#cu:mine

…

The witches’ road is a place that does not welcome you. It fights you every step of the way.

It is a graveyard. It takes what it wants without thoughts of sympathy or solace. It digs up fear and trauma like gold. It twists and stretches and tears the desires of witches brave enough to step foot on the road.

You hate it and yet you are summoned.

The dirt between your fingers is a sensation that feels as familiar as holding death's hand. Clawing your way from beneath the earth is not something you're very familiar with.

You're not usually summoned alongside her, this is different.

The echoes of multiple screams ring in your ears as you crawl your way out of a fresh grave, growling through clenched teeth when you finally break the surface.

Your joints and bones pop as you twist and jerk to realign what's been broken. You swear you're going to ring the witch's neck that's summoned you. 

You tilt your head and feel a crack in your neck, you grimace before you jerk your head and relief seeps into your muscles.

With a flex of your fingers you adjust your clothes before the colors of the leaves scattered amongst the ground catches your eye.

Just as the realization settles and you finally understand where you are, a hand that brushes against the length of your back is the only thing that seems to ground you. You lean into her touch with a slow forced exhale.

Rio is here, that is the only comfort you feel. 

You absolutely hate the witches’ road.

When you finally glance up at the witches who were just screaming bloody murder, you notice her right away. 

Her thick brown hair falling against her shoulders, the white button up shirt that complements her dress pants, the locket that’s always with her. 

Agatha Harkness and this coven of four have summoned you and Rio to the road. 

The rage that heats your blood is a sensation that you will never get used to, it burns like the sun and yet it's all you can feel as you glare daggers at her.

The only thing that stops you from lunging at her is Rio’s quick reaction. The hand that was resting on your back has encircled your waist, she tugs you back against her, resting her chin on your shoulder. 

“Easy there tiger.” Her soft chuckle of amusement is not distraction enough from what you want to say. 

“What the fuck are you doing Agatha?” Your words are harsh and yet you feel no sympathy when she flinches at your tone.

“Excuse me?” The witch in the pink dress places a hand over her heart like you personally offended her. 

“You’re excused.” You pay her no mind, your eyes are only on Agatha. “Now answer the question.”

Agatha says nothing. Her eyes look from you to Rio and back like she can barely believe what she’s seeing. Like she didn’t intend for this to happen.

“Cat got your tongue?” Rio teases, her smile predatory, the hold on your waist a touch possessive. 

“How did you—?” This time she points at the two of you. 

“We were in the neighborhood.” Rio interrupts her with a casual response. There is no need to explain further, she will know the truth.

“But uhh,” The youngest member of the coven, a teenage boy, lifts his hand up like he’s waiting to voice his question. You frown at the notion, not quite understanding.

“Yes Teen?” The oldest of the group turns to look at the kid who answers once the attention turns to him. 

“Why are there two of them?” He gestures between you and Rio, his confusion clear as he then turns to look at Agatha like she has all the answers.

You scoff at the thought, she knows nothing. Not when it comes to you and especially not when it comes to Rio. That was made very clear centuries ago.

Agatha glares at you as if this time you truly have offended her but all you do is glare right back.

The moment of eye contact drags on longer than you thought it would. The witch's pride is a strong thing and you know she hates backing down first but you are not in the mood to give in. 

You refuse to give her what she wants.

When fingers dance along the thin fabric that covers your ribs you jerk involuntarily, turn to glare at Rio. She gives you an innocent smile but her eyes burn with something that silently tells you to calm down.

“Doesn't matter.” Agatha's anger is a harsh bite, hiding the vulnerability that comes with seeing the both of you. “We have a green witch. Now let's go.”

The whoosh of her coat is followed by a slow breath that relaxes your shoulders. You can not let your anger get the best of you while here. The road will only take it and twist it until it gets a chance to throw it in your face.

“Being summoned is so much fun isn't it? Just like old times.” Rio teases you, presses a soft kiss to your shoulder in a silent apology. 

Before you can turn and properly question her about why you are here a voice calls your attention. “Uhh hello?” 

You roll your eyes but turn to glance at the three witches that have lingered after Agatha stormed off.

“Hello.” You merely say in return. You owe these witches nothing more.

“So uh did we summon two green witches?” The witch with red in her hair gestures to the two of you. You feel Rio shake her head from where her face is still pressed into your shoulder, her chuckle is low enough that the others do not hear it. 

You find her amusement endearing and annoying.

“To keep things simple, yes.” 

The continued looks of confusion merely make you smirk at the unsuspecting women. 

With one last brush of fingers over your ribs, one last ghost of a kiss that tickles the skin of your neck, Rio steps away. Her smile is bright, the twinkle in her dark eyes promise nothing but mischief and self entertainment.

“We're supposed to walk this thing right?” She steps around you and points toward the road. When she only gets a few shrugs of consensus she hums in response before leaving you behind with these confused witches.

You shake your head with a soft smile, of course she would find a way to ignore all your questions for even just a little bit longer.

“Let's get this over with.”

The soft voices of the group pulls you into a sort of trance. They’re talking about history, about their personal history. 

You grimace at the thought, sharing history is easier done than said in your opinion. You don’t know someone until you know them. Until you would die for them.

Ironically or not, you can’t die.

The embers of the makeshift camp fire flickers at your feet from where you’re stretched out on the ground. You can feel the uncertainty in the group, the false sense of safety as the conversation continues. 

You’re still reeling from the trial. Thoughts lingering on fire and heat and burning flesh. The sight of dripping blood, the smell of it still makes your stomach lurch.

The boy, Teen was lucky in a way you do not understand. To have someone like Agatha pleading, begging death herself to spare a simple kid perplexed you. 

Agatha Harkness does not beg, she does not cry and yet this teenager has left her vulnerable in a way that can only make you wonder.

You feel like you’re going to get a headache if you keep thinking about it.

With a soft exhale you lean your head back against the log you're sitting against. Glancing up at the sky you can't help but notice, once again, that it's different then what you're used to. 

There's been no shift, nothing except the moon.

The night sky is the same as when Agatha rushed you down the door of the witches road.

It unsettles you, makes your skin itch. 

The whisper of an urge lingers in the back of your mind constantly down here. The road is going to dig up your worst fear and shove it down your throat. You're not ready for it, you don't want it.

And yet here you are, following Agatha down the witches road like a lost puppy.

When you feel a soft nudge against your ankle, you frown and turn to glance down at the foot that's touching you.

The grimace on your face is involuntary, not in disgust but rather annoyance. Rio knows you don't like people touching you so casually, she knows only she can get away with it. And she knows exactly how to push your buttons.

“Hey,” Her whisper feels like a breeze that tickles your ears but you don't look at her, you're too focused on where she's touching you, why she's touching you.

You scrunch your nose, swallow down the urge to growl at her, the urge to kick her away. You feel too raw for this, too exhausted.

“The sky is different.” You say, tilting your head in her direction, a subtle compromise on your part.

Rio hums in response and you see her shift closer, feel her move to rest her knee against your thigh, her foot tucked underneath her now. “It's the road, it’s meant to disorient.” 

“Oh,” You frown at her explanation and finally you look at her, you're surprised she's not smiling. Her expression is almost tender, curious. If you knew better you'd say she looked slightly worried.

You see her chew her bottom lip, midnight eyes glance down at the flower she's been twirling in her hand, she's hesitating. 

The flickering of the fire dances across her skin, it makes her look hauntingly beautiful but you don't like how her beauty bleeds with uncertainty. 

With a subtle shift that's more reflex than thought, you turn in her direction so your entire body pays attention to her.

Rio raises an eyebrow at your choice, halts the twirling of her flower as she glances at you. When you only raise an eyebrow in return she smirks, the unsaid invitation now known.

Without a word she scoots closer, leaning into your space. The white flower she's been holding tickles your ear as she gently pushes it into your hair. 

Rio's expression is soft, earnest in a way only your memories know. She brushes her thumb over your cheek, her touch makes you weak, vulnerable in a way you've almost forgotten. 

You've missed this, God you've missed this.

“Where did you go?” Rio's question is barely a whisper, barely a concern and yet you squeeze your eyes shut when your eyes sting with emotions that make your very soul ache.

“I'm here.” You say, ignoring how your voice breaks under the two simple words. 

You're here. You never left. 

With a slow agonizing inhale you try to push away the vulnerability of this moment.

As you hold your breath, you go through the motions. You feel the leaves of the road, feel them crumble as you grab a handful. You can hear the soft crackling of burning wood, the low voices of the group as they continue to talk among themselves. 

With a slump of your shoulders you exhale, forcing your muscles to relax as you focus on what's next. The smell of damp wood and aged berries surrounds you, Rio. 

You breathe her in like she's your favorite candle, like you want to drown in her.

The feel of her thumb brushing over your eyebrow grounds you in the moment, in her embrace that a single touch can cause.

You blink open your eyes with just a fraction of clarity. There she is, right where she was when you closed your eyes.  

The relief is a rush you weren't expecting, you knew she was there and yet Rio's eyes are like the sky on a moonless night, dark and all consuming as if with just a glance she can see past the history of your soul. 

It's unsettling in the best way possible.

“I’m just tired.” You say the excuse because it's easy, it's comfortable. Because you know the truth won't fit into words.

Being here, on the road with Agatha, with these witches that can not fathom how much they will lose from this, it's exhausting. 

But none of it compares to Rio, just her very presence causes the yearning in your bones to ache.

You've missed her, more than the oxygen you breathe.

Rio frowns as she looks at you, runs her fingers down the column of your neck to trace along your collarbone.

When she hooks a finger around the chain of your necklace you wonder if she's going to break it but her eyes turn thoughtful as she glances down at the small pendant. The pinch of her brow tells you this is the first time she's noticed it since she joined the group.

“You still have it.” She's so close you can almost feel her words brush against your neck, almost hear the relief in her voice.

“Are you so surprised?” The necklace was a gift, a promise that surpasses every doubt and denial that you’ve faced in your long life.

When she glances at you the vulnerability in her eyes almost takes your breath away. She nods after a second of hesitation, averts her eyes to look at the pendant again like she can't believe what she sees.

“I could never...” Your voice is barely a whisper, barely a confession because you can't bring yourself to say the words that are etched into your rib cage.

The way your hand reaches for her is like muscle memory. Her skin is warm, alive under your touch as you dig your fingers into her waist.

Rio runs the pad of her thumb over the engraving on the pendant before looking at you again. “I know.”

