Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agatha’s boots hit the road with a hollow, rhythmic thud, the sound strangely out of sync with the frantic beating of her heart. Each step should have been a steadying force, something to ground her in the reality of the Witches’ Road, but tonight, it did nothing to quiet the rising storm inside her. The house loomed in the distance, barely a shadow against the darkened horizon.  Agatha’s stomach twisted in knots, and she had to clench her fists just to keep herself steady.

It wasn’t the second trial that stirred this unease in her bones. It wasn’t the test of magic that awaited them within those cursed walls.

The Green Witch.

Rio.

Her ex-wife, though that title felt like a lie. It had been over two centuries since they had cast the bonding sell, a ritual that had entwined their souls far deeper than any mortal vow.

Irreversible.

Unbreakable. 

There was no escaping it.

No escaping her.

She had spent years pretending that her life could move forward, that she could live without the constant weight of Rio’s presence dragging her back to the past. That she could somehow ignore the chain that still connected them—forever. But she couldn’t. Every step on the Witches’ Road tonight felt like it was dragging her toward that same suffocating truth.

And every step felt like a plunge back into the void of their shared pain.

The loss.

It was always that loss that hung between them like a ghost that refused to be exorcised. Their love had once been dark and electric, a storm that raged between them, full of passion and power. They had pushed each other, challenged each other, sometimes with cruel edges that hurt more than they healed—but it had worked. It had thrived, fed by the same magic that pulsed in their veins, bound by the kind of love that defied reason or explanation.

Until that night. Until the loss ripped it all apart. It had torn through them, leaving jagged, bleeding wounds that neither magic nor time could ever heal. Agatha could still feel it, the sharp claws of grief that dug into her every time she thought about it. Every time she saw Rio’s face, that same void opened up inside her, swallowing everything good they’d once had.

No love could survive what they had been through. What they had lost.

The only thing that thrived in the aftermath was cruelty. Cruelty and bitterness that ate away at them both until there was nothing left but the bonding spell itself, the one thing they couldn’t sever, no matter how desperately Agatha tried. Leaving had been the only way Agatha could survive it. The only way to keep from drowning in the endless pain that tied them together.

But survival didn’t mean healing.

Agatha had spent years convincing herself she was free of Rio, that she could live her life without her shadow darkening every corner of it. But the moment Rio had joined the Witches’ Road, all those carefully built walls crumbled, and Agatha was right back where she started—haunted by the ghost of what they had been. Haunted by the loss they had never stopped feeling.

Lost in her thoughts, Agatha didn’t notice they had reached the house until she walked straight into Alice’s back, jolting her back to the present with a start. Her breath caught in her throat.

Alice turned, concern etched into her face. "Agatha… are you alright?"

Agatha didn’t answer. She didn’t apologize either—it wasn’t in her nature. Instead, she stared past Alice at the house that stood before them, its dark silhouette rising like a monument to her worst memories.

Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

The black hand-felled wood that made up its structure seemed more sinister now, but Agatha knew it well. Too well. A lone rose bush stood in the corner, its blood-red petals the only spot of color in the oppressive gloom. The two rocking chairs on the porch were frozen in time, untouched by the wind that howled through the trees. And the door—Agatha’s breath hitched at the sight of it—the bronze doorhandle, with a raven carved into the knob, its wings forever poised for flight.

It was their house.

The house Rio had built for them. The house that was supposed to be their home.

Agatha could still remember the day Rio had shown it to her. The shock. The disbelief. They had been wandering for centuries, two witches without a place to call their own, and Agatha had joked about settling down, how they weren’t getting any younger despite Rio’s immortality and a witches long life span.  It was a careless comment, thrown into the air without thought, but Rio had latched onto it.

She had always listened too closely.

Agatha remembered the way Rio had led her through the dense forest, the trees towering like sentinels around them, the path twisting and turning in an endless maze on the outskirts of Salem. They had walked in silence, but Agatha had felt the weight of something shifting, something building in Rio’s silence. Finally, they reached this very spot. Rio's arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close, her breath warm against Agatha’s ear.

"Welcome home, baby," Rio had whispered, her voice a soft promise that sent shivers down Agatha’s spine.

It had been one of the happiest day of Agatha’s long, long life.

They had built a life together there, in that house. The years they spent within those walls had been filled with laughter and warmth, the kind of peace Agatha had never known. It had been the one place in the world where she felt safe. Where she felt whole.

But now… now it stood as a monument to her nightmares.

Agatha’s fingers trembled at her sides as she stared up at the house, memories flooding back so vividly she could almost hear Rio’s laughter echoing through the air, almost feel her hands pulling her into the warmth of their home. But that warmth was long gone, replaced by the icy grip of grief that had never let go.

The house had been their haven, their sanctuary, but after the loss—after that night—it had become something else.

A tomb.

"Agatha?" Alice’s voice cut through the fog, but it was distant, muted. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye—Jen, Lillia, and Teen exchanging worried glances, their faces tight with concern. They could see it—the way Agatha stood frozen, trapped in the past. But she couldn’t respond. She was stuck.

Teen took a hesitant step forward, eyes scanning the darkness as if searching for something, anything, that had her reacting this way.

"What is it, Agatha?" his voice was gentle but edged with worry. He looked around, uncertain. "What’s wrong?"

Agatha tried to speak, her mouth opening, but no words came. Just a choked sound, a strangled gasp, as if her vocal cords had twisted around the demons she had buried long ago, refusing to let them free. She was drowning, suffocated by memories she had no control over, and no way to stop.

Then she heard it.

Laughter.

A small, childlike giggle that cut through the stillness of the night. Agatha’s heart lurched, her pulse spiking. It wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. It was a sound she had convinced herself she could still hear on the wind, haunting her wherever she went. A phantom echo of a life that was lost. But the sound wasn’t coming from her mind or the recesses of her memory. It was coming from the house.

It was real.

Alive.

A sharp pang of hope tore through her chest, so violent it hurt more than any wound she had ever experienced. Agatha’s breath hitched as her feet moved before her mind could catch up, propelling her forward toward the house, the place she had once sworn she would never return to.

"Agatha, don’t!" Rio’s voice rang out behind her, sharp with panic, edged with desperation. Agatha could hear it—Rio’s fear. The fear she had learned to mask so well over the centuries, now laid bare.

But Agatha couldn’t stop.

She burst forward, her legs carrying her faster than she had ever run in her long life. She had run for her life before, countless times, through battles and trials, through flames and chaos. But this—this was different. She wasn’t running from death now. She was running toward life.

Her boots slammed against the porch, the boards creaking beneath her weight as she charged up the steps. She threw herself at the door, the desperation building inside her coming out in a single, breathless word.

"Nicky!" she cried, the name tearing out of her like a scream as she barreled into the house.

The space around her was exactly as she remembered it, frozen in time like a museum exhibit, all relics of the 18th century. The polished wooden furniture, the hand-stitched curtains, the iron stove in the corner of the kitchen. Every detail was as vivid as the day they’d left it behind, yet Agatha saw none of it. She didn’t even notice her own clothes shifting, her modern attire melting away into the rich, deep purple of an era-appropriate dress, the fabric heavy against her skin. The style—the feel—was lost on her.

Her eyes were frantic, darting around the room, searching for him.

She had heard him. She knew he was here.

"Agatha!" Teen’s voice cut through the air as he stepped in front of her, his hand gripping her arm. She blinked at him, momentarily dazed, seeing him now in symbol-covered overalls, a wide-brimmed hat perched on his head, an image from the past. He looked just as out of place as she felt. "What is this place? What are you doing?"

She barely registered his words. Her hands shoved him aside with surprising strength, her heart hammering in her chest as she pressed forward. 

"Nicky!" she called again, rushing toward the kitchen.

Her breath caught when she saw it—the table, set for three. Three plates. Three chairs. Empty.

