. 

You shudder, a full body reaction. 

“Go on superstar, show me.”

Change was never a friend of yours, but you also had a tendency to leave before you found any sort of comfort in a place, or it’s people. 

At the age of 210 you thought of Sylvia Plath’s quote as you drove through New Jersey. 

You didn’t mean to stay in New Jersey, you unlike Agatha, didn’t go in search of the hex, the Scarlet Witch, or any kind of prize. 

You were simply running away from yourself. 

And the shitty thing is, after you rented the room/apartment/studio. After you bought the first potted plant for the window. Some time between the stage you get acquainted with the best take out food, a startling yet consistently unwanted realization hits you square in the chest. 

You ran away from yourself and you took yourself with you. 

Not just some shitty self help quote, no it was true. 

You could wear a new name, a new fake ID. A different job, a state with a welcome sign may flash before your eyes as you drive by. 

But the truth was the same no matter where you went. 

Your trauma, demons, the past you wished to forget with all it’s people in the shadowy shapes of monsters to you, it was too deep to run from.

It lingered under your fingernails, and it didn’t matter if you cut them, or scrubbed. 

They found you. 

You could run away, and reinvent yourself as many times as you wanted. 

You were still there. 

And that was fucking awful. 

So it was the year 2021, you still, like a madwoman, were trying to run away. 

You hadn’t meant to fall into the hex. 

It wasn’t even a trap meant for you, a spell created for your kind of witchcraft.

But as you stopped in New Jersey at a little gas station off the freeway, in a town you didn’t care about. 

A red vibrated all around you, and the people screamed. 

(You knew Wanda didn’t know this, but she should). 

The people screamed as their minds fell, and the 1950’s warped the town.

Cars changed to black and white classic’s with their white wall tires. 

Parents screamed as they ran towards their children, but the red hex cast took them before they could think to save their little ones. 

You braced for impact, unsure what it was. 

When you looked down to see yourself in a 50’s dress you laughed, in your hand the gas pump that was there was now a magazine on how to ‘Attract Mr. Right’ which was hilarious. 

Your skin was grey, and you looked over to the movie theater to see it was now showing ‘All About Eve’ and ‘Vertigo.’

Not a bad choice for films, but not 2021 movies that’s for sure. 

As you studied the towns people it was like a strange fever dream, their smiles plastered on and they walked with determination for where they were going, yet their eyes looked vacant and troubled. 

“Okay dokey.” You reached forward to your now 50’s car, only for it to not open. 

Right, this was interesting. 

It took four days for you to figure out.

But for the first time in a century, you weren’t going to be able to run. The border of red sizzling magic was toxic and strong. It crackled like the static of an old TV. 

You felt the magic emulating from one house, and you were not going there, not until you had more information. 

What you hadn’t expected, as you found a vacant house four doors down was a third witch. 

‘Miss Agnes the Nosey Neighbor’ as you could tell the type cast was working for this sitcom. Wanda and Agnes walked around like they’d practiced their script together. 

And you morphed your clothes into more…of a greaser look. But it just flipped back to that of a domesticated Lucile Ball. It took a minute to get your magic to work in the space, and it was wonky to say the least. Nothing came out the way it was supposed to, and you wondered if Wanda could feel you changing her enchantments. 

You had avoided both witches until the fifth day. 

“Hya Hon! Agnes' voice broke your stride, you were about to go to the grocery store, as you’d been unable to conjure food in this strange warped hex. And you’d been living off of corn flakes and glasses of milk from the milkman.  

“Hi,” You tried to pretend, but you hadn’t been social in so long, much longer than this complex 50’s nightmare. 

“You live a few doors down,”

“Yup!” You smiled fake, and Agnes head tilted a tad to the side, and you could tell she knew something was off. 

“Come over for a glass of lemonade! Or I make a mean Martini! Don’t tell Ralph I drink before noon! Or he’ll join in!” Agnes tone was so very plastic, and you wondered what the fuck she was even talking about. 

You were gonna have to try harder, you took a big breath and matched her voice now. 

“Ya know, I have some crossstitch that I just can not tare myself away from! My cutie patootie just loves my throw pillows! Maybe another time dear!” You fake it and you actually think it sounds pretty good but Agnes turns to look over her shoulder to make sure Wanda isn’t around.

She reaches out quickly with purple coming out of her fingertips and you step back and slap her hand away. 

“The hell are you tryin to do lady!” You yell, breaking your fake facade,  and Agnes laughs now but looks both ways to the side of the street before grabbing you and you teleport to her home.

At least you think it’s her home, it’s dingey and your gaze is quick to see runes glowing purple. 

“Fuck.” You snarl and turn quickly in circles to see where she went. 

“Smart witch, but not a great actress sweetheart.” Agnes says and you try to find an exit. 

“Come out here and fight me, don’t play with your food bitch.” You snarl and a witch cackles from all around the room making it impossible for you to tell where she is. 

“Not very 50’s talk honey. Besides, you are pretty cute, perhaps I’ll play with you and then gobble you all up. Wanda doesn’t even know you are here.” Her voice echoes like a villain on a movie. 

“Great, let’s get it over with then.” You turn just in time for Agnes to step out, only she looks very different now. Her hair more frayed, her fingers black, a purple sweater with a broach. She looks much more like a witch now. 

But you stop and really take her in, she’s gorgeous.

Fucking stunning from head to toe.  

“Aren’t you sweet.”

“You don’t need to read my mind, it’s rude, if you want to kill me let’s fight. But I don’t need all this foreplay.” You step back as she matches you and steps forward. 