You always loved how her eyes can hold such emotions, how they give away her every thought when she looks at you.

For a being as old as time itself Rio was exceptionally easy to read.

“I know you.” Rio explains as she finally lets the necklace fall, as she leans back just a bit to give you space to breathe.

When she lays a hand on your chest, palm flat against the open space of your shirt collar, you wonder if she can feel every beat of your heart. You wonder if she wants to rip it out and cradle it in her hands as if to remind you who you belong to. 

“I know every part of you.” She speaks softly, finger tapping lightly against the dip of your neck. The weight of her touch almost makes you lightheaded. 

You fist a handful of leaves from where your other hand is rooted to the ground. The words you want to say feel like barbed wire just waiting to make you bleed. 

The breath that leaves you instead makes it feel like your lungs collapse. You lick your lips, glance away from those eyes you love so much just to be able to breathe again. 

Her touch is a warmth you haven't felt in a lifetime. It feels like home.

“The next,” You shake your head, try to chase away the weight on your shoulders, “It's mine, it's mine.” 

You don't have to explain. The colors of the road is all the truth you need, the scattered leaves that lead to the next trial are a color that you hold dear.

The pattern was easy to decipher, each color matching the witch's power.

The next trial is yours. 

“I know.” 

She taps a rhythm against your collarbone, grounding you in the moment. 

“What did I tell you, the night we met?”

You frown at her question but you search your memories for that first night. 

The night you died.

“You called me a pathetic bastard.” You chuckle at the memory. She found you bleeding and broken after an attack that decimated your village.

A pack of wolves. 

You thought they were normal, how wrong you were.

“What else?” She gently nudges you along, leaning close enough that all you can focus on is her, nothing else matters. 

“Dying was the easy part,” You feel her fingers spread out, inching closer to your neck. “Living with this gift ,” You growl the word out as if it tastes like rage. “will be the struggle.”

Almost a century has passed since that night and you’ve survived enough full moons that you’ve lost count. 

The scars on your body hold the history you’ve lived through, the rage and anguish you’ve had to process. 

To be hunted on all sides is not something you’d wish on anybody.

To be more monster than witch, to be woven so tightly with death and torment that it’s seeped into the very core of who you are. 

To be able to hold death's hand and walk into the next day.

You are rare. You are a beauty in Rio’s eyes.

“You are still here.” Rio reminds you, her voice gentle.

“The road will not destroy you, you will not let it.” Her voice bleeds with certainty, her dark eyes hold you hostage as she speaks a truth you do not fully understand.

A strong laugh causes your attention to snap, your eyes on the protection witch within half a second, Alice. She’s laughing at something you did not hear, she looks so carefree and alive and oh god are they going to hate you once they know your secret? Once they understand who you really are. 

“Look at me,” Rio’s touch shifts, possessive, gentle, just a tad bit controlling. She cups your face in her hands, tilts her head so the curtain of her hair hides everything else. “Those witches do not know you like I do, once they see a monster that is all they can see. They do not matter.” 

The truth to her words feels like a knife to the neck, you are the monster that mothers tell their children about, you are the wolf that stalks the night.

You have never been just a witch.

And you know they will never see past it, no one ever has. Not even Agatha. No one but Rio. For death has been your lifeline since the night you died. 

“I’ve missed you.” The words spill out like the blood of a fresh cut wound. You dig your nails into the soft skin of her waist, your grip beyond desperate. It’s almost pathetic. 

Rio tilts her head and brushes a thumb under your eye, a small soothing noise in the back of her throat. 

It takes only a heartbeat for Rio to close the distance, for her to close her eyes as she presses her forehead against yours. The next breath tickles your lips and you fight with everything you have not to lean in just the last bit, steal a kiss that will leave you breathless.

Rio's soft chuckle makes you dizzy with a yearning that's almost impossible to ignore. A hand goes back to your chest, a subtle display of her power over you. 

You can not kiss her unless she wants you to.

The knowledge that you are not alone is fading into the background faster than you can breathe, you don't care about those witches anymore. Not when she’s so close, when her touch reminds you of countless nights and quiet mornings. 

You know without a doubt that you could never stop loving her. 

“I love you too.” Rio whispers in response as if she can read your thoughts, she leans close enough the words ghost over your lips. You need to reach the end of this god forsaken road, you need this little field trip to be over. 

“You owe me a drink after all this.” The words are a breathless desire that you will make true. Nothing will keep you away from her. 

“I would like for you to look after someone for me.”

Rio comes to you with this request as the sun kisses the treetops. It’s a cloudy afternoon. You’ve just returned from a nearby river, a basket full of berries and a book in one hand.

You frown at her request. “Where are you going?”

As far as you know there’s no one Rio trusts that much, let alone you. Especially you. You’re just a witch, a coven-less witch at that. Why would she ask this of you?

It’s only your peculiar use of the craft that lets you see her and it’s only Rio herself that stays long enough to be known.

She doesn’t look away at your question, she doesn’t back down. She clears her throat and when she responds, her voice is steady. “There is someone waiting for me. I promised him an adventure. I don’t know how long we are going to be gone.”

Rio moves her hands behind her back as she waits. Her cloak is the deep color of the forest at dusk and her hood is down. She watches you with a guarded look and would almost worry you if you didn't know who Rio is.

“You trust me that much?” You ask her after a moment. You haven't seen Rio in months which you know is no time for her but it's not the same for you. You're used to being alone, used to her spontaneous comings and goings but this feels like a request too big for you.

“I trust you enough.” She gives you a nod and yet she still doesn't move. “I wouldn't ask if I didn't feel this would be necessary.”

You look her over for just a moment and then you set your basket and book down into the grass and take a step closer to her.

She looks exactly the same which doesn't startle you, you know Rio. You know who she is. But this request, it's new and strange.

“Are you okay?” That is all you will allow yourself to ask. Because Rio doesn't let anyone pry, she barely gives either way and yet you've learned to read her in ways that words do not say.

She gives you a small nod but no smile. No words. She looks distant and tired. Rio looks like she doesn't want to be on this plane or existence.

You make a choice that's full chance. You walk over to her, closing the distance with small steps. The moment you are close enough to reach out and touch her, you wait.

You don't ask what's happened, it's not your place. But you know Rio. You've known her for years. She's a phenomenal green witch, she's an interesting mentor, and you would even consider her a friend.

“Tell me the truth and I will agree.”

Rio, since showing up, finally smiles. She tilts her head and lets her shoulders relax. “He is special. The one waiting for me. He is young and bright and his mother is a force to be reckoned with.” She glances away, towards the tree line and shakes her head.

When she steps towards you, you listen. You wait for her.

“I walk through death like it's home. I see families, empires and kingdoms all die. There are rules to what I do.” Rio glances back at you and her eyes are as dark as the night sky without stars. “But this, I can't break any more rules. I can't bend or stretch, I can't do anything. I feel helpless.”

She takes a breath that is unnecessary and closes her eyes for just a moment. And this time you do move, you step up right in front of her and you pull her into a hug that you know she needs.

Rio's touch is like a dip in a freezing lake and still you pull her closer. She buries her face into your neck and clings to you with a strength you always forget she has.

He's special. That's what she said. You can only guess how special from what she’s just told you. Rules, broken and bent.

Rio doesn't break the rules. She's a stickler for rules. He must be incredibly special. You don't say anything as you hold her, no words can make whatever happened better, you know this.

Rio doesn't cry. You've never seen her cry. But now, you hear her as she fights with emotions that are too complex for you to understand. And still you hold her steady, a silent anchor.

When she pulls back, a small sniffle makes her nose scrunch up and you find yourself brushing your fingers under her eyes to wipe at her tears. She does not protest, she doesn't move away.

Rio closes her eyes and just breathes.

It's as your hands brush to cradle her jaw, her fingers digging into your waist and brows furrowed, do you wonder if she has no more tears to cry. “Whatever you need. I am here.” You tell her with a whisper.

“You are too good.” She steps back and opens her eyes as your touch falls away. Rio's eyes are like liquid coal, so dark.

You know she wants to leave, gather her footing away from you. The small tilt of her head towards the l forest is a subtle tell you know well. But there's a tugging at your chest that tells you not to let her leave. Not like this.

“Rio,” Her name on your lips is barely a whisper, almost a plea and she turns back to you with a frown. You want to reach for her, you want to take her hands into yours and let your touch ground her. “Stay, just for tonight.”

When she glances past your shoulder you know she's looking at the cabin. The place Rio helped build.

Her touch is everywhere. The flowerbed that sits on either side of the stairs, the two rocking chairs that sit on the porch, even the small table that usually holds carving tools and whatever project Rio was working on at the time.

It's been months since you’ve seen her and yet she's everywhere in the place you call home.

“I can make you some tea.” You add when she is quiet for too long. Then a thought comes to mind and you smile. Rio waits for you to say what you're thinking. “You have to meet Tom. You're going to love him.”

The name causes her to look back at the cabin, eyes searching for something. You know she can easily find him, using her magic to find his life force. But when she repeats his name, a whisper of curiosity, you think she's going to follow you.

It takes a moment, a long drawn out moment that feels like purgatory before she gives in with a small nod.

You step back to grab your basket and book before holding out your hand for Rio. She lets you lead her to the door and her voice is soft when you move to open the door handle. “I missed you.”

The words make you stop short for just a moment before you glance back at her as you push open the door. You give her a small smirk and whisper back, “You just missed my cooking."

That pulls a genuine smile from Rio and you close the door behind the two of you.

Rio glances around for a moment as you walk off towards the kitchen, leaving the basket and book on the table. She has nothing to worry about, everything is the same as when she stopped visiting but that's not what seems to irk her.

She glances over at you and when you look up from grabbing the tea bags, it seems the time for tears is over. Rio is watching you and you raise an eyebrow at her when silence crawls across the room.

“Are you judging the decor because I remember you wanting to add certain things that I thought were questionable.”

That makes her smile and you decide if Rio is done with showing her grief then you will act as if things are normal.

“You've butchered my decorative bone sculpture.”

Now that stops you in your tracks and you almost drop your favorite mug. You look at Rio like she's lost her mind and glance over at the sculpture that's definitely not butchered, it just had a hat on its head.

But then she's smirking and you glare at her, shaking your head with a sigh. “You are the worst.”

“You should have seen your face.” She chuckles to herself and goes back to looking around the living room. “If you would have let someone else in here while I was gone I would feel left out.”