Agatha's vision blurred.

No, no, he’s here. He has to be here.

"Who’s Nicky?" Jen’s voice echoed distantly, confusion lacing her tone, but Agatha ignored her. She moved like a woman possessed, pushing past them all, barreling into Alice and Lillia as they made the unfortunate mistake of standing in front of a door.

His door.

She barely noticed them stumble out of the way as she ripped the door open, her heart leaping into her throat.

The room was still. Quiet.

Empty.

But there it was—his bed. Small, neatly made, with a few well-worn books stacked on the nightstand. A small black teddy bear lay in the center, his bear. The one with the chewed ear, the one Nicholas had clutched every night as he slept.

Agatha's knees buckled, the strength slipping from her body like sand through her fingers. She staggered forward, each step heavy, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. Her trembling fingers hovered above the small, black teddy bear, before they brushed against the worn fur, soft in some places, stiff and crusted at the ear—just as she remembered. The same ear Nicholas had chewed on every night until he fell asleep. The sensation of it beneath her fingertips was like a knife twisting in her chest.

Then, suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed across the wooden floor behind her, followed by that laughter again—bright and childlike, full of life.

"Nicholas Vidal, get back here now!" The voice rang out, stern yet playful. Agatha froze. It was her voice, unmistakable, but it hadn’t come from her lips. She turned sharply, eyes wide, heart hammering in her chest.

There, standing in the doorway, were the others—Teen, Alice, Jen, and Lillia—all watching with wide, disbelieving eyes. But beyond them, beyond the threshold, that laughter—his laughter—grew louder, turning into an uncontrollable squeal.

Agatha moved before she could think, rushing past them, her pulse racing, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as she rounded the corner. And then she stopped.

She froze, her whole world grinding to a halt as she saw herself—her, but not her. So carefree. So full of life. Smiling in a way Agatha hadn’t in centuries. The version of herself she barely recognized, but it was undeniably her.

And in her arms was a squealing five-year-old Nicholas, wriggling and kicking as he laughed, his black hair wild, his blue eyes sparkling with joy. His small frame fit perfectly in her arms as she tickled him, his laughter filling the space, pure and unburdened.

"Mommy, stop!" Nicholas giggled, squirming in her grasp.

"Are you going to eat your vegetables?" the other Agatha teased, pausing her tickling to look down at him with that familiar challenging look.

Nicholas froze, still caught in her arms, and Agatha’s breath hitched painfully. Her heart nearly shattered right there because she had convinced herself she had memorized every detail of him—every feature etched into her soul like a sacred carving. She had grown him, nurtured him, shaped his very being inside her for nine months. She had sworn she could never forget him, not a single inch of him. But standing here now, watching him in the flesh, alive and laughing—she realized her memory had blurred over time, like an old photograph left too long in the sun.

The freckle on his jaw.

The way his eyes lightened in the sun.

The way his nose scrunched up in concentration when he was deep in thought.

Agatha had forgotten those precious, delicate details, the ones that made him uniquely her son. Seeing them now—seeing him now—was like losing him all over again. Sickness had taken him from her the first time, and now time had stolen him once more, erasing the fine lines of his face from her memory, until only shadows remained.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her chest constricted as the ache of a thousand heartbreaks crashed over her, and her knees gave way, sending her stumbling against the wall. She pressed a hand to her heart, as if she could hold it together, but it was no use. Watching them—herself and Nicholas—was a brutal reminder of everything she had lost. Of a life she could never get back.

"Nicky..." she whispered, the word strangled, caught in the tangle of her grief.

In that moment, Nicholas looked up at the other Agatha, his small shoulders slumping as he finally gave in.

"Okay, Mommy…I will eat them," he said, his voice soft with reluctance. The other Agatha set him down, a triumphant grin on her face as she watched him shuffle toward the kitchen table.

Agatha pressed herself off the wall, legs unsteady but moving her forward. Her gaze never wavered from Nicholas as he made his way to the chair, to the dining table that had suddenly filled with food. She heard the others murmuring behind her, but their voices were distant, muffled by the pounding in her ears.

“This is clearly Agatha’s trial,” Jen whispered.

"What is this place? Who is that boy? Did Agatha have a son?" Alice asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Agatha ignored them, her eyes locked on Nicky as he sat down. His nose scrunched up in distaste as he stared at his plate, now reduced to just the vegetables. He shot a pleading glance at the other Agatha, who leaned casually against the countertop, arms crossed, one brow raised in challenge. It was a look she remembered well—daring him to argue his way out of it.

Nicholas sighed again, shoulders dropping in defeat, and picked up his fork, spearing a piece of squash. Agatha watched as he reluctantly put it in his mouth, grimacing as he chewed.

"Oh, it’s not that bad!" her other-self teased, clearly amused by his struggle.

It became painfully evident that neither the herself nor Nicholas knew they were there. They were locked in this memory, moving through it as though the present didn’t exist, and Agatha and her companions were nothing but silent spectators.

So it didn’t surprise her when she knelt beside Nicholas, and he didn’t glance her way. He was too focused on grimacing through another bite, unaware of her presence, unaware of the weight of her grief pressing down on the moment.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they hovered just above his hair. She couldn’t help herself. The need to touch him, to run her hands through those soft, velvet locks—the way she had since he was a baby—was overwhelming.

Just one touch.

But as her hand moved through him, passing through the space where his head should have been, her heart shattered all over again.

He wasn’t real.

The sob that ripped from her chest was raw, soaked in grief. It echoed in the silent kitchen, a sound so full of loss that it seemed to vibrate through her bones. Tears blurred her vision as she knelt there, watching Nicholas, knowing she could never hold him again, never feel the warmth of his little body against hers.

He put the last bite in his mouth, chewing with an exaggerated grimace before pushing his plate away dramatically.

"Done," he declared, drawing out the word as though he had barely survived the ordeal.

The other Agatha scoffed, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she stepped forward to collect his plate.

“Vegetables are good for you, Nicholas,” she reminded him with a familiar warmth. “How else are you going to get big and strong?”

Nicholas pursed his lips, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as if considering her words. His face lit up with a flash of mischievous logic.

“Mama doesn’t eat her vegetables, and she’s strong,” he countered, his voice filled with certainty, like it was an undeniable fact.

The other Agatha froze for a moment, then let out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes at the mention of his other mother.

"Oh, don’t even get me started on your mama," she muttered, shaking her head as she set the plate in the sink. There was a tenderness in her tone, a warmth that lingered in the memory like the scent of a fire long burned out.

“When is Mama coming home?” Nicholas asked, his voice filled with innocent pleading, his wide eyes looking to her for reassurance.

Agatha—the other Agatha—didn’t turn from the sink, her back stiffening ever so slightly.

“She should be home soon—” she began, but the words hung in the air, unfinished.

A creak echoed through the house, the familiar sound of a foot stepping on the one loose floorboard. It cut through the memory like a knife. Agatha, and the others, turned toward the sound in unison.

There, on the porch, stood Rio.

Her already pale skin was nearly ashen, her eyes wide, locked onto Nicholas. But it wasn’t hope that glimmered in her gaze—it was fear.

Rio was always the unshakable one, formidable in every way. As the embodiment of Death itself, there was nothing in this world or the next that could frighten her. At least, not until Nicholas had gotten sick. Agatha remembered the terror then—how Rio had hovered her hands over their son’s small chest, her magic coursing through his body, searching desperately for a cause, a solution, something. But when Rio had ripped her hands away, her face had worn the same expression she had now—utter helplessness.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. If Rio was feeling even a fraction of the anguish that was tearing through Agatha right now, then she was breaking apart inside. But Agatha knew better—Rio wasn’t feeling a sliver. She was feeling the whole stake, like it was driving through her heart, piercing every part of her.

She opened her mouth, desperate to say something, anything, to cut through the silence. But before she could find her voice, Nicholas moved.