“You don’t like foreplay baby?”

“I’m not your baby, you don’t know me.”

“Do you know me, do you know who’s basement you are in?” Agatha cuts you off wondering what she’s messing with, if you know. 

“Your aura is from Salem with trial days…your fingers only turn that shade after fun with a particular sort of dark magic. The broach, the purple, I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and say Agatha Harkness, seeing as you are the last witch sighted with the book of the damned.” You step back again and Agatha steps forward. 

Like you two are dancing to a song you can’t hear.

“Smart little witch indeed.” Agatha’s eyes flash purple every now and then to float in and out of your mind, though she isn’t creating any illusions which throws you off a bit. 

“Thanks but I don’t like fake compliments anymore than I like whatever type of bra Wanda was making us wear for the 50’s.” Your hands are clammy. 

You stalked back for every step Wanda stalked forward. 

“Aw the cone shape not doing it for you, why don’t you take off your shirt. I’ll tell you what Mama Agnes thinks of it on you.” Agatha plays with you now and you are about to run out of basement to step back in. 

“I don’t sleep with my captor, at least not anymore.” You smile with your teeth out to show her you aren’t her prey and Agatha giggles again. She seems to be enjoying this after days of playing her sitcom role. 

Finally someone she doesn’t have to play pretend with. 

“Perhaps just one kiss will change your mind.” Agatha’s magic pushed against your body and you slammed into one of the pillars. She came close and grabbed your jaw and yanked it to the side to see what magic you were concealing. 

You waited for her to take, or for her to tell you to blast her so she could feed off of you.

For her to do….well anything. 

But Agatha’s grip loosened and her hand caressed your face and turned your chin gently. 

“You’ve been cursed.” She said gentler now than you had ever thought the witch could talk. 

“Took you long enough.” You glare now, but Agatha just looks conflicted. 

“You are…A Blood Magic witch?” Agatha’s grip moves to your neck, though she doesn’t choke, doesn’t squeeze, she’s scanning you with her glowing purple fingers. Understanding what you are for the first time. 

“You get points Harkness, not a lot of Blood Witches. You didn’t think you were the first to check the Darkhold out of the library did you.” You sneer but Agatha doesn’t bite at your condescending attitude. 

“There’s a chapter in the book…there has only ever been three of your kind.” Agatha isn’t really speaking to you, but rather reliving her studies out loud. 

“Did you read why?” Your eyes shift to the ground now and Agatha doesn’t speak for a moment. 

“The pain…”

“Yeah, the pain.” You murmur and push your tongue to the side of your cheek. Experiencing a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment now. 

Blood magic was rare and extremely powerful, yet the other two witches who wielded it before you….went insane from the endless pain and…it didn’t end well for them. 

You snapped on your best mean mug, and found your fight again, to return your face to face, stand off with Agatha Harkness infamous witch killer. 

“So, you still want it. You want my power? Go on, take it. You can carry the pain for the rest of your life. I got nothing left to lose. Nowhere to go, nothing else to experience. You want my power, kill me, go on, do it.” You goad the witch, knowing she won’t do it. But your play of insanity hopefully makes her throw you back into the pond, not a fish worth keeping. 

Agatha’s gaze on you was something you hadn’t ever had expressed for you. 

She waited a minute before stepping back and releasing the hold on your body with her magic. 

You didn’t scramble away, simply leaned back on the pillar still. 

Agatha seemed to be in deep thought on what to do next. 

“I didn’t think so, coward.” You sneer and Agatha once again, doesn’t fight back, seeming to think of you now in a different light. 

“You want Wanda’s Chaos Magic to heal your pain?” Agatha tried and you chuckled darkly. 

“Of course not, I didn’t even know the Scarlet Witch was here. I was stopping for gas, and yes that sounds like a weak excuse but look into my mind. I’m not lying!” You shout and Agatha’s eyes turn purple and she roots around before the blues return to her irises. 

“You can’t leave.”

“But you can, you walk in, you could walk out. Just walk me out! I won’t tell anyone, I don’t care about this! I just want to leave!” You sound like a broken record and Agatha isn’t jumping at your idea, and that freaks you out. 

“Even if I believed you. The government is surrounding the place by now, you walk out and you’ll be held in some facility. Which you know our people just do so well behind bars. Because once they pick up that you aren’t a normal civilian they’ll either think you helped Wanda or they’ll try to recruit you into a spandex suit. Baby you can’t leave this place yet, I’m your only option out, but I’m not leaving until I’ve drained her.” Agatha states and crosses her arms over her chest. 

Her rune stop glowing but neither of you move. 

“So what, you gonna keep me in the basement against my will?”

“I was sort of hoping you’d behave and I could keep you upstairs against your will.”

“Or I could hide out in that creepy empty house.” You want out, you want out now. 

“Wanda can’t know you are here. She’ll react first and we won’t have the upper hand anymore.”

“Who’s we, there is no we! I am not helping you! We aren’t in a coven for the catching of chaos magic. And what do you care of Wanda hurts me? I’m nothing to you, you were about to kill me.” You attempt to reason with her, not understanding this new plan Agatha seems to have for you. 

“Things changed.” She says like it’s nothing. 

“Bullshit.” Your foul language really doesn't’ fit this sitcom, but Agatha doesn’t seem to mind your colorful vocabulary. 

“Believe what you want, until I’ve drained Wanda it’s in both our best interest that you stay here. I will keep you safe in the wards of this house. So long as you play by my rules.” Agatha tosses her hair over her shoulder, and you aren’t sure which part of her is acting now.  