You shake your head in response, a small smile on your lips. You let her look because that's always the fun part.

Making tea requires little magic, just a touch to warm the water and then you can continue without it. The mundane motion is a comfort that's easy to get lost in.

It doesn't take long. You're actually surprised it took this long before he made himself known.

A soft meow fills the silence and you glance behind you with a small smile. Rio's attention has shifted, she's glancing around in confusion and determination.

You turn back to the tea and let her find him on her own. There is no urgency to your movements, no distrust at her being so close to something so special. You had wanted it to be a surprise, and this is as good as any.

“His name is Tom?” She looks up as you carry two cups of steaming hot tea out of the kitchen. You place them on the wooden coffee table that sits in front of the couch and take a seat next to her.

Rio is holding the little black cat in her lap, her nails scratching lightly at the back of his head. You can hear his purrs at the attention.

You give her a nod and she turns her attention back to the feline. “I found him a few weeks ago. He was caught in a hunter's trap.”

Rio glances up at you with a frown. “There are no hunter traps near here. Where did you go?”

With the excuse of your tea you take a sip and shrug, and then you get up from the couch and walk over to the bookcase. The spines of the books are bare, a safekeep of knowledge if anyone got past your wards and tried to steal from you. With a whispered spell, fingers dancing over a row of books, the names come to the surface.

While Rio is gone you were left with no studies, no mentor so you took to traveling with spells that could get you in more trouble than worth. But the need for knowledge, for understanding is something you inherited from your mother.

So you traveled and still you always came back, hoping you would see any signs that Rio returned. And while traveling, in the middle of a rumored haunted forest behind a small village, you found Tom. And a book.

You grab the book and walk back over to Rio, holding out the book for her to take. “I found this when I found him. I thought you would find it interesting.”

Rio looks at the book for a long moment before reaching for it and placing it on the table. Her attention goes back to Tom and you smile. Of course he's stolen her from you.

“How did you come up with his name? Because I remember us talking about familiar names before and Tom wasn't on the list.”

“I specifically remember you putting Thackery on the list.” You raise an eyebrow at her and Rio smirks as she scratches Tom's chin.

“You remember correctly.” Rio says and you shake your head with a smile.

To be honest you didn't even have time to think before starting the ritual. You didn't even know if it was going to work. It was adrenaline and panic that pushed you and the first name that escaped was Tom.

Besides, what can you say? A witch and a cat familiar is as stereotypical as it gets and still the entire process was as impulsive as it could have gotten. You love Tom, he's an extension of who you are now.

Tom turns to you with a meow and your fondness only grows. Of course he likes her, she's giving him many pets.

“You said the first name you could think of, didn't you?” Rio glances at you with a knowing smirk.

You think about defending yourself but she's right. The first name that came to mind was Tom. “I was a little preoccupied trying to save his life.”

“Well I think it's perfect, right Tom?” Rio turns back to the black cat, scrunching her nose playfully when he reaches a paw out to her face. Her touch is gentle as her fingers drag lines through his fur, and Tom is basking in the attention.

You had refused to let him outside earlier because he loves to mess up the flowers and you've grown tired of walking by just to see them ruined again. Rio would love to know that little detail, that Tom loves to chew on her flowers but you'll let him have this, just for now.

“I think he likes you.” You tell Rio after a moment of just watching the two. Tom's eyes are closed and his purrs are loud as Rio gives him all the attention. You might even think that she's going to become his favorite.

The small tilt of her head, the fall of her hair as she turns to look at you, even the darkness of her eyes makes you want to hug her again.

“I like him too. You picked a good one.”

It's when you nudge the tea towards her does Rio finally reach for it, she holds it close and closes her eyes as she smells the mint. The small upturn of her lips makes you look away.

The fire burns bright against the dying wood, flames dancing with a rhythm that's exceptionally hard to find and still you stare. The sight is a relief, it's comforting.

It's only with a tilt of your head, a twitch of a finger, does the fire come alive in a different way. The burning edges take the form a dog, it runs around with a wagging tail and it makes you smile.

The soft hum of amusement draws your attention back to Rio, she's watching the illusion. “My turn.”

The competitive glint in her eyes when she glances at you then back at the fire calms your nerves.

As you turn back to the fire, the dog is now chasing a bird. It runs around and jumps to try and catch it but the bird is always faster.

It flaps its fiery wings and swoops around like it's showing off, and yet the dog never gives up the chase. It's tail wags and it bounces to try and reach the bird, failing every time.

The very moment the bird flies out of the fireplace, its fiery body soaring through the air a few times before crashing back into the fire, you turn to Rio with narrowed eyes and the hint of a smile.

“Show off.” You mutter but your words have no bite. Her smile is small and you don't want to break it. So when she turns her attention back to Tom, brushing her fingers through his soft fur, whispering words you can not hear, you let her be. Even for a moment.

Because sometimes words are too much. Sometimes all it takes to feel better is holding a small animal in your hands and knowing that it trusts you. And Tom, you can tell without a doubt trust her. Not as death, but as Rio.

You watch them with a soft expression. Tom, in her lap purring loudly, looking entirely content. Rio, brushing her fingers through his fur, scratching under his chin, leaning down to touch her nose with his. It feels special and vulnerable.

“You know he's going to live as long as you.” Rio finally speaks after a long moment. She tilts her head just a bit to look over at you.

You try to pretend you weren't watching them but it feels impossible not to look away. You hum softly in response, shrugging just a bit. “I know.”

Rio smiles. Turning her attention back to your familiar, green wisps of magic dance at her fingertips as she brushes over his fur and you watch, curious and suspicious.

You feel it. The instance whatever Rio’s done has settled into the bond. You narrow your eyes at her and debate on saying anything. But she beats you to it, with a playful glint in her eyes and a small smirk that tells you she knows exactly what you feel.

“He's fine. You can breathe.” She teases you softly and you look between Tom and her, and he does seem fine. Perfectly okay.

“What did you do?”

Rio says nothing, just gives you a private smile as she continues brushing her fingers through Tom's fur.

“If you want to leave I won't stop you.” The words are soft, a whisper really. A reminder that this is still her choice.

And still Rio gives you a half smile before turning back to Tom who is currently rolled over and playing with her hand. Teeth and claws can't hurt her and yet you know he's not trying to.

And she stays.

She drinks the tea and helps you make dinner, and she even tells you some old joke she's been carrying around for the right moment, which it seems is now. Rio doesn't cry again. She doesn't explain or vent. She's just here, in the moment. With you and Tom.

And when morning comes. When the sun shines through open windows and the sound of birdsong echoes through the woods, Rio is still here.

“Let me make you breakfast.” You haven't made her breakfast in months. You miss it, the quiet moments, soft words and normalcy of it. And you want to see what it’s like to have her in your kitchen again, what it’s like to have this with her. “Please.”

As Rio looks back at you, smile turned soft; she lets you have this. “Only because you said please.”

“Thank you.” You grin and she reaches out to brush your hair back, her finger traces your ear and you don't breathe as she leans closer to you. Her lips are soft as she kisses your cheek and the touch is so intimate that you think your control is going to break.

To kiss Rio, to be kissed by Rio, that’s an urge you won’t ever let become words.

“You're too good.” She whispers but you disagree, you shake your head and take her hand in your own. She's warm under your touch.

The truth is so simple it should be easy. But you know she overlooks things when it comes to herself and still you don't mind having to remind her. “You deserve it.”

It’s when Rio leaves, a promise to return and Tom perched on her shoulders you let yourself almost believe you could get used to this. She said she wanted to get him some pheasant this morning as a treat and there was no way you would deny her.

The cabin is silent as you make breakfast but you don't feel alone. You know she won't stay but you missed this. Having her here with you.

As the front door opens some time later you look up to see her again. She has her hood up and somehow Tom is still on her shoulders, a bird feather between his teeth as his bright eyes look for you. He perks up at the smell of bacon and crawls out of Rio’s hood to jump on the floor and trot towards you.

He places the feather at your feet and meows, flicking his tail back and forth as he waits for his treat. You shake your head and tear a piece of bacon and set it on the floor as you take the feather.

“I think he likes you more than me.” You chuckle and look back to Rio. She’s lowered her hood and her eyes are on the two plates in front of you. She walks over slowly and sits down across from you.

“Blueberries?” She asks, picks up a blueberry and looks at you with a raised eyebrow. You nod in response, place the feather down next to your plate and take a sip of your tea.

“Special treat.” You shrug as you tear apart your bacon and nibble on one piece.

Rio loves blueberries. It was one of the first things you learned about her. It was the berries in your basket the other day.

When Tom jumps on the table to grab another piece of bacon you shoo him away with a soft wave of green magic, he floats in place for a moment before dropping to the floor. His angry meow and hiss makes you shake your head with a smile.

Rio laughs but she’s far more giving when it comes to her bacon. She sneaks a few pieces off her place as she eats and you know she’s dropping them to Tom who’s probably sitting on the floor right next to her but you don't have it in you to scold her. It’s adorable.

It’s later when the sun is high in the sky and the two of you are walking down a path that leads to the nearest lake, you know that this is goodbye.

“Are you ready for this?” You ask her once the two of you reach the lake. There’s a group of ducks swimming in the middle of the water and a deer is drinking on the farside. Rio nods after a long moment. She takes a breath that relaxes her shoulders and nods again.

“I have to be.”

“Okay,” You move to stand in front of her and she watches you with curiosity. Rio reaches for your hands and you let her fingers dance against your palm before she takes your hand into her own. “Now, who is it you would like me to look after?”

You don’t expect her to frown, and yet you should have. You don’t rush her though, there is no need. Rio recovers quickly, she squeezes your hand and you return the gesture. “Her name is Agatha Harkness.”

“Agatha,” You mutter the name because it sounds familiar. You don’t notice Rio watching you carefully, waiting for your response, waiting to see what you do.

Agatha. Harkness. Suddenly the recognition sparks to life like a wildfire. Agatha Harkness. The witch killer.

You look back at Rio in utter shock. Her expression is guarded and you know if you say the wrong thing she’s going to pull away, she’s going to hide under her apathy.

“She could kill me.” That is not what you meant to say.

But Rio doesn’t move away. She shakes her head, steps closer and holds your face in her hands so you look at her when she speaks next.

Her eyes are so rich in color you think you could drown in them, if it weren’t for the predicament of this entire situation. “She won’t. She can’t. I promise you she can’t. Agatha’s powers are unique.”