“Mama!” he cried, his voice bright with joy, as he leapt from his chair and ran straight through her.

She didn’t even feel him. His body passed through her like she was nothing but air, like a ghost, as he darted across the room toward the door. The others stepped aside, watching in silence as Nicholas skidded to a stop just before crossing the threshold, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Mama! I missed you! Come in! Come in!” he called, bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely containing his energy.

Rio stood frozen on the porch, her body trembling, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Agatha watched, her heart splintering, as Rio blinked slowly, her lips parting in a shaky breath. A single tear slipped from her eyes, tracing a slow path down her pale cheek. Her gaze never left Nicholas, as though she was seeing him for the first time—alive, full of life—but knowing the truth beneath the illusion.

Agatha could see it in her eyes—the way Rio’s entire body shook, like she was barely holding herself together. Like if she let go for even a second, she would crumble. Then, with a shuddering breath, Rio lifted her gaze from Nicholas, looking across the room, her eyes locking onto Agatha’s.

Their eyes met, and in that instant, everything else vanished. The past, the memory, the others—it all dissolved, leaving only the unbearable weight of their shared grief. It hung between them like a shadow, heavy and suffocating, a reminder of the life they had once built and the unimaginable loss they now carried.

Nicholas continued to bounce at the doorway, his small feet barely touching the floor, his face beaming with excitement. He was waiting. Begging.

“Mama! Come in!” he called again, his voice so full of hope it twisted something deep inside Agatha.

And then it hit her—he could see her.

Nicholas wasn’t just locked in the memory. His gaze, bright and pleading, was fixed on her, not just the other Agatha. He wasn’t a ghostly fragment of the past. He was looking at her, waiting for her.

A cold realization settled over her like ice water dripping down her spine.

This wasn’t her trial.

It was Rio’s.

Chapter Text

The truth struck her like a bolt of lightning. No matter how much she despised Rio—because make no mistake, she hated her wife. Love and hate were intertwined, two sides of the same coin, the yin and the yang, creating a balance. But the balance had long since tipped. There was no love left to counter the hate anymore; only the hate remained, festering and raw.

Yet, despite that overwhelming bitterness, Agatha would never wish this on her. Using a dead child to torment a parent? It was too cruel. It was a line that not even the evil, Agatha Harkness would cross.

Nicholas continued to jump, his excitement growing, completely unaware of the weight of the moment that hung in the air.

“Mama! Come in!” Nicholas urged again, his voice full of pure, untainted innocence.

Rio’s gaze flickered back to him, her face a mixture of fear and heartbreak, and another tear slipped down her cheek.

“Nic—” she tried to speak, but her voice, usually so sharp and commanding, laced with barbed sarcasm and deadly intent, now wavered. It trembled, fragile, before catching in her throat. For a moment, the great Rio Vidal—looked powerless.

“Come inside, Mama!” Nicholas begged again, his voice filled with that unwavering hope only a child could hold onto.

“I—can’t—” Rio’s voice trembled, the words escaping her lips in a broken whisper as she gazed down at him, her hands quaking.

Nicholas furrowed his brows in confusion, his wide, innocent eyes searching her face.

“Why? Didn’t you miss me?” Nicholas asked, the simplicity of his question cutting through the air like a knife.

Agatha’s heart clenched painfully as she watched Rio’s reaction. She saw it all—the way Rio’s breath hitched, the way her body trembled under the weight of those innocent words. It was as if each syllable Nicholas spoke sliced through Rio like a blade, the unbearable truth she’d fought to bury for so long now rising to the surface.

Didn’t you miss me?

So innocent, so pure, and yet so devastating. Agatha could see the anguish in Rio’s eyes, the struggle to hold herself together as the question tore her open, exposing wounds that had never healed.

Rio’s lips parted, and for a moment, no sound came out. Agatha’s own breath caught in her throat, feeling the weight of the moment, knowing exactly what it meant for Rio to hear those words, knowing how hard it was to even breathe in this moment.

“I do,” Rio whispered, her voice barely more than a fragile breath. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she gazed down at the boy she could never have again. “More than anything.”

Agatha flinched at the rawness of Rio’s admission, feeling it in her own chest. She had never seen Rio like this—never seen her so vulnerable, so completely undone. It was like watching someone on the edge of a cliff, knowing they couldn’t be saved.

Nicholas tilted his head, still confused, his innocent eyes wide as he stared up at his mother. He didn’t understand the weight of her words, didn’t grasp the depth of the pain she was drowning in. He was too young, too pure, and it broke Agatha’s heart all over again to see how his simple, unknowing questions were pulling Rio further into a despair she couldn’t escape.

Agatha stood frozen, her muscles stiff, her throat tight as she watched Rio unravel before her. Every fiber of her being wanted to move, to reach out, to say something—anything—to pull Rio back from the edge of the grief that threatened to consume them both. But she couldn’t. She was trapped, paralyzed by the sheer weight of it all, the helplessness gnawing at her like a dark, unrelenting force.

And then, something shifted.

A body passed through her—herself. The other Agatha. It was surreal, like watching her own ghost take on the action she couldn’t. This other version of herself, so light, so carefree, moved with purpose. Agatha watched in stunned silence as the other Agatha glided forward, stepping around Nicholas, her presence full of warmth and energy, as though she was untouched by the sadness that clung to the air.

The other Agatha leaned casually against the doorframe, her lips curling into a teasing smile. But it wasn’t just any smile—it was the kind of smile Agatha hadn’t worn in years, one that sparkled with joy, full of love and life. Her eyes danced with a light that Agatha could hardly recognize anymore, all of it directed at Rio.

“Hello, darling,” the other Agatha said, her voice playful, filled with an ease that seemed almost cruel in its contrast to the present. “Did you have a good work trip?”

Agatha felt her heart constrict as she watched Rio’s reaction. Rio’s face, already pale and stricken, seemed to crumple even more at the sight of this other Agatha—this happier version—the version that Rio had once loved so deeply, the version who hadn’t yet been destroyed by their shared loss. Rio’s breath came in shallow, broken gasps, her eyes wide with disbelief, as if she were staring at something both precious and devastating at the same time.

Agatha could see it—the way Rio’s gaze flickered between the two versions of her, as though she couldn’t reconcile the present with the past. Her expression was a painful mixture of longing and disbelief, her eyes wide with the weight of everything unsaid. And when Rio’s gaze finally settled on the other Agatha’s smiling face, something broke. Agatha could feel it, like the final piece of Rio’s resolve crumbling.

But then Rio’s eyes shifted, moving past her other self, searching, until they locked onto her—the real Agatha, standing helplessly in the shadows.

There was something in Rio’s expression now that cut deeper than all the rest. Her lips trembled, her breath uneven, and then she spoke, her voice so small, so fragile that it barely made it past her lips.

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice a desperate, broken plea. “Make it stop.”

Agatha’s chest tightened, her heart aching with the raw vulnerability in Rio’s voice. She had seen Rio battle countless enemies, face down death itself without flinching, but never had she seen her like this—utterly defeated, begging for release. It was as though the weight of the past, the unbearable pain of their shared loss, had finally broken through the unshakable armor Rio had always worn.

Agatha swallowed hard, her mind racing. She wanted to help, wanted to reach out and pull Rio from this nightmare, but how? How could she stop a memory that was so real, so visceral, that it was tearing them both apart?

Her feet felt rooted to the floor, her body unwilling to move, but Rio’s eyes—those eyes—held her in place, pleading, desperate. Agatha hadn’t felt this powerless since the last time they stood in this house, watching Nicholas slip away, helpless as the life drained from him. The memory clung to her like a weight she could never shed. And now, here she was again, in this very place, with that same crushing sense of powerlessness, staring at Rio, unable to give her the one thing she was asking for.

But this wasn’t the past. This was a trial—a torment designed to test them both. And Agatha knew, deep down, that the only way to make it stop was to face it, to complete it.