“You want me to cross stitch for real then?” Your sarcasm doesn’t even phase Agatha.Agatha puts a finger up to instruct you, and you think of how her dark fingers looked like yours once.  

“You stay out of sight, in the house at all times. You don’t go out, and you don’t communicate with anyone under the spell. When this spell starts to really break down, you can’t be out there for it.” Agatha’s tone was stern and you wondered what she was planning. 

“And if I say no? If I go to escape?”

“It won’t be me, you have to worry about my pretty little plasma.” Agatha said the words slow and let her lips pop as she punctuated the P’s. 

“How long will this take?” You tried to think of this logically, and not like the scared animal you felt like. 

“No idea, could be days could be months or years. It’s chaos magic honey, the darkhold doesn’t even know.” Agatha shrugged like the facts didn’t bother her.  

“Fuck that! Fuck this! What am I supposed to do sit and do while I wait that long? Are we gonna play Monopoly, pretty sure that came out this decade!” 

Your voice gets louder and louder. 

“I’m working towards messing up fragments of the illusion. But it is going to take time. Time is not the part of this you have to really worry about.” Agatha’s words are fucking mysterious and it does nothing to soothe you or help you understand what the hell her plan is. In fact it only further aggravates you, and you get even more enraged using jokes and quips to try to break through to your fellow witch how asinine this whole thing was. 

“What should I worry about Agatha? Pretty sure feminism isn’t in swing yet, the National Organization for Women doesn’t exist this decade! They start in 66’ so I guess I could start painting signs now? They’ll surely dry in time!” Your creative jabs of dry sarcasm doesn’t have its desired effect and Agatha bites back a smile, but you see it.

“I do require a Ralph, you could always slick your hair back and help me carry appetizers over to dinner parties with Wanda and Vision.” Agatha’s lip twitches and you feel rage now. “Pretty sure there is a stamp collecting club starting this week in the community, or hey you could always pick up neighborhood watch with Vision.”  

You gape at Agatha’s jokes. 

Aware now of what is going on. 

She’s entertained by you. 

That’s even worse than threatening, you want to go back to her trying to take your power. It was like she was finding this whole thing cute! 

“STOP ENJOYING THIS!” You reach down to your hideous slip on shoes and yank it off and chuck it at Agatha’s head, but she ducks it easily and rubs her lips together to stop the next round of laughter from escaping. “WHY ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS!”

Agatha doesn’t answer you that night. 

And you spend the next week avoiding her like chicken pox that this generation will get in an episode you are sure, she gives you a bedroom next to her own.

You hear her rustling around in the day and the night, but you avoid her like your life depends on it. You wait for her door to close or for her to leave the house to go to the kitchen and get bits of snacks. You hide out in the small bedroom that luckily has some books that aren’t gardening magazines . 

You read books that have just come out, for the 50’s standard, knowing they will one day be taught as ‘classics’ but have yet to be called such. 

You finish ‘The Invisible Man,’ ‘On the Road,’ and ‘Giovanni’s Room,’ and you’ve read all three of them before, but they are the best out of the pile of discarded books pressed into ugly grey book cases. 

It’s the second week that you accidentally bump into Agatha as you thought she’d left, you are walking downstairs with the aged paperback of ‘Giovanni’s Room’ pressed between your fingers, spine cracked open with your nose stuck in it’s creases. 

You walk down the steps and stop realizing you aren’t alone in the space, Agatha, well Agnes as she is dressed now, is baking and she’s got her hand on her hip as she studies you. 

Like she’d been waiting for you to emerge. 

“Shit, I didn’t realize you were here, sorry.” You panic and turn to walk back up the steps. 

“Wait, I need to talk to you.” Her voice is even, though you wonder if you can detect some eagerness for you to not walk away that goes beyond friendly. 

Your barefoot stops on the wood step and you sigh audibly upset, but turn around to your house arrest friend and walk towards her slowly. 

“Have I been a bad roommate?” You try the joke but it sounds snide and anxious, which is how you feel about all that is Agatha. 

Agnes’s hair is perfect and her dress is crisp and pristine and you miss the way Agatha looks as you gaze at her, Agatha must have read your mind because her right upper lip pulls just a tad at the side in enjoyment. 

“Yes actually, when I said you had to stay inside. I didn’t realize you were going to hide from me the whole time.”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem, I don’t get in your way, I stay in the room.”

“You have been living off of black tea and Peanut M&M’s. You don’t leave your room until you are sure I’m not around, which yes I pretended to leave so you would come downstairs. And you read morning noon and night.” Agatha puts on an oven mitt and uses her free hand to move to the tea kettle and you notice she’s put out a place setting. 

“Have you been spying on me?” You quickly realize. 

“Please, don’t be so dramatic.” Agatha brushes it off but you glare at her more. 

“How else would you know what I’ve been up to! We haven’t seen each other at all! And screw you lady, M&M’s taste different in the 50’s they didn’t use the same food dye. So this is the time to fucking eat them.”

Agatha blinks at you a few times and you scoff at her lack of answer and go to walk back upstairs. 

“I made you tea!”

“Not thirsty you bat shit crazy ancient hag! Go back to your black and white girlfriend nextdoor!” 

“I’ll stop buying M&M’s!” Agatha threatened and you stoped on the third step and turn around and lick your lips, before usign the book to point at the witch who looks a little alarmed by you now. 