Yeah, her powers kill other witches, you would call that unique and terrifying. Even if every word is just rumor you still would not like to run into her.

“If you don’t blast her, if you don’t harm her with your magic she can’t steal yours.” Rio explains gently. She brushes the pad of her thumb over your lower lip and sighs. “You do not have to do this if you do not want to.”

You shake your head, close your eyes and breathe. You grab at her wrists and you can feel her exhale against your face.

Rio came to you with this request. You have already agreed. You clear your throat and nod, open your eyes and look at her. “Where is she?”

She licks her lips before she responds and you're too weak right now. Your eyes fall to her lips and you exhale softly. “North. You have time.”

“What do I even say if she asks why I’m following her?”

Rio hums softly before she responds, her index finger traces the line of your jaw. “Agatha's thirst for knowledge fuels her curiosity, if you dangle something she wants right in front of her she will let you stay close by. She's like you in that regard.” She smirks and you glare at her.

“I’m a way better cook.” You grumble and she smiles, her laugh is light and teasing.

“Yes, your pancakes are to die for.” Rio teases you and you want to kiss that expression off her face.

“How long will you be gone?” You ask her, voice a whisper.

“I promised him an adventure.” She doesn't explain more and you know that is answer enough. You won't see her for a while.

“Okay, okay.” You let out a soft breath and give her a small nod. You can do this for her.

“Thank you.” Her whisper tickles your lips and you have to close your eyes so you don’t give into that urge.

“Whatever you need.” You tell her softly. You don’t know if it's relief or regret that you feel when she finally steps away. You open your eyes and watch as she reaches for something hidden in her cloak.

The surrounding trees are all twisted and dead, with heavy vines hanging from branches too high to reach. What you see is a barrier. A makeshift fence that keeps the witches to the road.

The air carries a subtle fog that lingers just out of reach, shrouding the forest of the road into the unknown. Even the leaves that make up the path are all dead. Only magic keeps them vibrant with false life.

You almost feel insulted. 

Nothing here can sustain life. It never will.

The road is an abomination. It shouldn’t exist.

And yet here you are.

When you look up at the sky, a feeling of loss settles in your chest. The sky is not real; the moon is a false imitation, and the stars are all wrong. 

You will never not hate this place. 

The soft whispers of a conversation tug at your attention when you notice the witches at your back are talking about you. With a subtle shift, you slow your steps and listen in. 

They speak so carelessly about your reaction to seeing Agatha, about the anger they saw. About how they could use your emotions to drive a wedge where, unbeknown to them, there is a canyon. 

In the simplest of terms, they want to manipulate you to their advantage because they do not trust Agatha. 

Because you do not trust Agatha. It’s insulting in the most human way possible.

Where on earth did she find these people? Why did she find them?

There’s something you're missing, you just know it.

The moment you hear Rio's name is the moment you turn around, you do not care what they are going to say. Their little conversation ends now. The shift in your momentum is fluid as you turn around mid step, eyes narrow in suspicion. 

You keep your face blank when they all jump in union. The very obvious change of demeanor tells you they did not know you were listening in on them.

You let the silence linger as your eyes scan over the small group. They cling to each other for comfort, but it only takes a moment for you to recognize that their bonds as a coven are new. They are still easy to bend, easy to break.

“You know,” Your voice is gentle, giving nothing of what you feel away for them to see. “To betray one's cover on the road,” 

You spread your hand out to emphasize exactly where you all are. “To break the rules only punishes all.”

“She is the one that tried to cheat!” The pink dressed witch points out like you need to be taught, like she needs to tell you who Agatha Harkness is.

As if you don't know exactly who she is. It's almost laughable how much this witch thinks she knows more than you.

“And now one of you is dead. How tragic.” This is not the first and will not be the last time a witch loses their life on the road. Do they not understand that?

“But that death is not her fault.” This time your voice is cold, stern. It feels like you're scolding children. “You failed as a coven. So do not blame your misgivings as a group on her.”

When only silence becomes their response, you decide to turn back around and continue down the path. The next trial awaits, and you want to get this over with as soon as possible. 

But a voice makes you pause. 

“Why do you hate her?” The unexpected question knocks the air out of your lungs and the world seems to stop. As if everything dead and alive waits for your answer. 

Memories rush forward with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you can never breathe again.

The sight of a never ending forest, a small cottage tucked away from hunters and strangers alike. The laughter of a young boy with Agatha's hair and Rio's smile, a bright yellow flower in his hands.

The years before tragedy felt like a lifetime. 

You were happy. You were loved. 

You want to cry. 

With a small hitch in your breath, you close your eyes and push down the tidal wave of emotions. If you become overwhelmed, the road’s magic will latch onto you like a leech. You can't risk it.

“My reasons are my own. Focus on surviving the road.” Your words are final, empty of the emotions that are battling beneath your heart. You know you can never pick up the pieces of yourself that are broken. 

But for now, you can ignore them.

You will not let them see you like this. Never again will Agatha see this side of you.

When you finally catch up with Rio, you take notice of the house in the distance, the windows lit in a deep orange sunset light. The fog of your surroundings only adds to the ominous look of it.

That must be the next trial.

What catches your attention next isn't Agatha arguing with the boy. It's not the group of three walking over to settle whatever disagreement there is. No, it's the fact that Rio is leaning against a tree, feigning boredom. Her knife in hand, twisting it in her grip as if she's studying the blade.

The leaf in her hair is bright in color, almost like fire, and it stands out against the rich brown of her hair. As if she can sense eyes on her, Rio glances up. Her eyes find you in an instant and you give her a small smile.

She waits as you walk over to her and it's only once you stop in front of her, your back to the others, does she return your smile. She tucks her knife away and holds out her hand, a small flower blooming in her palm. “For you.” 

Your smile turns bittersweet as you reach for the flower, the baby blue petals remind you of a clear afternoon sky. As your fingers touch the stem, it flourishes. Reacting to the caress of your magic that trickles from your fingers. You hold the flower for a moment before tucking it beneath your coat. 

As you look back to Rio she pushes forwards, off the dead tree that she knows you won't touch. When she steps into your space, it feels like you’ve broken the water's surface and can finally breathe again.

“You look filthy.” You tease her before she can notice if anything’s wrong. The dirt that covers her skin and her clothes gives her a rough look, and yet her makeup is as pristine as ever. Her hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. There are twigs and leaves and who knows what else hidden in the mess of her hair. 

“Says the one who also had to crawl out of a grave.” Rio responds, leaning just a bit closer when you reach out to brush your fingers through her hair. Her hand settles on your waist with ease, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Which I'm assuming is your fault.” You voice your suspicion as you tug on the largest of the leaves you can see in her hair. 

To summon a green witch, let alone any witch to the road, is almost impossible. You don't even know why they tried it in the first place. 

Rio says nothing for a moment. She just lets you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling at the twigs and leaves you find. She licks her lips when you brush your thumb behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh as she closes her eyes.

An annoyed huff and angry footsteps causes you to pull back from her, suddenly self conscious. But Rio's hand catches your wrist before you can step out of her personal space. When she blinks open her eyes to look at you, her brow furrowed slightly. You can't help but give her a reassuring smile. 

Agatha is storming off again. Because of course she is. She will not wait for the two of you.

“Tell me later?” You know this conversation isn't close to over, but right now, time is essential. Rio gives you a small nod and only then do you step away from her.

Finding Agatha is easy. She's at the next trial, waiting for the two of you. The door is decorated with stained glass, the phases of the moon surround the centerpiece, which is the waxing moon. It's almost beautiful if you didn't know that danger lies just behind it.

You feel Rio just behind you, watching the group intently. The graze of her fingers on your back is a welcoming sensation when you realize who’s trial this is.

The protection witch.

With a quick scan, you find her easily, the witch with the red streaks in her hair. She looks the most nervous, hands shoved into her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The teenager is the one to usher her inside, voice reassuring. He calls her Alice and holds his hand out for her and once she takes it; he walks through the door beside her. The other two follow close behind, nerves elevated for what is to come.

When there is only you, Agatha, and Rio left at the door, the tension seems to skyrocket. 

You clench your jaw when she looks at you as if she expects you to go first, but you don't move. The door stays open and no one moves.

When Agatha’s patient wanes, she jerks her head to the door, her voice callous, and yet she can’t look at you when she speaks. “After you.”

It’s only when Rio pushes her knuckles against your lower back do you finally give in. The very moment you walk through the door, you’re blinded by a light as bright as a newborn star. It’s honestly a weak imitation, but that doesn’t mean it can disorient you any less.

As the world around you slowly comes into focus, you notice two things right away. 

One, the air is pungent with magic. It’s so bad you swear you can taste it. Two, when you turn to look at the others, you notice everyone is dressed in seventies fashion attire. 

Glancing down, you see that you too, have also changed outfits. You brush your fingers over the gold embroidered that stands out against the white design of your clothes. Small beads and complex stitches run in calm waves up your sleeves. As you turn your arm to follow the designs, you notice your nails are also painted white. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Alice tells everyone as she glances around the room with a distrust that runs deep. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Rio says as she looks at Alice, brows raised in intrigue. When she catches your gaze, she’s not subtle as she looks you over. She’s adorned in black and gold. The low cut of her blouse catches your attention and you may stare a little too long. Her smile is predatory when she notices you looking. 

“The road isn’t subtle.” Alice mutters, her disdain clear.

You glance around at her words, curious about the history that this trial will bring up.

The room looks like a music lounge studio. Instruments and microphones are set out like they are just waiting to be played. The floor is covered with different rugs; the lights have a certain aesthetic and even the walls are mismatched stones with different things decorating them. 

Your eyes land on the grand piano when everyone gathers around a wall mirror that one of the witches has found, getting a clearer look at the clothes that now fit the aesthetic of this trial. You leave them to their curiosity and walk to the center of the room, a metronome catching your attention from where it sits atop the piano. 

You don’t notice her at first, brow furrowed as you brush your fingers over the edge of the piano lid. You hum a soft lullaby as your fingers tap to the rhythm in your head.

When you see her fingers graze over the piano, you freeze. When she finishes your melody, her beige nails tapping lightly against the polished black case of the piano, you step away.

You look at Agatha like she’s a ghost. 

She’s not—she wasn't—you never told her. Rio doesn’t even know.

It was only for Nicky. It was his song.  

“What are you doing?” You back up when she finally looks up at you. She can’t hide it when her eyes glance over your attire. You know her too well. The way her eyes linger just a little too long, the way she clears her throat before jerking her head back to the piano. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders like she’s buying time.