She didn’t know where she found the strength to move forward. It was buried deep, somewhere beyond the layers of bitterness, grief, and anger that had built up between them over the years. But somehow, her legs moved. She couldn’t dwell on how or why, because all she knew was that she couldn’t stand to see Rio suffer like this.

No matter how things had ended between them, no matter how deep they had cut each other, or how much she blamed Rio for so many things… that small part of her—hidden away in the deepest recesses of her heart—still cared for Rio. It was a part of her she had tried to bury, but in this moment, it surfaced, refusing to let Rio endure this torment alone.

Agatha stepped forward, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her, but she kept moving. She wasn’t thinking about the strength it took to bridge the gap between them; she wasn’t thinking about the pain that had festered for so long. All she knew was that she had to do this.

For Rio.

For herself.

For everything they had lost.

As Agatha closed the distance, the air seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of their broken love and the unspeakable grief that clung to them both like a shroud. Standing just inside the doorway, she faced Rio, who still looked shattered, her emotions laid bare.

“The only way to make it stop is to complete the trial,” Agatha said, her voice trembling, unsure if she could follow through, but knowing it was the truth. They were trapped in this torment, and the only way out was through.

Rio shook her head, her eyes wide with fear, her body trembling as if even standing was too much to bear.

“Agatha—I can’t,” she whispered, her voice thick with anguish. Her words cracked, brittle and broken, as though even admitting her weakness was tearing her apart.

Agatha could feel her own resolve wavering, seeing Rio so vulnerable—so human. The woman who had once seemed invincible, untouchable, was crumbling right before her eyes. And that image alone was enough to shatter whatever anger Agatha still harbored, at least for now.

“You can,” Agatha insisted, even as her own heart clenched painfully. “You have to. There’s no other way, Rio.”

The other Agatha—the carefree one with light in her eyes—continued to smile in the background, oblivious to the storm tearing through the real them. It was almost mocking, that image of a love that had once been whole, when now all that was left were fragments.

Rio’s breath hitched as she looked at Nicholas, still standing by the door, his innocent eyes wide with hope, unaware of the storm of grief and pain that rippled through the room like an undercurrent.

“I can’t lose you both again,” Rio whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of the confession. “I won’t survive it.”

Agatha’s chest tightened at Rio’s words, a familiar ache flooding her senses. She knew that fear. It had haunted her for years—the helplessness of watching Nicholas slip away, powerless to stop it, and feeling as though a part of herself had died with him. That emptiness had swallowed them both whole, and now, standing here, she felt it creeping in again.

But this… this was different. It wasn’t real, and yet, the emotions it dredged up were just as raw, just as brutal, as the day they had lost him. Agatha could see it in Rio’s eyes, the deep well of grief and the unbearable thought of reliving it all. The truth was that they had both been shattered by the loss, and they had spent years pretending they could survive it alone, but standing here now, that pretense was laid bare.

“I know,” Agatha said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I know, Rio. But this isn’t real. It’s a trial, and if we don’t face it, we’ll never be free of this.”

Rio’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she glanced back at Nicholas, still waiting, still so full of life in this cruel memory. She wanted to believe it wasn’t real, that she wouldn’t lose him again, but it felt real. The pain, the weight of it, the love—it all felt like a knife cutting deep, reopening wounds that had never healed.

“I can’t…” Rio whispered again, her voice cracking as if the weight of those words was too much to bear.

Agatha felt the lump rise in her own throat, the pain and desperation she’d tried so hard to keep at bay threatening to spill over. But she pushed it down, refusing to give in to the same fear. She couldn’t let Rio drown in this alone. Extending her hand across the threshold, she offered Rio a lifeline.

“You’re not alone,” Agatha said, her voice stronger now, more certain.

Rio’s eyes flickered down to the offered hand, her body still frozen, trapped in the paralyzing grip of fear and grief. Agatha could see the hesitation, the battle raging within Rio, but she also knew she was close—so close. She just needed a little more.

“Take my hand, mi amor,” Agatha said softly, the pet name slipping from her lips like a familiar song, one that had carried them through so many storms. “We’ll face it together. We’ve survived so much—we will survive this too.”

For a moment, time seemed to freeze, the space between them heavy with unsaid words and unhealed wounds. Agatha held her breath as she watched Rio’s tear-filled eyes shift between fear and longing, the weight of their shared pain pressing down on them both. Then, slowly, Rio’s trembling hand reached out, her fingers curling around Agatha’s.

The instant they touched, a shift rippled through the room. As Rio stepped over the threshold, the door behind her swung shut with a soft, deliberate click—a sound that echoed like a final decision, sealing them inside the memory.

The atmosphere shifted, but not in relief. The air grew colder, heavier, like something was watching, waiting. Nicholas, standing near the door, leaped with joy, his innocent grin in stark contrast to the growing tension in the room.

“Yay! Mom made dinner! And you have to eat your vegetables!” he chirped, oblivious to the darkness creeping in around them.

Then, with a sharp, echoing clang, the grandfather clock in the corner struck. The chime rang out like a warning, cutting through the air, its heavy ticking growing louder with each passing second. A slow, rhythmic pulse, as if the very walls were counting down.

The trial had begun.

Chapter Text

The ticking of the clock echoed through the room, sharp and relentless, each second a reminder of the time slipping away. The air was thick with tension, every breath heavy with the memory of the last trial, how it had pushed them to the brink as the countdown ticked toward something far more deadly than they could have anticipated.

Agatha felt her pulse quicken, the steady rhythm of the clock in sync with the pounding in her chest. Everyone’s eyes darted between each other, uneasy, as if waiting for the room itself to reveal its intentions.

Jen’s voice broke the silence, steady but cautious.

“Okay, so the trial has officially begun,” she said, drawing the gaze of the others. Her eyes flicked between Agatha and Rio, her expression sharp, calculating. “This is clearly for you two—want to tell us what’s going on? What we should be looking for?”

Agatha exchanged a glance with Rio, the weight of the trial pressing down on them both. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. The memory of their last trial still lingered, the ticking clock a sinister reminder of what was at stake.

"I don’t know yet," Agatha admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s forcing us to confront… everything we’ve buried.”

Rio’s face was pale, her eyes haunted as she glanced at the clock, then back at Nicholas, who still stood near the door, oblivious to the tension filling the room. The innocence in his expression was almost too much to bear.

“Soo… you two are…” Alice’s voice cut through the silence, hesitant, as all eyes turned to her. She was pointing awkwardly between Agatha and Rio, the uncertainty clear on her face, as though she didn’t want to be the one to address the elephant in the room.

Agatha felt her lips press into a thin line, the frustration bubbling inside her. She hated this—hated even having to acknowledge something so private, something she had held close for centuries. Nobody knew. The few who did were long dead. But there was no way out of it now. Not with the memories all around them, pressing in.

With a sharp exhale, she threw her hands up, her irritation evident.

“Yes, okay—Rio and I were married. This is—” She faltered, her voice catching in her throat as the words came out too easily, too familiar. This is. The present tense made her wince, and she quickly corrected herself. “Was. This was our home… nearly two centuries ago.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, the silence palpable as the rest of the group processed the revelation, eyes flicking between Agatha and Rio, trying to piece together the fragments of a past neither had ever spoken of.

“Technically, we’re still married,” Rio added, her voice dripping with sarcasm as the edges of her grief began to morph into something sharper. Agatha recognized it immediately—Rio’s need to land a barb, to ground herself in something other than her pain. It was a tactic, one she knew all too well.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, the flash of irritation unmistakable.

“In magic only,” she hissed, the words biting as she turned away from her, unwilling to let Rio’s sarcasm pierce her any deeper.

Jen stepped forward, her eyes locking onto Nicholas, who stood unaware of their presence—except for Rio.