“I don’t want your M&M’s or your tea party! You and I aren’t friends! You tried to kill me and take my magic! What did you think was gonna happen when we decided on my house arrest? That we’d share darkhold notes, you want me to help you make quiche, have TV tray dinner’s together and plot Wanda’s demise? Harkness, leave me alone!” You yell the last part and you wonder if Agatha’s had anyone tell her no like this. 

Because she’s scanning you look she’s trying to figure out your currency and she won’t get it. 

“Do we need to do this? Do you have to hate me? Can-” You cut her off quickly snapping the book closed dramatically.

“I’ll not leave my dishes out, and I’ll be quiet as you play with your cursed book in the basement. In turn, stop spying on me, and stop trying. You are a covenless witch right? Well so am I. Let’s keep it up, worked for both of us before, right?” You turn back up the steps and take them two by two. 

Ignoring that Agnes timer went off for something that smells sinfully good. 

Later that night the front door closes and you groan and open your bedroom door. Checking now around the corner to make sure this isn’t another attempt at conversation. 

When you get to the kitchen there’s a note and a plate. 

‘Be happy we are in the 50’s and not the 40’s, there’s a microwave. No I didn’t poison you. Eat it, you can’t live off of M&M’s even if they do have peanuts in them.’ 

You look down to see a bowl of witch’s stew and your stomach growls. 

You dont’ want to give Agatha the satisfaction actually, and you fucking won’t. Fuck her, and her sweet gesture, you didn’t need a friend, no matter how gorgeous she looked in her plum jumper.

You leave the food untouched and open the fridge to steal the orange juice carton and go back upstairs to read ‘Giovanni’s room’ for the third time this week. 

The next day Agnes has some kind of early thing with Wanda and so she leaves mid morning and you are glad, you need tea badly. 

Your bones ache, part of being a blood witch. It just happened and you weren’t exactly giving yourself a balanced diet. 

But you were used to the pain, if only your hands didn’t cramp like they were, it made it hard to hold the book.

You sigh and stomp down the stairs and once again stop at the kitchen counter to see a breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon, and white bread lightly toasted and buttered.

The note reads in perfect script.

‘You are being ridiculous, just eat something, it doesn’t mean anything. You have to eat something though. 

Ps: You need a new book.’

You look under the plate of food to see a small purple ribbon wrapped around a stack of paperbacks. 

‘East of Eden,’ by Steinbeck, ‘MacBeth’, and ‘Last Night at the Telegraph Club.’ 

Agatha had picked a book with moral dilemma and the idea of good and evil. She picked shakespeares most powerful depiction of witches. And she picked a queer book that came out in 2021 but is about the 50’s. 

You turned the queer book by Malinda Lo over and over, wondering how Agatha had gotten it, or had she brought it? Did she break a rule to get it to you? 

And what kind of strange present was this, what did these books mean? Was Agatha trying to tell you something? 

You groaned looking at the stack of books, at breakfast, and then back to the note. 

You left the food and carried the books upstairs, turning on your foot last minute and snatching the purple ribbon off the counter. 

You swore you didn’t know why, but you wanted the ribbon. 

That was stupid, but you took it anyway. 

Two days passed and Agatha continued to leave food by your door and on the countertop. 

You lived off of tea and saltines you found in the back of a cupboard. 

Finally one morning you woke to the banging on your door so loud and powerful it made you jump and throw open the door.

“Morning.” Agatha said, like she hadn’t expected you to open it. 

“The fuck? Is the house on fire? The only reason I can imagine you slamming your darkhold fingers against my door like that is if the hex has set the entire community on fire. What the hell!” YOu snap realizing nothing is on fire and Agatha is bothering you again. 

“I made you food.” Agatha throws her thumb in the direction of the stairs and your face contorts in confusion. 

“Have you given I given any reason to believe I have enjoyed your food so far? Perhaps one of our long discussions made you think I liked raspberry jam for our morning tea? “

You grab the doorknob to slam the door in Agatha’s face and one hand slams against the door to stop it from closing. 

Agatha grinds her teeth together in annoyance and you try not to find the act sexy. 

“You HAVE to eat, and I’m done with whatever this is. You are not Boo Radley, I read about blood witches. If you take care of yourself, and you do the right rituals, the potions, the ritualistic baths, the blood spells,  you won’t be in as much pain. If you would stop being so damn stubborn for two seconds, I can help!” Agatha shouts the last part and you stare at her like you think this is a dream. 

“Boo Radley.” You state back at the witch. 

Agatha straightens her spine but keeps her black palm against the wooden bedroom door. 

“Right.”

“Harper Lee.”

“Yes, so?” Agatha’s face morphs into irritation once more. 

“Just didn’t take you for a bookworm.”

“You can’t take me for anything. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks! You don’t even know me! And you haven’t even-” Agatha stops and bites her bottom lip and looks down at the floor once more. Like she’s trying to gather patience and she never has had any before.  

“You did try to kill me.”

“I know, I do, and I…I can’t apologize for that. I don’t do that. But I…Listen I’m trying okay.” Agatha states and your expression must look disgusted because Agatha moans like this was a stupid idea and her face falls back like she’s looking into the stars for the divine mother to help her out now. 

“How about this, you and I. Let’s do this, for ten seconds we just be honest with each other. Complete honesty, no lies for ten seconds, you tell me what the fuck you want from me. And for ten seconds I’ll answer one of your questions or whatever.” You give and Agatha’s chin snaps down to look at you like you’d just given her something truly fascinating. 

“Ten seconds?” Agatha looks to the side like she’s considering this. 