She looks like she wants to say something but stops short. When she reaches for her brooch, finger tapping lightly as if she needs a physical reminder it’s still there, you understand. 

He told her. Of course he did.

Whatever Agatha is trying to accomplish by reminding you of a life you can never get back, you need her to stop.

You can't do this. The emotional whiplash is getting exhausting.

“Why are you here?” She tilts her head to look at you, her expression clouded with suspicion.

“Why are you?” You deflect her easily, asking your own question. To walk the road once and survive is akin to a miracle. Why would she come back here?

“I asked first.” She pushes into your space, eyes narrowed, her tone condescending. When you shift to move away from her, she grabs hold of your wrist. 

You don’t expect what comes next. You have no time to prepare as your magic comes alive with the contact. It’s been so long since she’s touched you that a lifetime couldn’t prepare you for her pain.

The absolute onslaught of unchecked emotions feels like agony. Her touch burns. It’s scolding hot with the centuries of anguish and hatred that Agatha has clung to. It seeps under your skin like a parasite.

You want to scream.

You need her to let go. Right now.

“I am not here for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Your words are brutal, every ounce of hatred you have ever felt is directed at her. You know you will regret this later but right now you are desperate.

Agatha steps back as if you physically slapped her. As if you ran a knife right through her heart. But she lets go, that's what you needed.

When you move away from her, cradling your wrist close to your chest, she scoffs. 

“And they call me cruel.” Her voice wavers, head turned away so you can not see her vulnerability. Your heart already hurts but you say nothing. 

The churning in your stomach makes you feel sick. You weren't expecting her to touch you. You weren't expecting your magic to respond to her.

Not like this. Not after all this time.

As you look down at your trembling hand, fingers clenching into a fist, you know one thing for certain. You didn’t feel a flicker of magic from her when she touched you. 

Agatha has lost her magic.

Rio's hands are warm, her eyes are as dark as coal and she's looking at you in a way that you would compare how people look at the stars.

“I like this outfit.” She tells you with a whisper. Her voice is a soft confession. Her fingers dance along the design of your top.

Rio leans into you, pushing closer with a breath that makes you want to grab her face and kiss her again.

“I saw her looking at you.” Her words sound like jealousy but you know better. You reach out and cradle her face in your hands. You wish her hair was down so you could run your fingers through it.

“Are you jealous?” You tease her with a small smirk and Rio grins. She leans close enough that each breath has no room.

"I miss seeing her kiss you." Rio's confession is a whisper that's followed by silence. Rio's breath is soft as she brushes her nose against your cheek.

You don't know what to say, you don't know if you should say anything. This pain isn't new, it's not young and dangerous.

It's a scar. Healed over through decades of life and loss and love. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

"You miss her." You speak gently, fingers tracing the line of her jaw as her eyes dance over your expression.

Rio may be death, she may be old and wise and a sarcastic pain in your ass but she doesn't like to let things stagnate. She doesn't like to let pain simmer. And yet Agatha doesn't just simmer, she burns.

"I miss us." She corrects you softly.

Us. Not just you or her. She misses her family.

The silence is long and quiet and it's a surprise no one has come to check on you two but you don't care. There is only Rio in your orbit. Being brutally honest.

“What do you miss about her?” Her eyes are sad but her hands are firm as they hold you at the waist so there is no chance of running from this. It's not like you could if you wanted to, Rio isn't even letting you breathe alone.

“Rio…” You place a hand on her shoulder, a silent push. Because you don't want to talk about this, not here. Not on a road that's always listening. Not where anyone could walk into this room and hear secrets spoken aloud.

“I miss her laughter, I miss her stories, the endless questions she always had for us. I miss kissing her, and braiding her hair. I miss the two of you arguing over which flowers to plant in the garden.”

You've never heard her this homesick before. Not for the moon or the stars, not even for you.

“I'm here.” You reach for her with steady hands. You pull her closer and you don't even think about it, not really. You just reach for her, fingers working to undo the clip in her hair.

Rio's hair falls in gentle waves, blocking the room around you and with her hair free, with the flower that was in her hair falling to the ground, you massage your fingers through her hair.

“I miss her too.” You whisper softly, barely audible but you know she hears it. You know she hurts the same.

Rio is so close, her grip has relaxed enough that she's holding you more for support than an anchor. Her hair has fallen in her face in the way you love and still you brush her hair back with a gentle touch.

“You're such a sap.” Rio's voice is low and familiar and her eyes gleam in a way that reminds you that you'll never not love her.

“Says the witch who refuses to sleep alone.” You tease her back and Rio smirks.

She's so close that you know she's dragging it out. You know she's going to kiss you again. But before anything can happen a certain witch storms into the room with heavy steps and a scowl.

Rio doesn't move but you do turn to look at Agatha, who's now standing there just staring at the two of you. It's almost comical, the slightest hint of a sudden blush and the way she can't seem to look away.

“Miss us already?” Rio teases, smirks when Agatha only glares. She doesn't step back, she doesn't give you an inch of space as she watches Agatha.

“Hardly.” Agatha growls the word out and moves to stomp over to the chair Rio had occupied before. “I just needed a break from those,” She shakes her head and looks at the glass window behind the two of you. “Idiots.”

You watch as she rolls her shoulders, twists the chair until she can kick her feet up on the nearby table. When her eyes turn back to the two of you her growl of annoyance is almost cute as she moves to cover herself.

“I wasn't expecting to find the two of you,” she scowls and motions at the two of you with an expression that one would think is disgust if you didn't know Agatha. “Like this. You do know that window is transparent, right?”

Rio raises an eyebrow and steps away, her touch following. She settles next to you, not quite touching, not when her full attention is now on Agatha.

“I remember you once liked us like this.” Rio smirks as she mocks Agatha's words.

When Agatha refuses to continue this conversation you decide to shift it before Agatha says something harsh enough to wipe the smirk off Rio's face.

“Why did you bring those witches?” You ask her, causing Agatha's glare to shift from Rio to you.

Agatha pushes her hair back in a dramatic jester as she nods towards the other room where the witches are. Her tone is pure sarcasm. “Oh, they're my new best friends.”

You scoff at her, look away with a shake of your head. “You just said they were idiots.”

“They are.” She says with a glare.

Rio, having to spoil your plans once again pulls the attention not on the other but on the three of you. She smirks at Agatha and gestures to you. “You're always welcome to join us, Agatha.” Rio's tone is overly sweet and you can't help but roll your eyes. You tilt your head and watch agatha's reaction.

Rio takes the invitation without hesitation. Her fingers reaching out and brushing up across the tendons in your neck, nails scratching lightly.

Agatha snaps all too easily at the sight, growling as she glares at Rio. “Enough.”

“Jealous?” Rio questions, raises her brow when those blue eyes only narrow in response.

“Why are you here?” Agatha scowls, clenches her jaw as she stares at Rio, ignoring you all together. All of her aggression, her anger is directed right at Rio.

But it seems she doesn't mind, at least at this moment. Because the second you shift just slightly to move between them, Rio's soft touch on your neck tightens just a fraction in warning. You force out an annoyed huff, stay still and watch them carefully.

“You called us here.” Rio reminds her as if she's simply forgotten. She drags her touch slowly away, along your shoulder and down your arm until her fingers settle on the curve of your wrist.

Agatha scoffs. “I didn't call you. Either of you. I don't want you here.” The slow look to you only raises your annoyance at her tone.

“Whether you meant to or not, my love.” The words of endearment cause Agatha's gaze to snap back to Rio, her expression murderous but Rio continues anyway. “We are here now. And you can't make us leave.”

“You can't do this without us Agatha.” Your words are a bitter truth she doesn't want to face. Her expression only darkens with her emotions when you continue. “Besides magic does what magic does. It took the path of least resistance and here we are.”

Agatha scoffs and glares at the soundboard that's behind you and Rio, and you know that looks. She's plotting, she's planning something.

The way she grinds her teeth, the glint in her eyes, you've seen that look too often. So you decide to push her. Try to distract her.

“You brought the witches here but what about the kid, why let him tag along?” Your tone isn't gentle, it's not soft and understanding. You're accusing her.

That seems to catch Agatha off guard because you usually don't demand things you already know. Rio's fingers trace over your wrist as you and Agatha glare at each other.

“You brought them here. You brought the kid here. Why?” You question her again. Because none of them should be here. Agatha shouldn't be here, not again.

“I didn't make him do anything. He wanted to come.” She argues back with a scowl and Rio stays quiet.

“You shouldn't have let him. Shouldn't have let any of them. You know how this ends Agatha!”

“Oh please like you care about their well being! You're not here because of them. You're here because of me.” She snaps at you, standing from her chair with enough emotion you wouldn't be surprised if she lunged at you.

And isn't that the truth. You're not here for those witches, or the kid. You're here because of Rio. Because of Agatha.

“You think I want to be here? I never wanted to see your face again! I'm not here for or because of you. You're the one who got yourself into this mess!” Your words are harsh, they cut with intention and you see the flicker of a vulnerability on Agatha's face and you want to take it back, you want to explain but you know Agatha.

The tension in the room is so high you wouldn't be surprised if Rio becomes dramatic and tries to cut it with her knife. But instead you hear her snicker like there's an inside joke and both you and Agatha snap your attention to her.

“What?” Agatha growls, folding her arms with a glare that's so familiar.

You tilt your head when Rio covers her mouth with her hand and tries to act normal. She shakes her head with a small chuckle and then clears her throat. But when she looks at you her eyes are sparkling.

“I knew you missed each other.” She whispers with a chuckle as she looks between you and Agatha.

Agatha immediately groans in annoyance and runs a hand over her face like she can't even look at Rio. But it seems her irritation has shifted and you let the moment pass.

“You are the worst.” You growl softly and bump your shoulders against Rio's.

“What?” Her smile stays and she leans into you as her fingers dance along your wrist. “I missed the two of you fighting.”

“You're such a sap.” The words are a whisper and it's wrong almost to forget Agatha is in the room. That she's probably looking between the two of you feeling like an outsider, but you love Rio like this.

Before another word can be said a harsh sound comes from the other room causing all of the attention to shift.

What you see is all the other witches gathering around the kid who looks like he's messing with something. Agatha growls and marches out of the room, and the sight of her like that is so familiar you hate it.

“Let's go see the drama.” Rio whispers in your ear before grabbing your hand and pulling you along with her.