“And him?” she asked, her voice quiet but pointed, cutting through the thick air.

Agatha’s heart clenched painfully, the familiar ache surging through her chest as her gaze drifted to Nicholas. She swallowed hard, the weight of the question settling like a stone in her throat. She didn’t talk about him—ever. Not to anyone. The memories were buried deep, locked away where they couldn’t hurt her, where the pain couldn’t surface. And now here they were, standing in front of it, demanding acknowledgment.

She opened her mouth, the words right there, ready to be spoken. But to say them—to admit them—was something else entirely. The silence pressed down on her, suffocating. What came out wasn’t words at all, just a faint sound, a catch in her throat that betrayed her.

Agatha couldn’t do it.

Her eyes flicked to Rio, pleading silently for her to say it, to take the weight from her shoulders because she didn’t have the strength. Not for this. She turned away from the group, from their prying eyes, lifting her hand to brush away the tears that threatened to spill.

Behind her, Rio’s voice broke the silence, soft and fragile, but full of a pain that twisted in Agatha’s chest like a blade.

“His name is Nicholas,” Rio said, each word stabbing through the air like barbs. Agatha flinched, though Rio wasn’t even speaking to her. “He was our son.”

Was.

The word hung in the room, heavy and final, carrying the full weight of their loss. Agatha bit down on the sob that threatened to tear through her, her breath shaky as she pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to hold it all together. But inside, she was already unraveling.

The silence that followed Rio's words was eerie, punctuated only by the steady ticking of the clock—a physical reminder that time was slipping away, ticking down toward something inevitable. Each tick felt like a heartbeat, a countdown pushing them closer to the unknown.

Thankfully, Lillia seemed to sense the weight of the moment, cutting through the oppressive quiet.

“So… why are we here?” she asked, her voice cautious but insistent. “Do we just wait until the clock runs out? Until something… happens?”

Agatha took a deep breath, trying to wrestle her emotions back under control. There wasn’t time for her grief to unravel here. This was a trial, and they needed every second if they were going to make it out alive. She couldn’t let herself fall apart—not now, not with everything at stake.

“No,” she said, forcing her voice to steady as she turned to face them. “The room gave us a clue last time,” she continued, finding a little more strength in her words. “There should be one here too.”

Her eyes swept the room, lingering on the familiar objects that filled the space, each one a painful reminder of the life they once had. But sentiment had no place here. This was about survival.

“We just have to find it,” she said, her voice hardening with resolve as her gaze flicked from one object to another.

The others immediately began to move, spreading out and searching for any hint, any sign that could tell them what they were supposed to do next. But Agatha hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. Every object in the room, every memory embedded in the walls, threatened to drag her back into a past she wasn’t ready to face.

Her fingers traced the edge of the couch, lingering on the well-worn spine of Rio’s favorite book, Candide by Voltaire. The pages were slightly bent, a testament to the countless times Rio had curled up there, lost in the story while absentmindedly running her fingers through Agatha’s hair. The image flashed in her mind, vivid and raw.

It felt too close, too real.

She swallowed hard and moved on, her gaze falling on Nicholas’s small metal soldiers, scattered haphazardly across the floor. The sight of them made her heart clench—they were the bane of her existence, always littering the room, waiting for her bare foot to find them at the worst possible moment. Yet now, in the quiet of the room, they felt like precious relics of a time she could never get back.

Her hand then lingered over a blanket tossed over the armrest, one she had knitted herself. The soft wool slipped between her fingers, uneven in places, rough where her mistakes were visible. She’d made it during those brief years of peace, when they weren’t running, when no one was chasing her, when life felt… possible. She’d needed something to keep her hands busy, to channel her restless energy into something tangible. And she had learned to knit.

The blanket was far from perfect—there were holes in it, spots where she had messed up. When she’d finished it and held it up, her first instinct had been to throw it away, ashamed of the imperfections. But Rio wouldn’t let her.

“It fits us perfectly, doesn’t it?” Rio had said, her voice warm and reassuring as she traced her fingers over the mismatched stitches. “You pieced us together, bit by bit, and even though we’re not perfect, those little imperfections make us who we are. We have holes, but that’s what makes us whole—a family.”

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as the memory hit her like a wave, knocking the air from her lungs. Her hand tightened around the blanket, the ache of nostalgia too much to bear. She hated this—hated how real it all felt, how vivid the memories were. The house, the small details she had tried so hard to forget. It was like the room itself was breathing life back into the pieces of her heart she had tried to bury.

Jen’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Anything?” she called from across the room, her eyes scanning the shelves for a clue.

Agatha blinked, snapping back to the present. She shook her head and forced herself to let go of the blanket, as if by releasing it she could push the memories back into the recesses of her mind. But as her gaze swept the room, the weight of the trial settled over her like a suffocating fog. This room, filled with echoes of a life she had tried to forget, wasn’t just a reminder of the past. It was a challenge—a gauntlet thrown at her feet, daring her to face the truth.

But it wasn’t her challenge.

It was Rio’s.

Maybe the clue was Rio herself.

Agatha turned to call to her, her mouth opening, but a small, barely perceptible sound cut through the room—a cough. It was quiet, but unmistakable. The sound reached into Agatha’s chest like a claw, freezing her blood. She knew that sound, a sound that had haunted her dreams for centuries. She spun toward it, her heart hammering in her chest.

She wasn’t the only one. Rio’s eyes snapped toward the sound, her face a mask of dread. Nicholas stood near the door, rubbing his small chest, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before disappearing into his usual bright smile.

Agatha’s stomach dropped as she watched the shift in Rio’s expression. The moment that flicker of pain registered on Nicholas’s face, it was as if the air in the room thinned, heavy with unspoken fears. Agatha felt a swell of panic rise within her, knowing all too well the implications of that cough.

Rio and Agatha’s eyes locked, and in that instant, the weight of their shared realization hit them both like a tidal wave. Neither needed to speak; the truth hung heavy in the air between them, raw and undeniable.

Suddenly, the clock let out another deafening clang, echoing through the room like a hammer striking stone, marking the moment with cold finality.

The sign.

It reverberated in Agatha’s bones, sharp and ominous. Time was slipping away, and they had just crossed a threshold they couldn’t retreat from.

“Rio, love,” the other Agatha’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious, as she floated by, reaching out to brush her fingers gently against Rio’s arm. The touch was light but familiar, accompanied by a soft, affectionate smile. Agatha’s heart clenched painfully as she watched this version of herself interact with Rio, the warmth of the gesture sharply contrasting with the suffocating tension that filled the room.

Rio froze. Her eyes widened as she looked down at the hand on her arm, like the touch was something foreign, something impossible. Agatha felt a jolt of realization—Nicholas and this other Agatha weren’t just figments of memory.

They were more than that.

They could see her—touch her.

Rio’s face betrayed a storm of emotions, her eyes flickering with fear, longing, and deep confusion. It was as though she was being torn between two realities—the comforting past and the painful present. Agatha could see it all written in the lines of Rio’s face, every sleepless night, every moment of helplessness, every instance where fear had gnawed at her heart. The anguish there was raw, the weight of it almost unbearable to witness.

"Nicky’s had that cough for days," the other Agatha continued, her voice sweet but tinged with concern. “Can you be a dear and heal him up?”

Agatha’s heart constricted, the familiar sense of helplessness threatening to crush her. She knew what this moment meant, how it spiraled into everything that had come after.

Rio stood at the center of it all, her expression utterly shattered, as though the weight of the memories pressing down on her was too much to bear. Agatha’s breath hitched at the sight, her heart twisting painfully at seeing Rio so fragile, so exposed. She’d seen Rio face countless trials, but never had she looked so vulnerable, so broken.

And she wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Hey,” the other Agatha’s voice chimed in, light and concerned, as she stepped forward, reaching up to cup Rio’s face with both hands. The gesture was intimate, gentle, and filled with a tenderness Agatha had forgotten she was capable of. The other Agatha’s thumb brushed softly across Rio’s cheek, her expression full of worry.