“Ten seconds.” You repeat like a bird. 

“Why ten and not thirty?”

“Because it’s a small number that seems like not a big deal but could dramatically shift everything.”

“Meteors…” Agatha murmurs looking over your shoulder to what you’ve done with the room and you try not to lose your extremely short temper now. 

“Harkness why did  you just mumble meteors, do you want the ten seconds or not? I’m not really a morning person.”

Agatha’s face quickly changes and you wonder what she’s thinking but she studies your face and then makes a fast decision. 

“Meteors entering the Earth’s atmosphere…they only take a few seconds, sometimes up to ten seconds. You said something small but a dramatic shift, meteors.”

You regarded this ancient witch killer now like rain man, wondering who the fuck this witch really was, and what made her tick. Why the fuck was she acting like NASA right now?

“Ok, well do you want your meteor moment or not?”

“Yes, I do.” Agatha answered a little too fast and you don’t hold it against her. 

“Ok.”

“I have to go first?” She arched an eyebrow and her tone dripped with sass and defensiveness. 

“Oh my god! I need tea for this. I can’t do this with you without some tea.” You push past her shoulder and the purple wielding witch follows you into the kitchen and you easily move around her space. Not used to having someone watch you make the tea. But you put the kettle on and stare at the huge breakfast she made for you. 

“What is that?” You point to the plate she’d made for you. 

“Blood sausage,” the witch said like that was a normal thing for the 50’s and it was fucking not. 

“What’s in the bowl?” You questioned and it actually smelled good. 

“I made a lentil dish with spinach and carrots, it’s an old recipe.” You don’t understand how Agatha is the barefoot contessa. But perhaps after centuries on the run, one learns to cook. Or maybe she used to have someone to cook for, and then she didn’t. 

And now here you are. 

You nodded slowly while processing this, and you can’t help but regard Agatha with suspicion. 

“You did your homework Harkness.” You say offhandedly and you don't’ mean it as a compliment but it sure sounds like one outside of your mouth. 

“You…You are a blood witch and you need a high iron diet…and you are in pain.” Agatha says the last admission like she isn’t sure how you’ll take it. 

“How do you know that, maybe I’m really loving and living for house arrest.” Your snotty comment is delivered in a lower volume and it’s too raw, and it doesn’t scare this witch. As she coined sarcasm and snark. If anything Agatha looks like she enjoys your creativity with her medium. 

“You…you cry in your sleep. You yell and cry, and..”

Your face pales now, and you feel your ears turn red from embarrassment. 

“I didn’t realize I still did that. Sorry for the inconvenience…” You mumble and stare at the kitchen floor. 

“I..I don’t mind. I don't’ sleep much…” Agatha admits and you wonder who the fuck hurt this witch. 

She was infamous, and yet she looked so broken here. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You say as the kettle whistles for the hot water, and Agatha looks confused. You lift the tea kettle and hold the handle. 

“What?” She looks around wondering if you mean a food she put out. 

“You cast a glamor when I walked down the stairs, your fingers aren’t black from the darkhold now.”

“I just figured…it puts some people off….”

You don’t let this go, and you don’t like how she assumed this about you. 

“It puts some people off or it makes you feel self conscious over what you’ve done for the darkhold?” You challenge a little too harshly and Agatha grinds her jaw and looks at a corner of the room away from you. 

“Will you eat?”

“I will try the lentils, I don’t eat meat.”

Agatha’s face snapped to yours now, like she was happy with a fact about you, a small morsel. 

You see a cup with a tea bag already in it. 

“What is that?” You point to the cup and Agatha considers you for a moment. 

“It’s a mix of a few things, I read dandelions help iron boost. I put a few things in for the pain, for the body ache…”

“You didn’t learn that from the Darkhold.” You accuse, knowing what the book says. 

“No, someone I cared for hurt…”

“Is that why you can’t watch me…hurt?” You don’t believe it’s about you, this kindness. 

“No.” Agatha answers and you wonder what the fuck she’s thinking but you take the kettle and you pour it into the tea cup she’s prepared, willing to try it. It looked like Agatha had gone to a lot of trouble, and you weren’t sure how to handle that. 

It had been a long time since anyone had done anything out of kindness for you. 

“Sit with me, and we can figure this out.” Your hand goes in the air to waive to her and the house. 

You both sit and you eat the lentils down so fast you are almost embarrassed. But Agatha doesn’t comment, just let’s her interest in your bowl fall through her features and then back out. 

“I’ll go first. I’ll just tell you stuff I guess.” You sigh thinking it’s the least you can do for her making you this food. 

“Ok.” Agatha says tentatively though her body has an eagerness that doesn’t match her tone. 

“I am 210, um I have a dark past too. So I don't’ trust people, and I don’t mean to be mean. I mean I do, but it’s not entirely your fault. And I know you have been trying to be cordial ever since you imprisoned me with runes in your basement and tried to kill me….But I don’t actually hate being here like I thought I would. I mean I really like the M&M’s, they don’t come in color yet, but when they do. The red ones completely rock. Um…and I guess thank you is in order. For the food yes…but the books were….That was nice. I like books, and um.. reading. I guess this sounds stupid but uh- I’ve been on the run for so long, it’s nice to just sleep and read….like a vacation or something.” You shrug and finally look at Agatha. 

“That’s it?” Her tone is dry as hell. 

“I’m sorry, what did you want me to say!” You shout and Agatha actually laughs now and you can’t believe her. 

“That was, that was terrible. You didn’t even tell me anything about yourself! I didn’t get to ask a question!”