When the two of you enter the main room after Agatha you see that the teen has placed a record on a record player. It looks like he found a clue. Agatha of course has to point out the record is spinning backwards.

Over the course of seconds the music transforms into sharp ugly noise. It doesn't seem to affect you and Rio nearly as much as the others.

“Things are about to be interesting.” Rio gives you a smirk. And you know she's right.

“Tell me something.” Her voice startles you out of the trance of the night sky. You turn your head to look for her.

Agatha is sitting by the fire, legs pulled under her and a hand holding a stick that's poking at the fire. Her eyes watch you carefully, her distrust still clear in her expression.

“What would you like to know?” Your eyes fall to where Tom is splayed out on next to the fire, his tail keeps flicking against your arm as if he's trying to annoy you.

It's been easy to ignore him, when you were trying to map the stars but now that you see him you reach out and grab at the end of his tail. The sharp turn of his head, those amber eyes glistening from the firelight, it makes you smirk.

“Why are you here?”

You glance up at her and see Agatha still watching you. She looks tired, exhausted really. But she's yet to lay down and sleep, and you know better than to tell her what to do.

“Here?” You wave your hand out to gather what she means. Agatha nods and you hum as you turn your attention back to Tom.

He's folded over himself, teeth nipping at your hand as he holds it in his paws. You still haven't let go of his tail, your grip just barely enough to keep it in place.

You push a finger against his nose when he pulls back, mouth open to show his sharp teeth. As his back paws push against your wrist when he rolls over, you let him win. “Can you be more specific?”

Agatha rolls her eyes and turns to the fire. She stabs the stick into the ground a few times before tossing it into the flames. “With me. Why are you here with me? You, a stranger.” Her words are a bite that you don't take personally.

With a sigh you roll onto your side to give her your full attention. The stars are forgotten for Agatha.

“Would you rather be alone? If you want me to leave then just return my book and I'll be gone by morning. But I do remember you agreeing to be my mentor. ” You don't know why you say it, why you give her the choice but maybe she needs this. To make this decision now, after she's walked away from that grave, after she's had time to really think.

Agatha looks back at you, her expression perfectly blank. You do not know what she will say and still you can't help but say, “Tom will miss you though, I think.”

Her attention flickers down to the black cat, her mask slipping just a bit as she watches him. She's grown attached already, it may not be clear to see but you can feel it.

Her hesitation is also telling. She shakes her head and then scoffs like she can't give kindness without attitude.

You watch her for a long moment. Taking in the details of her. Dark long hair, harsh blue eyes, the deep purple of her dress.

Agatha Harkness is not soft. She's abrasive. She's brash. She won't stop long enough to process what you know is true, she's lost someone.

She won't show her grief to you.

It shouldn't be surprising. It's one thing to grieve alone, but to have someone else there, let alone a stranger. That urge to break down and scream everything you can't say, it's chained to humiliation.

Agatha won't show that kind of weakness in front of you.

There is never an instant where you've thought to brave that conversation. To look her in the eyes and ask her what she's running from. That would be a death sentence.

You can not dictate how someone else grieves, that's a lesson you've learned a long time ago. She has to do it alone, even if she's not alone.

When she turns to you, those blue eyes ablaze with the reflection of the fire, you wonder if you're the lamb and she's the wolf.

“You're staring. It's rude.” She dismisses you with a jerk of her head away from you, like the secrets of the woods are more interesting than what you will say.

You don't tell her she's intimidating, that she's every witch's bedtime story, that she's the monster in those same woods. You know she already knows those things, or in the least suspects. Because rumors travel like a sparrow riding the wind.

Instead you want to tell her something that is completely unrelated. Something to ease the edge of annoyance and fire. But before you can even open your mouth Tom decides you were too slow and jumps up and starts playing with teeth and paws right in front of Agatha.

And it catches her by surprise, and you only watch with a small smile as Tom, ever the cat with perfect timing pulls Agatha away from you, away from her thoughts. She whispers soft words and leans down with a brush of dark hair falling in her face.

You are forgotten for soft purrs and playful growls and a familiar who is starting to like Agatha too much for what you know will come of this.

With a glance back at the sky you take a breath and close your eyes. It's going to rain soon.

When morning comes and the dew clings to everything around, Agatha barely waits for you.

She even grabs Tom so he doesn't have to walk on the ground which you think is totally unfair, she shouldn't be spoiling him more than you. But her smile is soft for him, maybe even vulnerable. It's a reassurance that bringing him along was the right choice. It's easier with him. She's not all hard edges and sharp tongue with him around.

What shouldn't be surprising is the fact that she's a good teacher. Agatha is quick to find your weak points, she's quick to poke at your knowledge. It's refreshing in a strange way.

You've chosen to be alone this entire time, with only Rio dropping in every once in a while. To have someone other than Death on the other end of a conversation, someone like Agatha; it's a whole new perspective.

The way she moves, the way she talks, even the way she teaches spells you already know, it's refreshing. She's book smart, well kept and she has a particular knack for getting caught trying to steal a book from your satchel. Which is enchanted so only you can reach inside.

The first time you just waited for her to say something and Agatha just walked away like you didn't even catch her. The second time you just raise an eyebrow and she tosses the satchel at you and then demands a book.

If you laughed, you definitely did not. But you did give her a book. It was about sand spells, and spider web sigils if you remember correctly. She quizzes you on the content of the book without even letting you read it. Thankfully you already know what's in the books.

You want to ask questions just to fill the quiet but Agatha's posture is never open enough for you to even try. She's always in a hurry, running away or towards something you don't know. But she never camps in the same area twice.

She never lingers. But she never leaves you behind either. And that in itself means something.

At least she likes Tom. The two of them are getting along great, so good that you've caught Agatha feeding him scraps of breakfast or dinner, pointedly ignoring your eyes on her. As if you don't exist to her.

“Are you listening to me?”

You blink and glance in her direction. Agatha's hair is down, the milkmaid braid undone. Her eyes are narrowed as she watches you, the twitch of her lips tell you she thinks you've been ignoring her. Which to be fair is true. The sun is warm against your skin, the wind is gentle and headed east, carrying leaves and the smell of the forest.

“No.” You tell her and Agatha's gaze turns sharp. She stops and you stop beside her.

“You're the one who wanted a mentor, and now you're not even paying attention?” Her accusation is sharp, meant to disarm you into submission.

You fully turn to look at her, mindful of her hands. There's not a spark of magic in the air, you frown. It is easy to suspect confirmation first and explanation second. But you know she's frustrated, she's tired, and for now you're the only distraction she has.

“We've been walking since dawn, I apologize if my mind has wandered.” You speak carefully, you don't want an argument. Not right now.

Not when the sun makes your throat ache for a drink, not when you ache for your own bed and a glass of wine.

Her grimace tells you she doesn't like your answer, she clenches her jaw and continues to watch you like she expects you to say more. But before you can even think of something to say, she speaks first. “Do you remember what we were talking about?”

You nod and fight the urge to fold your arms. You know she'll take the shift in your stance as annoyance. “Potions.”

Agatha hums in response and moves to continue down the path, you follow after her. The soft sound of paws at your back as Tom trails somewhere behind you.

“And what potion was I talking about?” She's nonchalant as she continues the conversation but you know you are being tested.

You let the silence drag for a few steps before responding. There's a rush of the breeze that pushes the heat of the day from your mind just a bit.

“Healing potion.”

The memory of her going through a list of names flickers to the front of your mind. She was explaining why certain potions were named what they are.

You let the silence drag a few steps before continuing. “They're tricky to learn. One mistake can render all your hard work unusable or worse.”

You're not trying to impress her, you know your history. But still, the little nod of approval she gives when you do impress her, it's almost addicting.

Agatha reaches into her satchel and pulls out an apple. It's round and red and she's teasing you. The glint in her eyes, her smirk.

"Get all my questions right and you will get this apple."

You want to shake your head, you want to glare at her because withholding one apple doesn't make you desperate. So you make things more interesting. You pull out a book, you don't have to look at it to know which one. The spine is familiar enough.

This book is special. It's Rio's. She gave it to you years ago. It's your favorite. And it's even a spell book. It's a story book. About death and a witch.

Agatha's eyes catch it immediately and she glances at you then the book again. Her curiosity sits just under her suspicion.

"If I get the questions right I get the apple and we sit and relax at the river."

It's not often, rarely does she show pride for you, and maybe that's what does it. The traces of something other than grief, something real, that’s what keeps you in step with her.

That, and your promise to Rio.

It almost feels impossible.

Agatha without magic.

But you know the truth as if it were engraved into your very soul. She is powerless.

The knowledge leaves a bad taste in your mouth. This is so much more than a binding. At least that would still leave the lifeblood of a witch's magic alone even if unreachable.

But Agatha's powers aren't bound. They're missing. 

With furrowed brows, you glance back up at her. She's not looking at you, her posture rigid as she studies the polish of the piano. A single painted nail drags against the paint as if she wants to peel it away to see what's underneath. 

Something happened to her. Something chased her to the road.

This is a witch's last resort after all.

You want to ask. The question is on the tip of your tongue but you hesitate.

If this conversation continues all that will be returned is insults and profane remarks. You don't want to argue, not like this.

Not when her emotions simmer just underneath your own. Her anger, her pain, her grief. It would be too much when added with your own.

You close your eyes, lower your head and force out a slow breath. You need to think; you need to find Rio.

You need answers that Agatha won't give.

The feeling of your fingers brushing over the delicate skin of your wrist is grounding, calming. There is no physical mark from her touch. She hasn't intended to hurt you, at least not like that. 

Yet, the soft pulse of your magic as it comes to the surface feels like relief. The way it dances along your fingers is familiar as the sight of falling stars.

Your emotions turn bittersweet when you remember how Agatha loved mixing magic with you. Seeing her purple and your white dancing together was always a sight. 

It was breathtaking when Rio joined in, that subtle smile on her face.

She always said it was for research. Was her magic untouchable to others, was she just a siphon? She had so many questions and you were never one to deny her. 

That first time she asked is a memory you will never forget. 

Agatha laying in bed next to you, heavy with sleep, daring to ask the question fully conscious Agatha wouldn't dream of. 

She was curious; she was terrified. And still you held little hesitation as you reached out to the fire-lit ceiling above and pulled your magic to the surface. 

The wisps of white magic danced around like a small cloud, lighting the room with its glow.