“You okay in there?” she asked, her voice warm, the words heavy with unspoken care, as if trying to pull Rio back from the edge, back into the present.

Rio’s breath came in shallow, shaky gasps, as if she were fighting to hold herself together.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the strain. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, her hand instinctively rising to cover the other Agatha’s hand on her cheek. She squeezed it gently, the contact grounding her in this surreal moment, even if it felt like playing along.

Agatha’s own hand tingled from across the room, the sensation creeping up her arm as if she could feel Rio’s touch too. It was strange, like their connection—fractured as it was—still pulsed beneath the surface. She could feel the warmth, the comfort Rio sought in the other Agatha’s touch, and it hurt. The ache spread through Agatha’s chest, a cruel reminder of what once was.

“I’m okay,” Rio said again, though the emotion still thickened her voice, threatening to crack through. The words sounded hollow, like a thin veil stretched over the rawness inside her.

The other Agatha searched Rio’s face, clearly unconvinced. Her concern deepened, but after a long beat, she nodded, offering a look that said, We’re talking about this later. It was a familiar exchange, one rooted in centuries of unspoken understanding.

Agatha watched it all unfold, standing on the outside. The intimacy of the moment twisted something deep inside her. Her hand, still tingling, curled slightly, as though trying to grasp something that was no longer hers to hold.

"Okay," the other Agatha said, stepping back but keeping a close eye on Rio, her concern still lingering. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You fix up Nicky, and I’ll make you a plate.”

As she turned toward the kitchen, the familiar sound of her footsteps echoed softly through the room, but she paused midway, glancing over her shoulder with playful sternness.

“And you're eating your vegetables.” She raised an eyebrow, her voice carrying that teasing tone, laced with the authority only a partner could wield. “Your son is starting to pick up your bad habits, and I won’t have it.”

Agatha, still standing in the shadow of the room, watched as the other version of herself raised her brow, as if daring Rio to argue, as if they were back in a time when things were still light and easy between them.

“You might not need to eat,” the other Agatha added with a smirk, “but he does, and you need to suck it up for his benefit.”

Rio managed a weak, fragile smile, a ghost of the old familiarity passing between them. But Agatha, standing just out of reach in the shadows, saw the tremor in Rio’s hands, the way she swallowed hard, barely holding back the storm of emotion threatening to spill over. The tension in her posture was unmistakable, her body taut with the weight of what she was trying to control.

The playful exchange between them—the warmth, the ease—felt like a brittle echo of the life they had once built together, now shattered and scattered, pieces they could no longer put back in place. Agatha’s chest tightened painfully as she watched the other Agatha retreat into the kitchen, leaving Rio standing alone, still trying to hold herself steady.

And then Rio’s gaze snapped downward, her body freezing as she looked down at Nicholas, who had quietly taken her hand in his. His tiny fingers wrapped around hers, holding on with innocent trust, and he looked up at her, his wide eyes filled with the same light he always had, oblivious to the weight hanging between his mothers.

“It’s squash,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste, as if to warn her. His voice was soft, and for a brief second, Rio’s expression softened, a flicker of normalcy in the midst of their brokenness. But then he coughed—again—and Rio flinched, visibly shaken by the sound, her composure cracking just a little more.

Nicholas tugged at her hand, pulling it toward his small chest.

“It hurts here, Mama,” he whispered, his voice so small, so fragile. His eyes searched hers for comfort, unaware of the devastation his words caused.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Rio’s face crumple, the last of her strength giving way beneath the weight of Nicholas’s innocent words, his desperate plea for comfort. It was too much. Agatha could see Rio’s composure unraveling in real-time, her trembling hand now shaking violently as her fingers shook against his chest, trying—failing—to hold herself together, trying to be the mother she once was when everything inside her was breaking apart.

And then, in an instant, Rio ripped her hand away, as if his touch had seared her skin. She stared down at Nicholas, the conflict in her eyes unbearable—grief, fear, rage, helplessness—all swirling beneath the surface. The tears she had fought to contain finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks, and she shook her head violently, as though refusing to let herself feel this again.

“I cannot do this again!” Rio’s voice cracked, her words venomous and raw, a mixture of fury and desperation. Her gaze flicked toward Agatha, locking on her like a blade, more tears streaming down her face as she wiped at them angrily, as if punishing herself for being weak enough to let them fall.

Her voice, trembling and jagged, hung in the air as she whipped around, her grief and anger pouring out of her in a flood of uncontrollable emotion. She ripped the door open and slammed it shut behind her with a force that reverberated through the entire house, the sound echoing like a final blow, a punctuation mark on her breaking point.

Agatha stared at the door, her heart shattering into pieces she couldn’t gather. The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder, deafening, each second pressing down on her, a cruel reminder of what they were running out of—time.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Chapter Text

Agatha’s eyes remained locked on the door Rio had just slammed shut, her breath still caught in her throat. The fact that it had taken this long for Rio to break was a feat in itself. Agatha understood. Reliving these moments, standing inside the memory they had once called home, was nothing short of torture—perfectly crafted torture.

It was one thing to remember. It was another thing entirely to live it again, to feel the weight of each moment like it was happening all over. That kind of pain could break even the strongest.

"She’s just scared," came a soft voice.

Agatha’s head whipped around, eyes wide as they fell on Nicholas, who sat cross-legged on the floor, absentmindedly playing with his small metal soldiers. He wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction. Yet, the words hung in the air like a whisper carried on the wind.

Agatha’s heart stuttered, and for a moment, she wanted to convince herself that she had misheard. But the way the others were staring—eyes wide, frozen in place—told her otherwise.

Her breath unsteady, Agatha stepped forward. Her legs felt weak beneath her, her knees trembling as she lowered herself to Nicholas’s level. Kneeling beside him, she reached out tentatively, her hand trembling as it passed through him, again finding nothing but air. A small part of her had hoped—hoped that maybe this time would be different, that maybe, like Rio, he could sense her. But as her hand slipped through his form like mist, the familiar ache gripped her chest.

She turned her face away, biting back the tears that threatened to spill, forcing herself to breathe. The helplessness, the desperation of it all—it was suffocating. She sat back on her heels, staring blankly at the ceiling as the weight of it all pressed down on her.

“You need to help her.”

Agatha’s head snapped back down, her heart leaping into her throat. Nicholas had spoken again, his voice quiet but certain. He was still focused on his soldiers, seemingly lost in his game, but there was no mistaking it—he was talking to her. Her pulse quickened, and she watched him, waiting for something, anything, that could explain this sudden shift.

“The shadows are coming,” he said, his little voice carrying an eerie calm as one of his soldiers knocked another to the ground, the soft clink of metal echoing in the tense silence. “You are running out of time.”

The sound of the clock chiming behind her made Agatha flinch, the loud clang reverberating through the house, punctuating Nicholas’s words like a warning.

Tick.

Tock.

The ticking seemed to grow louder, more insistent, each beat like a reminder that time was slipping away.

"She’s just scared," Nicholas murmured again, softer this time, his voice barely audible. His eyes remained downcast, still focused on the soldiers at his feet, but Agatha’s heart pounded in her chest. She wasn’t imagining it—he could see her, hear her, feel the weight of what was happening around them.

A shiver ran down Agatha’s spine, the ominous ticking of the clock pulling her deeper into the trial’s merciless reality. The sound seemed to seep into her bones, a constant reminder that time was slipping away faster than she could grasp.

“Okay—that was a clear warning,” Jen’s voice cut through the silence from behind her, her tone sharp with a growing sense of urgency.

Agatha glanced one last time at Nicholas, still seated on the floor, quietly playing with his metal soldiers. His small hands moved with innocent precision, and yet the weight of what he had said moments ago hung heavy in the room. He didn’t speak again, didn’t acknowledge her or the tension rippling through the air. It was like he’d returned to being part of the memory, as unreachable as ever.