“Oh I’m sorry I wasn’t clear this was a first date! Did you want to know my astrology sign and my favorite color? Or shall I wait until the second date for that!” You snap and Agatha laughs even harder now. 

And you want to be upset, but it didn’t resonate in your chest, Agatha is something else. 

Her laugh is so…witchy and melodious, and it makes you want to laugh along. But you won’t give her that pleasure. 

Agatha doesn’t cover her mouth when she laughs, she whips her head back and cackles too. Finally she wipes her thumb under her eye to stop the tears. 

“Your turn Atticus.” The venom just doesn’t produce from you like it did before. And Agatha smirks at the name. 

“Atticus.”

“That’s what I said.” You bite back. 

“Finch.”

“That is the one I’m referring to yes.” You tilt your hand. 

“As in…” Agatha ‘s hand waives through the air for you to finish your joke. 

“Atticus Finch as in the lawyer in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ aka Agatha Harkness favorite book. And it’s fitting really, because you are acting pretty accusatory like a lawyer right now.” You explain your joke which takes the fun out of it for you, but not for Agatha it seems. 

She puts an elbow on the table and leans her head against it with more comfort in front of you than ever before. 

“That’s not my favorite book.”

“Oh?” Your voice squeaks in interest and you hate yourself at this moment. 

“But I’ll wait until the third date to tell you that.” Agatha flirts and you choke on your tea and she seems to like that too. 

“You think too highly of yourself.” The lack of bite makes you frustrated, what are you doing? Don’t flirt with her!

Agatha just regards you like a lover does after finding something cute. You realize now that look, that look Agatha has given you a few times now and it makes your stomach flip flop. 

“Alright stop that, what do you want to say then, your Meteor moment or whatever. Since mine sucked so much, go ahead then.” You challenge and Agatha enjoys this even more, never one to back away from a challenge. 

She was very competitive. 

“I’ll go, but I want you to go again after, and I get to ask the question.” 

“Fine.” You sipped your tea and waited as Agatha got a dreamy expression on her face. As if she was recalling things she hadn’t allowed herself to ever say out loud, much less remember in the day. Only the night, where she could punish herself in the shadows. 

“I am an infamous witch killer, but no one actually ever asked me why I did any of it. Not that it condones it, but I think it’s easier to hate what you can’t possibly understand. Or take the time to. I am older than you, but how I caught you gawking down my cleavage in Agnes dress the other day tells me you don’t mind that one bit. I loved someone very much and they took…everything from me. I came here because I wanted power, knowing full well it will never give me back what I have lost. Nothing could ever do that, and my fingers remind me…that I am not….That I can’t be that again. I was happy when I learned you were trapped here. Wanda is endlessly boring and in a constant state of domestic denial. You are the most interesting thing to happen to this town…or to anything… in a long time. I can’t recall the last time someone got under my skin like this, fought back, and….stimulated me intellectually. I don’t know how to feel about that. To be honest. I also don’t think I’ve been this honest for the last two centuries. This is the most honest I think I may have ever …been….” Agatha trailed off and looked at her hand where her fingers held a glamor and you waited, letting her admission, her confession breathe between you two. 

Like it was giving life to something new and beautiful. 

She drops the glamor and you like this better. Her charcoal stained fingers aren’t a lie, and she doesn’t need to do that here. 

Agatha regards the cat themed clock as if pretending she had more time, but really you wondered if she was just so relieved to speak.

To not lie for once. 

So she adds more and you are grateful for it all.

Agatha takes a breath and you wonder if it is for courage, and you wonder what Agatha looked like as a girl falling in love for the first time. Before she had all these walls and rules for what she could and couldn’t say to another soul.  

“My guilty pleasure, that I never admit to, is honey in my tea. I watch the sunrise every morning. I don’t like the 50’s music that Wanda insists on the radio. I miss the smell of lilacs in Massachusetts and cedar from a tree I used to read under. I enjoy books more than TV. I’m an old fashion witch, I suppose because I detest technology in general even before we were sent to the 50’s. I…I pick up river rocks for someone who isn’t here anymore…I found after my heartbreak I can’t seem to grow herbs….I despise spirits and can’t begin to tell you how silly Tarot is….My mother taught me to draw a pentagram before she taught me how to write my name… and I can’t wait to not wear Agnes fake niceties around these morons…But I am glad I am here….I am…glad I met you.”

This feels far more honest than you were expecting and you are sure her ten seconds are up but you are hanging on her every word. 

Agatha blue eyes fall to you now and you feel naked, completely bare to her, caught ogling her. As if she knew what her words had evoked deep in your heart now. 

You clear your throat and put the cup of tea down.  

“Well, you sure showed me how it’s done.”

“If you let me go, we can start over.” You try, but being bound isn’t really the best place to make negotiations. 

Your naked chest and wet back are lying on a stone slab in the middle of the wet wood. 

“Shhhhh sweet thing, you really don’t need to speak. It’s a waste of your vocal cords, and it won’t change anything.” The woman with the long dark hair said. 

“How long have you been roaming? It must have been exhausting to be the last creature alive.” The one with the skull for a face asked. 

You blink a few times and the rope makes your wrists and torso burn. 

You’d make a small mistake. 

And mistakes weren’t that big of a deal, but this one was. When your the last living thing alive, every mistake could lead to the end. 

If you’d stuck to the city, you would have still come across the creatures you knew to be nesters. Their sick features and beady eyes are watching you. Waiting for you to sleep so that you can be their meal. 