The look on her face when she overcame her hesitation and matched your movement was worth everything. The astonishment, the relief.

Agatha's magic isn't volatile by nature. Sure it's unchecked, wild even, but it doesn't lash out first. It doesn't take until there is no choice.

To be able to see the swirls of white and purple magic dancing together, to know that it was possible. You know those moments were special to her. Even after she learned someone had to blast her to activate that pull.

With a very subtle glance up you can see that you're not the only one thinking about that time long ago. Her gaze is lowered to your wrist, a pinch in her brow as she watches silently.

The twitch of her fingers tell you enough. That subtle reflex to bring her purple to her fingers and reach out for you, the muscle memory of moments long gone.

When she steps back you let her. The notion is clear she will walk away if you will.

You flex your fingers, letting your magic settle as it's pulled back from the surface. You decide that this trial is more important than shared history and pain. If you focus on the goal here you don't have to look at you, you don't have to notice her.

When you glance up you see her watching you. Those baby blue eyes of hers are looking at you with a coldness that's familiar. 

No more vulnerability between the two of you. You can’t help but wonder if there was ever a chance this wasn’t doomed from the start.

You don't say anything as you turn and walk away. This middle ground is fragile, to speak now would break it so you don't.

When you turn the corner you find Alice. She's looking at a picture with a sense of recognition. She glances at you when you step closer, giving you a fleeting smile. 

As you look at the picture you can see the resemblance Alice shares with the woman. “Your mother?” You question with a glance at her.

She gives a small nod.

“She loved singing. It was her passion, right after showing me how to play soccer.” Alice smiles and you watch her closely.

“She died when I was sixteen. There was a fire, her hotel room. They said it was a freak accident but it felt like more."

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable but you feel the need to continue on if only to give the protection witch some privacy to wrestle her own emotions down.

With a quick glance around your eyes land on a single ajar door. You walk over and step through with ease, this room is still part of the trial. 

It's a sound booth, you conclude as you glance around. The wide expansion of glass at the front of the room shows off the lounge. The witches scattered as they look for a clue they don't know what is.

“Boring isn't it?” 

You glance back at her and scoff. It is boring, that you can't argue with but you have other concerns at the moment. 

“Rio,” you say her name with a warning, turn to lean back against the soundboard that sits below the window. 

The green witch gives you a dangerous smile as she stands from the rolling chair she was just in and walks to you. When she's close enough to touch you reach out, brush a hand over the exposed skin of her chest, fingers dancing up her sternum. 

As she leans closer, places her hands on either side of you, it's easy to slip out the knife from it's holding at her hip. 

The moment you have it in hand she moves. Not away, no that would be too easy. She pushes into your space like a cat caging a mouse.

You feel her hand on your neck seconds after she closes the distance. Everything becomes an afterthought, the knife, your questions, the witches on the other side of the glass. The second hand emotions from Agatha fade like a breeze.

Rio kisses you with a hunger you know runs deep. She pulls you into her with a growl that makes you yield. Her touch feels like the first sparks of a dragon’s fire, it's intoxicating and she knows you love it. 

When her fingers brush against the nape of your neck, scratching lightly you swear she's trying to make you melt like a puddle. The sensation almost makes you drop the knife, makes you moan into the kiss.

When she pulls away her eyes are bright with satisfaction when you need a moment. You spread your fingers out over the place where her heart is buried, close your eyes and bask in the feeling of her fingers brushing through your hair.

“You are cruel.” You mutter under your breath when you finally see what she’s done. She’s distracted you from those racing thoughts, the assumptions and questions. 

“You looked like you wanted to argue.” She says, states a fact really because she was right. She saw right through you and decided to play her game. 

With a soft sigh as she runs her hands down your arms you twist the knife in hand when she pushes closer. Giving you no room to breathe around her, there is only Rio and god do you love it. 

“You know me too well.” You raise your chin and she smirks. When her fingers encircle your wrist, the subtle tell of her knowing what you did, you let your hand go limp. There was never a question about if you were going to use it, she never would have let it get that far. 

But those few seconds of thinking you got away with it makes you grin at her. You tap a rhythm against her chest, hum softly when she pulls her knife away and puts it back where it was. Her dark eyes never leave your gaze. 

“I know you better than the stars know the moon.” Her little proud smile makes you chuckle, you drag your hand down her chest to fiddle with the end of the gap. 

With a glance at the window, the sight of a witch looking at the decorated walls, you have to remind yourself to focus. “I do have a question.” You look at Rio who merely raises her brow and waits. 

The subtle exploration of her hands at your waist, fingers fiddling with the embroidery of your clothes distracts you just a bit but not enough to derail your thoughts. “Agatha,” She frowns as the name falls from your lips but lets you continue. “Do you know why she’s here?”

The question isn’t even a question, not really. You know Rio’s always kept tabs on Agatha, even when she got a hold of that damned book Rio never stopped looking, never stopped trying to find her. 

If something as drastic as Agatha losing her magic wasn’t enough to draw Death’s gaze then you don’t know what could. There is no darkhold this time, there is no magic, only a broken woman still running from her pain and her past. 

When Rio bites her lip, glances away, her hands on your waist halting, you know the answer without a doubt. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? What happened to her? Who is chasing her?” You try to catch her eyes but Rio refuses, she looks tired. You don’t like it. 

“Rio,” Her name on your lips is a plea, soft and gentle. You reach out for her, brush your hands along her jaw and guide her to look at you. She doesn’t want to fight, you know this so you bury down the betrayal you feel. You can feel it later but right now you need answers. 

With a defeated sigh she gives in. Explains what she knows happened, what she had to figure out afterwards. Why Agatha is here is only a suspicion, she knows along with you that Agatha doesn’t need the road, she never did.

And finally, who is after her. The Salem Seven. The name makes you groan in annoyance, everywhere they travel destruction seems to follow. The fact that they have a vendetta against Agatha is only personal. 

“So you pulled me here with you because…” You don’t finish what you were going to say. This entire situation is like a spark to a wildfire, everything can go wrong with just a snap of a finger. 

“She needs us right now. Both of us.” Rio looks you in the eyes when she says the words you don’t want to hear. When silence follows, when it is you who looks away, your touch falling to her shoulders, Rio tilts her head to find your gaze. 

The moment she whispers your name as softly as you said hers, you give. You look at her and she softens, gives you a reassuring smile that does nothing of the sort.  

“She doesn’t want us.” You tell her. Agatha's screams echo in your mind, she hates both of you for what happened. The memory drowns out everything about what's going on around you. The danger everyone is in. 

“And still she needs us.” Rio reminds you gently. You hate that she’s right.

Whatever Agatha is trying to do she can't do it alone. Not like this, not when she's a witch with no magic. 

Not when she's on a road that only takes and hardly gives in return. She’s not going to find what she wants here, not in the way she’s imagining. Trick and trials alike, right? The road is famous for not playing fair.

And still, you wont leave. Not when Rio is here, not when Agatha is here.

Tracking down Agatha is not easy.

She is a covenless witch. For Agatha to stay alive she needs to be illusive, she needs to be able to disappear. But she also needs to stay close enough to witches to steal their powers.

She's a chameleon.

And you quickly figure out she is very good at what she does. It feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

But you have an edge in the chase. She does not know you are looking for her, so she is not running. Not from you.

You do find her. Eventually. Safe to say this tracking spell is worth its weight. Though, you never doubted her. Not once. If Rio ever leads you astray it is your fault entirely for trusting without question.

The forest that surrounds you is unfamiliar, the trees are different and the wildlife is scarce. The sun hangs high in the sky, producing enough sunlight for you to read a book in peace. It’s a story, but you are not interested in the tale, you are interested in the map at the back of the book.

You brush a finger over the compass that sits under the illustrations, the bracelet on your wrist is bright in the sun. The soft pull of magic moves you forwards almost like second nature, you do not even look up.

A meow makes you pause, you move your book and glance down at the black cat at your feet. He meows again and you roll your eyes before reaching into your bag and pulling out a wrapped piece of dried meat you’ve been nibbling on earlier.

You close your book, unwrap the meat and tear off a small piece. When you look down at Tom he’s balancing on his back paws, front paws reaching out for his treat.

“You’re lucky you are cute,” You tell him before holding out the meat for him, he snatches it out of your hand, lets it drop to the ground and rather loudly starts eating it. You shake your head and wrap the snack back up and put it back in your bag.

Your attention turns back to the book and you start walking again, strides slow as you flip through the pages. You don’t remember the story, you haven’t read it in a few years but the map, now that has always held your attention. Something about it has always felt familiar, like the memory of a dream.

But it shouldn’t, this is but a child's story. The pages are worn and aged, the words fading on some pages, it is a well read book but you do not understand how it can hold such familiarity.

It’s strange. It’s a mystery you’ve been trying to solve for years. Over time it has become a side hobby, other things taking more importance but it is always there, and isn’t this just the perfect time to ponder as you look for a witch that is an enemy to other witches.

You do not know much about Agatha Harkness. You know her powers kill witches, you know she is a covenless witch, you know she is older and more elusive than you are.

But everything else, those are just rumors. Stories to scare witches into not traveling alone, into not leaving the coven.

It should be looked down upon, how covens treat traveling witches. The withheld knowledge, the cold shoulders, even the threats. It is unfair and that prejudice was there long before Agatha, there is no question about that.

It is only a mystery of what happened to the coven Agatha grew up in. There are thoughts, theories of course but you pay no attention to them. They are rarely if ever true.

You run your fingers over the drawn river, the subtle waves as it moves across the map. Her powers though, that is a tale too often spoken of to be only fable. You know what you've heard, you know what Rio's told you but you have so many questions.

What does it look like, what color does her magic take form? How does she come out the only one alive?

You shake your head to chase the thoughts away and glance up. What you see makes you pause in your step. There is a woman up ahead, the tug on the bracelet is too faint for her to be Agatha but still that does not explain why she is here.

A quick look to your left confirms that Tom is still close by. He's crouched down, tale swaying slowly as he watches the woman also, his ears are not back though.

You take his reaction into account, he is much too friendly with strangers. With a tilt of your head you shift your attention back to the woman.

She looks… lost.

Which is strange. Witches are much more familiar with the woods than hunters and normal folks. Witches don't get lost in the woods, no they make the woods their home.

At least, some of the witches' you've come across. Different landscapes call for different ways to live.

You watch her as she glances around. You close your book and stand still when she catches sight of you.