“Agatha,” Teen’s voice came from behind her, closer now. She could feel him approaching, the warmth of his presence bringing a flicker of comfort, though it was fleeting. “What are we going to do?”

Agatha closed her eyes, his question stabbing into her like a thorn. She liked Teen—he reminded her of Nicholas in so many ways. There had even been a moment, a brief and dangerous one, where she let herself believe that maybe he was her son, reincarnated somehow. Stranger things had happened in her life, after all. But of course, the first thing Rio made clear when she had shown up on the witches’ road was that Teen wasn’t their boy.

She would know, after all.

No, Teen wasn’t Nicholas. But he was someone’s son, and that thought made Agatha’s chest ache with guilt. She hated this—hated that they were all tangled up in her past, trapped in this painful memory, unsure how to survive. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her harder than ever, knowing they were looking to her for answers.

She sighed deeply, forcing herself to rise to her feet. She dusted off her knees, buying a few more seconds before she faced them. When she finally looked up, the group was watching her, their eyes wide with expectation. It made sense—they were caught in her world, after all. Of course they believed she knew how to get them out.

But she didn’t. She didn’t know a damn thing. She was just as lost as they were.

Agatha’s heart pounded in her ears, and that’s when Nicholas’s voice echoed in her mind, soft but insistent:

“She’s just scared. You need to help her.”

Rio.

This was Rio’s trial.

The key was Rio.

Her gaze shifted toward the door Rio had slammed shut, the place where she had disappeared moments ago in a whirlwind of grief and anger. Agatha grimaced, the realization settling heavily inside her. The solution wasn’t some cryptic clue hidden in the house or a puzzle to solve. It was Rio. The only way out of this was to reach her, to help her face the nightmare she had been running from for so long.

But the thought of confronting Rio—really confronting her—felt like another kind of trial altogether.

She clenched her jaw and steeled herself. They didn’t have time for her hesitation. The ticking of the clock behind her grew louder, more insistent, and with every clang, it felt like a noose tightening around them all.

"Stay here," Agatha finally said, her voice low but steady, though it barely concealed the tremor beneath. "Don't touch anything."

She turned and walked toward the door, every step more difficult than the last, her body moving with a confidence that belied the storm of emotions churning inside her. But the moment she stood before the door—their door—all that confidence drained away like water through her fingers.

Her hand hovered just above the door handle, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She was their only chance—she knew it. She was the only person in this world who really knew Rio, who could reach her, break through the wall of fear and grief that had driven her to lock herself away.

But that knowledge made her hesitate. Because if she knew Rio, it meant Rio knew her just as well—better than anyone.

Agatha closed her eyes, her fingers trembling just inches from the handle. This wasn’t going to be like their usual arguments, the ones Rio would let her deflect or manipulate to her will. This wasn’t something she could dodge with clever words or control.

It had to be real.

Completely, painfully real.

And that’s what frightened her the most—because the last time they were this real with each other, it had broken them.

Agatha wasn’t sure she could survive being broken by Rio again. The first time had nearly destroyed her, and if this conversation went wrong, if the raw truth between them resurfaced and bared all their wounds once more, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to put herself back together a second time.

But the clock was ticking. And if she didn’t try—if she didn’t help Rio—they’d all be lost.

Agatha opened the door slowly, the creak of the hinges seeming louder than usual in the suffocating quiet. She stepped inside, her feet heavy as if each movement was weighed down by the weight of everything unsaid. With a deliberate motion, she turned and closed the door behind her, shutting herself off from the rest of the group. She didn’t look around right away, didn’t let her eyes fall on Rio just yet. She was prolonging the inevitable, drawing a breath to steady herself.

But when she finally turned, her gaze zeroed in on Rio, sitting on their bed, her back to her, unmoving. Agatha’s heart sank. Rio wasn’t crying, at least not outwardly. If the tears had come, they’d come silently, slipping down her face without a sound.

For a moment, Agatha hesitated, standing there like an intruder in her own home, feeling the thick tension in the air. Angry Rio, she could handle with ease. Dealing with anger came as naturally as breathing. Playful Rio was annoying, but manageable. Even crying Rio—rare and heartbreaking as it was—was something Agatha had handled before.

But silent Rio… Silent Rio was something else entirely.

There was something in Rio’s stillness that was terrifying. It screamed for space, demanded time, both of which Agatha had always been careful to give her. Silent Rio was a warning sign, a storm brewing under the surface that Agatha knew better than to provoke. But now, standing in this room with the ticking clock haunting them from the other side of the door, Agatha knew they didn’t have the luxury of space or time.

And the horrible feeling in her gut told her she was about to poke a bear that might very well maul her to death.

Agatha stepped forward, hesitant but knowing she had no choice. Each step felt like walking on thin ice, the air between them fragile and thick with tension. As she moved around the bed, she studied Rio’s profile. Her stillness was unnerving—she wasn’t sure if Rio was even breathing, though Agatha knew better.

Death, it turns out, still needed to breathe.

Agatha finally stood before Rio, her heart weighed down by a heaviness she could hardly bear. Rio’s face was a perfect mask of calm, and it was terrifying. Not the kind of calm that spoke of peace, but the stillness before a storm—the kind that made Agatha’s breath catch in her throat. It was the kind of silence that left you unsure whether to reach out or back away.

Slowly, Agatha moved around the bed, her steps tentative, as if she were crossing a dangerous threshold. She sat down beside Rio, her mind scrambling to find the right words, anything that might ease the tension between them. But nothing came. There was nothing to say, nothing that would fix this. Trying to speak now felt like putting a bandage on a dismembered limb and saying, “all better,” while the person continued to bleed out.

She hated herself for it, for not having something better to offer, but the silence was unbearable. So she did the only thing she could think of—something, anything, to cut through the stillness. She bounced gently on the bed, feeling the stiffness beneath her, the uncomfortable lumpiness that felt more like hay or wool than any modern mattress. Certainly not the Tempurpedic she was used to.

She turned toward Rio, a lecherous grin spreading across her face as she tried to lighten the mood, her voice dripping with innuendo.

“The memories of this bed, huh?”

Her attempt at humor hung in the air like a lead weight, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Agatha’s grin faltered, the bouncing stopping as a cold wave of dread settled over her. She braced herself, her heart pounding in her chest. She half-expected Rio to snap at her, to pull out her knife and cut her down with a single swipe.

But Rio didn’t move. She didn’t speak. The silence grew heavier, suffocating, and Agatha could feel the weight of her own failed attempt sinking deeper into the space between them.

Then, unexpectedly, Rio turned toward her. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. The movement was slow, deliberate, but Rio’s face was still an emotionless mask, her features perfectly still. Agatha hated the way her eyes seemed empty, like black pools that swallowed up everything—there was no spark, no fire.

Just darkness.

“Want to take it for one last ride?” Rio asked, her voice flat, devoid of any of the usual sarcasm or innuendo that should’ve been there. It wasn’t teasing, it wasn’t playful—it was hollow. Like she was saying what she knew she should, but there was no feeling behind it. No effort to make the words mean anything.

It chilled Agatha to the bone.

The familiar rhythm of their banter had always been a lifeline in dark moments, but this... this was different. There was no game here, no back-and-forth, just an empty shell of what they used to be. Rio’s monotone voice seemed to echo in the room, a reminder of how far they had fallen.

Agatha’s heart ached, a deep, gnawing pain that twisted in her chest. She had expected anger, maybe even tears—but not this. Not the absence of everything. She’d rather have Rio lash out, scream, cry—anything—than this quiet resignation, this unbearable numbness.

"Rio..." Agatha began, but her voice faltered, unsure of how to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their past pressing down on her like a boulder, more suffocating than any argument or anger ever had been. 