You were always on the run, always moving, never sitting still. But you’d wanted to go to the woods one last time, to your childhood home, to enjoy the last bit of your humanity. For whatever bit you could remember, it was as if - with the end of humanity, your memories washed away with the rains.

“What makes you so special?” The woman who was beautiful, but loomed over you like some sort of witch in a children's story. 

“I think that much is obvious, Agatha.” The skeleton answered with a silky voice. You twisted on your bindings on the stone slab, wondering if this was some sort of cult sacrifice. 

Wouldn’t that be ironic, after two hundred and seventy-three days of wishing there was another soul with you, you run into a cannibal cult in the woods. 

“You can take all the food in my pack, just let me go.” You try, and the skull-faced mystery laughed at you. 

“Is that some sort of joke?” She questioned but the one now identified as Agatha grabbed your face with her sharp dirty nails.

“Shush, Rio, let him explain. Pretty little thing, what do you think happened here?” She cooed too sweetly, sticky to be honest, more like a black widow begging you to dance on her web. 

“I-It all ended, all of it, the whole god damn world and-and I’m tired of it all. I was normal, I was-”

Now the skull featured named Rio, groans bored at this, but Agatha shushes her. 

“Do you think you're a boy?”

You bristle at that, not wanting to play out some kind of gender monologue before you died. 

You opened your mouth to answer and now the skeleton woman was interested again. 

“He doesn’t know.” Rio interjects with new delight. 

“Rio,” Agatha warns, not for you - but for her own research purposes. 

“Let’s show him.” Rio speaks on top of her, what were they? Partners? The last of the apocalypse surely, but they were dressed more like half of the four horsemen. Although Rio couldhave been the grim reeper, her eyes shifted from the skull to soft seductive ones. 

They pierced you even harder somehow. 

You’d been so used to running around terrified of haunting eyes and looming figures.

Agatha and Rio’s colorful eyes were overstimulatingly beautiful. 

“I want to keep him.” Rio decided out loud as if you weren’t there, Agatha rolled her eyes. You could almost hear their argument, ‘you won’t feed him’ and ‘you’d love a new pet.’

Both of them eye you even more curious. 

 “You should know it’s rude to listen in to a conversation that isn’t yours. You’ll catch a bloody nose trying that hard.” Agatha told you, her nails traveling down your chin to your throat. 

You shiver. 

The rain droplets fall between the tall trees and your unaware that both witches are impressed by your display. Because you still think this is all odd. 

“All that chaos magic, all those lives - we either take him or something else will. It would be a waste.” Rio pushes further, they sound married. 

Shrouded in evil robes, dirty and skeleton-y. They look like the kind of villains to end your sorry existence. 

“Just make it quick, please?” You ask, still oblivious. 

Agatha and Rio ignore your plea, turning to each other and thinking it through. 

“He’s cute, like a puppy,” Rio says again, as Agatha goes through all the reasons why you would only be a nuisance. 

“I wouldn’t want to keep me, I’m hideous. I try to do-to be better. But I’m-I could be you know, better?” You stutter out, unsure why. You're tied down to a slab, certainly they were going to eat your liver and leave you to bleed out. 

Why were you telling them this? 

But something in Agatha changed immediately. 

The rain picked up, harder now, Rio looked into the sky, and you could have sworn you saw her smile with those scary skull teeth. 

“You think the world ended and it just…forgot about you? Really?” Agatha asks again, and you hate how that sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you? Forget about me, I mean?” You try to laugh but the self-deprecating humor only lands sad. 

“Fuck dude, that’s pathetic,” Rio says, and Agatha twists to glare at her again. Her shoulders shoot up, and she’s pretty pussy whipped for the grim reaper if that’s what Rio was.

“Am not- and you have to admit. Guy could use some confidence.” Rio throws her hands in your direction comically. 

Agatha opens her mouth to stop her partner from speaking. 

But Rio’s already untied you - and she’s got you by the throat. You're terrified, unsure how you feel weightless, but she drags you over to a large puddle below an enormous oak and throws you to your knees. 

You fall to your hands and knees, and see the reflection. 

Shocked, you rear back horrified, trying to scurry away from the disgusting image. 

“Stop it boy, you are cute. Now stop running away from your potential.” Rio says and she follows your body as you squirrel away in the mud. But she grabs you by- was that an antler?

“Rio, this isn’t the way-” Agatha tries to stop her but Rio’s no stranger to frightful images from forgotten creatures. 

So Death grabs your antler and drags, your knees thudding against twigs, roots, and rocks. 

But you're thrown back against the puddle. 

You disturb the water, and it ripples, but this time, Rio holds you by both antlers and makes you really look. 

It takes a moment, you can hear your scared, ragged breath but the water does still once more, and you see it-you. 

Your face is gone, whatever feminine or masculine terror that plagued your mind - gone. 

Your shoulders broad - made of - grass? No, wood? Were you a god damn plant? You move your hands up to the antlers - you weren’t animal - you weren’t human….Your hands were murky like something from a swamp. Something born from a twisted sickly tree. 

“I’m-”

“Handsome as hell.” Rio answered for you, not about to listen to whatever shitty word would fall out once you picked. 

“Powerful.” Agatha said, as you gazed down your stomach of vines and twisted thorns. 

“A monster-”

“Fuck that’s so simple, your more than man, that’s for sure.” Rio insists, and something about that feels…right?

“I-Did I?” You turn to look at Agatha, and Death releases her hold of your antlers. You can’t believe how much you miss the touch.