There is not an ounce of hesitation as she almost trots towards you. That dress she wears does not belong in the woods, it's too bright, too much fabric.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know the way?” She asks you, clasps her hands together in front of her. You blink in confusion and glance around. Where could she possibly be going to get lost here?

“Way to where?” You ask her and she grins this time, leans in and whispers her destination like she is sharing a secret.

“The witches’ road.” You have never heard of such a thing.

“I have been searching for some time now. I heard that the road offers a prize worth the peril to witches who are brave and true.” She explains and still you do not understand.

Magic like that, like what she is hearing. It sounds too good to be true. And if it is too good to be true then it does not exist.

“It sounds like a tale to me,” You shrug when she frowns at you. “If magic like that truly exists, why would it be so easy to hear about? Also if you are looking for a physical manifestation of a road,” You glance around and then back at her. “I am afraid you are truly lost.”

She deflates slightly at your excuse, as you fault her eagerness for something that is simply not true.

If the witches' road was real you would have heard about it before now.

“I suppose you are right.” She gives in and with that knowledge it is easy to convince her to go home. To search for her answers elsewhere. She leaves easily, tips her hat with a goodbye and walks past you.

With the woman gone you look around, whistle into the breeze and suddenly there he is.

Tom meows loudly from where he's perched in a nearby tree, you didn't even notice when he left your side. When he climbs down you can only watch with mild amusement, at least he always lands on his feet.

“Sneaky little cat aren't you?” You wonder aloud, kneel down to brush your fingers down his back.

He meows, stretches his neck out and sniffs at you. “Oh no you don't. No more snacks for you.” You tap a finger against his nose before standing straight. “Let us find Agatha first.”

It doesn’t take long, in fact you hear her before you see her.

The soft whispers of a song is what guides you the rest of the way, the bracelet is dropped in your bag when it almost yanks you forwards. You can do this on your own now.

When you see her you freeze, you know it is her without a doubt. You move the book into your bag and step to the shelter of tall trees, something feels wrong.

She is alone, but most importantly she is kneeling on the ground in front of a pile of stones. It looks like a grave.

It looks like a child’s grave.

She’s stopped singing, her soft cries replacing the words. She’s too consumed by grief for this child that she does not even notice you are watching.

And you are too consumed with the sight of her, Agatha Harkness, like this that you do not notice when Tom leaves your side. His paws are silent as he rushes out from your hiding spot.

You only catch sight of him when he is close enough to the other witch to draw her attention. “What are you doing?” You whisper, place a hand against the bark of the tree and fight with every instinct in your body not to follow after him.

Whatever Agatha is going through you know it would be best to leave her be. It is never a good idea to interrupt someone’s mourning. Apparently your familiar doesn’t know that thought.

It feels like time has stopped, when Tom brushes up against Agatha’s dark dress and she turns her attention to him. You do not breathe, you can not move.

You can only watch as she reaches out a hand, brushes her fingers over his head, and back, and moves her arm enough to pick him up. It is only when she pulls him into her chest, burying her face into his soft fur are you able to breathe.

She has not hurt him. He is fine.

You stay put. You let Agatha take comfort in the small black cat you love with everything you are. You let her mourn for the child. You let her say goodbye.

It is the least you can do.

And it is only when she stands, only when she starts walking away from the grave, Tom still in her arms, do you choose to follow.

She makes it farther than you thought she would before she notices you following, she must still be in the headspace enough that her guard is almost nonexistent. When she turns, her hold on Tom tightening, her glare close to dangerous, you stop.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Her tone is harsh when she speaks. Her posture is rigid and the flex of her hands promises she will attack if she feels she needs to.

It’s easy to lie, to give her a name that has no meaning to you. Agatha Harkness does not deserve to know your name. And still, when she repeats it. When she says it slowly as if she is trying to taste it, you can’t help but wonder how she would say your name.

When she raises an eyebrow in response to the silence that follows, you almost smile. She’s not going to repeat herself.

You bite your lip, tap your fingers over the fabric of your satchel and come up with an idea. Your touch has called her attention to your bag and she watches you carefully now, a new alertness in her eyes.

“I was looking for something.” You tell her easily, not completely a lie. You reach into your bag, never taking your eyes from her. There is no challenge in your gaze and she lets her own dance between your face and your satchel.

The delicate threads of magic that are woven on the inside of your bag makes your hand tingle, it was one of the first spells you learned from your mother. The pocket dimension has always been a favorite to use when traveling. There is just so much a normal bag can carry.

“There is this spell I’ve been trying to learn,” You open the book you’ve pulled out and flip through the pages. It’s not a beginners spell book, no that would be too easy. This is different, this will capture her attention, you just know it.

“But I keep getting the ingredients mixed up. It also doesn’t help that what it calls for isn’t exactly easy to find.” You glance up at her when you brush your fingers over the neat handwriting, the two different lists and symbols that are scattered through the page.

You don’t look up when she comes closer. You don’t hold the book out, you don’t even move. It feels like a test almost, like letting a tiger walk right past you without flinching so you live to escape.

It’s easy, to let her curiosity lead her, to let her come to you. Soon Agatha Harkness, the infamous witch killer is standing right next to you. She’s close enough to brush her shoulder against yours as she leans close enough to look at the book in your hands.

When she sees what's on the page, the words and symbols she reaches out and taps on one of the words. “This is always easy to get mixed up, it’s the other one,” She glances up at you and you do not breathe. “The one that tastes like dirt.”

As Agatha turns back to the page, one arm holding Tom you let her go over the notes and lists, looking for other mistakes that are not there. This spell is easy, you know it well but averting her attention gives you enough time to come up with a plan.

Surprisingly or not there wasn’t a point before this where you knew how you would go about this. There is no plan, and maybe there should be but you can hardly think straight with her so close to you.

Would she let you travel with her? Do you let her walk away and only watch from afar? Rio asked for you to look after Agatha but what does that entitle? What is it she wants you to do? You have no idea.

She looks up from the book, those blue eyes of hers as bright as the sky above, and still they are clouded with a grief that only a mother would carry.

There is so much you don’t know about Agatha, about Rio, so much you think you will never know but you do know this, letting Agatha walk away from you alone is not a good idea.

“Would you help me? Covens aren’t very welcoming to witches who travel alone and learning the craft by myself is rather difficult without a mentor.”

This has got to be one of the most impulsive ideas you’ve ever come up with. But you can not back down now, you have to leave the choice to her.

Please say yes, you think. This is going to be humiliating otherwise.

The small furrow of her brows, the streaks of dried tears on her cheeks, the way her eyes dance over you as she steps back, the hesitation is clear. “Why do you travel alone?”

You understand her suspicion, her hesitation. To be a covenless witch you have to be wary of others, you have to know when someone is going to fight you or steal from you or outright betray you.

You’ve heard the tales, covens who would easily give up the location of those who travel alone, just so the suspicion would been drawn away from them.

“My mother was a covenless witch. I grew up traveling. When she died, I just kept going, trying to learn on my own. I do not trust covens.” Your words lower her guard, and if you breathe a little easier at the way she’s relaxed, the way she’s brushing her fingers over Tom’s fur, you ignore it.

“You and I both.” She speaks after a moment. She hums softly, glances down at the book and then at you. There's a spark of something you almost don't catch in her eyes as she looks at you. “Alright, I will teach you.”

“Do you mean that?” You watch her carefully, close the book and hold it to your chest. You do not detect any deception from her, but you also do not know Agatha. You do not know if you are walking to your death with this plan of yours.

“I know what it is like to have knowledge withheld from you, to have a coven betray you.” She explains and you know she is not going to give more. She is too smart for that.

“You do not get to ask personal questions. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If it makes you uncomfortable you may tell me and I will take your words into consideration.” She tells you and you nod in understanding.

These aren't the worst conditions you’ve been given. From what you were expecting it’s actually pretty tame. Nothing dramatic or anything. “I accept.”

When she smiles, you can’t help but notice how she looks less dull, more alive.

You glance at Tom, he meows in response and jumps down from Agatha’s arms. You pay no attention to her as he walks over to you, as he sits right at your feet. It seems he is remembering your promise.

“Alright, alright,” You shake your head with a smile and reach into your bag, you don’t notice Agatha watching you carefully. Her blue eyes looking from you to Tom and back.

When you pull out the piece of meat, unfold the wrapping and tear a piece off, she comes to a conclusion rather quickly.

“He is yours?” She asks, eyes sharp as she watches you carefully.

When you look up you dont drop your smile, this is going to be the tricky part of the plan. You don't know how exactly to explain this to her. “Yes he is mine. He is my familiar.”

What you expect is anger, distrust, maybe even the glow of her magic as she realizes that you've been watching her. But she surprises you. Agatha looks down at Tom, watches as he greedily eats his treat, and she nods.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises.” Her words are directed to you and yet you do not know what to say. Except, his name. And she doesn’t laugh, she doesn’t criticize your choice of names, she only repeats it softly.

“I…” You clear your throat and fold your hands behind your back. “I never got your name.”

When she looks at you, her eyes watching you like she can see into the depths of your soul, you wonder if you truly will make it out of this journey alive.

“Agatha,” She watches you carefully before she continues. Her suspicion is easy to see, she does not trust you.

But right now, you are a distraction that she’s going to cling to. Anything not to think or feel, anything to drown out the grief that weighs her bones down.

“It’s nice to meet you, Agatha.”

The small nod, polite smile is all you receive before she turns away. As Agatha walks aways, her posture rigid, hands clenched, you know that this is going to be difficult. But you promised, and you keep your promises.

Following after her, it feels like an intrusion. She won't look at you, she moves as if you are not in her shadow. The tension in her shoulder, the dip of her head, even the clench of hands, it must feel like she's being pulled every which way.

To take away someone's response, to intrude on these moments, it must feel infuriating. And here you are, following her like a lost pup.

This has got to be another level of humiliation. For both of you.

You do not say anything and maybe that's what makes it worse because what is there to say? What would Agatha let you give her, surely not sympathy. That is the last thing anyone wants.

She does not know you. She does not trust you, if she somehow slips through your grasp when it comes nightfall, going after her would be suicidal.

Agatha Harkness is not an easy witch, she has no coven. She is not joyful, or calm. She does not follow rules or order.

But she does like Tom.

Her shoulders relax when he runs after her, falls into step just ahead of her. Agatha pays you no mind but when he meows at her, sits right in front of her, she kneels down to pick him up. She brushes her finger through his fur and keeps walking.

You can work with this.