“Killed them all, yeah. You did.” The witch answers, holding you in her gaze. 

You feel sick, but no bile comes up, only the twist of what used to be your gut. 

“Why?” You want to scream.

Agatha shrugged like it didn’t much matter the why.

“Hey, it’s not like your universe is the only one little tree.” Rio says like it’s no big deal. Just a quick fix really. 

Your world is spinning and you miss how Agatha mouths ‘little tree?’ While Rio tells her telepathically, ‘what I found him first I get to name him. We’re keeping him!’

Agatha leaves it and walks towards you and you jerk backwards, curling in on yourself. 

“You are scared?” The witch questions, just to make sure which part has you so wrecked. 

“I killed everyone! Don’t come near me! I’ll-I’ll hurt you! I don’t want to! I can’t control it! I can’t control it! I thought I was human I thought-I thought my only problems just was-.was picking a new name and you're telling me I….I killed them all?” Your unable to cry, only dark holes where your eyes once were. 

But Agatha reaches out and caresses your face as if you had one. Your whimpering words remind her of a young witch she once knew tied to a stake, ready to burn. 

“You're right, you can’t control it. But if you come with us, we could teach you. You could do so much more than cower in the woods like this.” Agatha tells you, and you stare at her in wonder. 

The rain stops, something she’d have to teach you how to wield as well. 

The corner of Agatha’s mouth twists up, and she leans in to kiss the top of your head. Getting a bit of mud on her face, but the witch didn’t seem to mind one bit. 

Rio twisted and stared into the dank forest. 

“Wow, that’s a neat trick.” Death adds, professionally intrigued by what she saw. 

You break away from Agatha’s warmth to see Death's eyeline. 

Sure enough, the terrifying figures slunk forward, their glowing eyes and dark masses hungry again. 

“Are they-” You already knew the answer, somehow you’d already known. 

“Your their creator, they just want to be near you.” Rio answered looking into them with wonder. 

“They’re angry with me.” You answer, but Rio drops the hood and loses the skeleton face. Walking towards them with a kindness you couldn’t possess for them. 

“No sapling, don’t you see it? All my time in this job, I don’t think I’ve ever seen another being make life.” Rio answers, amazed, watching how the figures surround you three in the forest clearing. 

“I hate it, I hate them- I hate m-”

“Aren’t you so tired of it?” Rio asked, still not looking at you, but stepping closer to one of the dark figures, slowly like it was a deer in the woods, earning their trust. 

“Of me! Yes!” You shout with enough self-loathing that the tiny army that was coming forward started to retreat. 

Rio’s eyebrows furrow, and she’s disappointed immediately. 

“Don’t be afraid.” Death tries to comfort them, but their eyes are solely on you. 

Agatha moves over to your shaking form. Her hands fall to your shoulders, she’s already in love with this darkness you're so disgusted with. Her hand moves under your chin to pull your face up. Your antlers are raised up to the tall trees.

“You can’t hate yourself forever.” The witch tells you hypocritically. 

“Why not?” You quietly retort. Agatha’s got something you’ve not seen in so long you can’t place it - empathy? Love? Understanding? You didn’t know, couldn’t speak that language anymore.

“You created life, Twiggy. Why don’t we marvel at that for a while?” Rio adds, sad that they’re moving away now. They are communicating somehow, a high pitch grotesque whining noise as they retreat into the forest. 

Agatha releases her hold on you to look at them in the trees before they vanish. 

“I killed an entire population.” You remind Rio while sitting limply in the mud, and Rio just shrugs. She had so much to teach you. To figure out how to save those poor souls.

“People die, empires fall, innocents are lost. I’ve seen that all before millions of times. That’s boring, no. I was wrong about you- not something I am often.” Rio adds, and Agatha snorts like an annoyed wife. 

But as you stare at Rio’s human face, you find she’s stunning. It shuts you up as she explains. 

“You aren’t a witch, or a human boy, you aren’t chaos magic, you're a deity, aren’t you?” Rio asks, looking at your antlers again, the way your body twists just so. Organically bending and flexing, as if everything was in its rightful place. 

You’d spent so long wrapped up in this vile hatred of your skin, you’d shed it. Growing something in else’s place. You had to remember what body dysmorphia meant, but you were sure this wasn’t that. 

“Fine.” Agatha finally said, standing up like she was no longer having this conversation. 

You instantly missed her tenderness, her stubborn angry face twisting again. A mask so well ingrained the witch didn’t even need to think about it. 

“Fine?” Your voice cracks, and your gaze goes to Rio for help. 

But she’s giddy, seeming to celebrate the win. 

“We must trim those antlers,” Agatha says, pretending to feign disinterest. 

“I knew you loved him too, look, he’s adorable right?”Rio was practically dancing in her place. Her hand moves into her belt to pull out a dagger. She splits it into the air, and it rips open with a….portal of some sort?

Agatha lifts the sides of her dress robes, as she walks over your knees to go towards the opening. Holding her finger up menacing to her partner. 

“You won’t call him sapling or any of those other atrocious names-I mean it Rio.” The witch warns and then crooks her finger to you in a ‘come here’ motion. 

“Witches don’t ask twice, sweet boy.” Agatha arches an eyebrow and you shoot up to a standing too fast. Both of them smirk at how quickly you respond to a little direction. You hear Agatha murmur something like ‘cute and obedient, my favorite.’

“So much better than a spider as a pet, our own plant.” Rio answers, the green witch in her so excited to figure you out. 

The witch grabs your twisted branch of a forearm and yanks you towards the portal.