Rio didn’t look at her. Instead, she stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on something distant, something unreachable.

“I’m not going back out there,” she said, her voice still flat, devoid of emotion. But this time, there was a quiet finality to it, a resignation that chilled Agatha to the core. “I’d rather die than go back out there.”

Agatha blinked, her stomach twisting in shock. Her heart raced, panic starting to bubble beneath her skin.

“Rio, we both know you can’t die.”

But Rio didn’t flinch, didn’t move. She remained still, her eyes locked on the window as if the world outside were more real than the room they were in. Silence stretched between them like a yawning void.

“Yes, I can,” Rio finally said, her voice soft but certain. "What’s coming can kill me. I can feel them getting closer. They’re almost here."

Agatha followed Rio's gaze to the window, where the storm outside raged with a savage intensity. The wind howled like a feral beast, rattling the glass, while rain lashed against it in furious sheets. Every few seconds, lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the dark woods beyond the house, casting twisted, jagged shadows across the room. The storm felt alive, wild and chaotic, but it was Rio’s words that sent a chill through Agatha’s entire body.

“The shadows are coming. You are running out of time.”

Nicky's voice echoed in her mind, a warning she could no longer dismiss. The gravity of the situation hit Agatha like a punch to the gut. If what was coming could kill Rio—the most powerful witch she'd ever known—then the rest of them stood no chance. Panic surged through her like a tidal wave. Jen, Alice, Lillia, Teen... they were all vulnerable.

And she? She had no powers, no way to defend herself.

They were going to die.

The panic clawed at her, consuming her whole. She couldn’t lose—not like this. Agatha’s heart raced, and she felt the words slipping out, desperate to grab hold of Rio, to pull her back from whatever dark decision she had made that bound them all to this grim fate.

“Hey—no,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she reached for Rio. “The only thing that’s allowed to kill us… is us, right?”

She grasped for the thread of an old joke, trying to pull them both back from the edge.

“Isn’t that what we always said?”

For a moment, Rio’s mask cracked. Her face softened, if only slightly. The words hit something familiar—a memory, a lifeline. Those were the words they had thrown at each other, always in jest, every time they narrowly survived one of Agatha’s reckless plans or escaped another deadly force that had been after them. They always made it out, barely holding on, but they made it.

It was their joke, a dark mantra born from years of running, surviving the impossible. They’d said it so many times, it had almost become a promise.

Rio turned to her, really looking at her for the first time. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, the brief flicker of hope rising in her chest.

But then Rio’s expression hardened again, her gaze heavy with a sadness so deep it cut through the air between them.

"Don't you see?" Rio said softly, her voice thick with resignation. "We did kill ourselves, Agatha. It just took a couple hundred years for us to finally bleed out."

Agatha’s heart shattered, the weight of Rio’s words cutting deeper than she had expected. This wasn’t about the storm outside, or the shadows coming. This was about them—the slow death they’d been inflicting on each other since the day they lost Nicky. The day everything changed.

The memories came rushing back, painful and jagged. After Nicky was gone, they had turned on each other like wild animals. Agatha couldn’t forgive Rio for taking him away. For making that choice, for choosing duty over their son. She couldn’t forget the look on Rio’s face when she made that decision—the cold, distant expression that haunted her nightmares. The hole Nicky’s death left in Agatha had been bottomless, and she wanted Rio to feel every inch of that pain.

And Rio—her Rio—had let her.

They had been violent before, but that was different, more of a twisted form of foreplay than real harm. It was a dance of power and passion. But after Nicky… everything changed. Agatha’s rage became something darker. She didn’t just want to hurt Rio; she wanted to break her. She needed Rio to feel what she felt, the emptiness, the unbearable grief. And she had done just that.

She remembered the countless nights they tore into each other, the anger, the accusations, the pain. Agatha’s words were sharp enough to cut, but her hands, her magic, had been even sharper. And Rio—her strong, untouchable Rio—took it. Every blow, every ounce of anger Agatha threw at her, Rio accepted as if it were some kind of penance. As if enduring Agatha’s wrath could somehow cleanse her of the guilt she carried.

Rio never fought back. Never. It was as if she had resigned herself to this twisted form of punishment, convinced that if she took enough of Agatha’s rage, maybe she could finally forgive herself. Maybe she could atone for choosing duty over their son.

The truth of it hit Agatha like a tidal wave. Rio had been drowning in guilt, and Agatha had been the one holding her under.

That was what Rio meant. After Nicky, they had killed each other—slowly, methodically, piece by piece. Every argument, every violent outburst, every bitter word had chipped away at the love they once shared. And it had taken them centuries to realize they were both bleeding out from wounds too deep to heal.

Agatha looked at Rio, truly seeing her for the first time in what felt like ages. The spark, the fire that once burned so brightly in Rio, was gone. She wasn’t the powerful, untouchable witch Agatha had always admired. She was tired, broken, and beaten down by the weight of their past.

Maybe Rio was too tired to fight anymore.

Maybe they both were.

Chapter Text

Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window, the storm outside raging like a reflection of the turmoil swirling inside her. She had never considered dying—voluntarily, at least. Since the moment she was born to a mother who saw her as something evil, she had fought to stay alive. It was instinct, a primal need to survive. From the moment her powers had awakened, marking her as a witch in a world that would see her burn, she had been fighting.

Centuries of battles, of betrayals, of barely surviving… they had made that fight a habit.

She'd clung to life with both hands, even when it hurt, even when it seemed pointless. She always told herself, just one more day. One more day had turned into one more week, then one more month, one more year, and eventually, one more century. Almost 400 years of fighting to stay alive.

It had become second nature—survival at all costs.

But now, sitting here on this bed next to Rio, her mind replaying Rio’s words over and over again, the reality of what this trial was doing to them—what it was revealing—Agatha felt something she had never allowed herself to feel.

Her hands rested loosely in her lap, and for once, she wasn’t calculating an escape or strategizing how to outlast whatever enemy lay outside. Her whole existence had been about survival—surviving her mother’s cruelty, surviving persecution, surviving the endless dangers that came with her power. But what was the point? After centuries of clinging to life, of enduring losses that had chipped away at her soul, she was finally realizing that maybe there was nothing left worth fighting for.

She glanced sideways at Rio, who sat beside her, just as still. The weight of Rio’s words echoed in her chest:

We did kill ourselves, Agatha. It just took a couple hundred years for us to finally bleed out.

Agatha had always been the one to push forward, to keep them moving. Even when everything between them had shattered, even when she felt that burning rage at Rio for taking Nicky away, she had fought. She fought Rio, fought herself, fought the world. She fought because it was all she knew how to do.

But now… now she wasn’t sure what she was fighting for anymore.

The storm outside cracked with lightning, casting shadows across the room. Agatha stared out into it, seeing the chaos but feeling only numbness.

It didn’t matter anymore.

None of it did.

Not the trial, not the storm, not the endless enemies she had once been so determined to outlast.

What was the point of surviving, when every piece of her had already been torn away?

She had spent her whole life fighting to stay alive, but now, for the first time, she wondered what it would feel like to let go. To stop clinging to survival like it was the only thing that defined her. She had fought and fought and fought, but now… she was just tired.

And the fight—the thing that had kept her alive for centuries—it had simply left her.

Agatha felt herself sag as the weight of her thoughts settled in. She let out a deep sigh, one that seemed to escape her lungs unbidden, a release of all the pent-up frustration and sorrow she had been carrying for so long. It was a sound of surrender, but as it left her, she didn’t realize the weight that had begun to lift from her shoulders.

In that moment, she felt lighter—not just in her body or her mind, but in her heart. The heaviness that had anchored her down for centuries, the grief, the vengeance, and the hatred she held for a world that had constantly betrayed her, began to dissipate like mist in the morning sun. 

It was liberating.

The grief that had weighed so heavily on her heart started to fade, replaced by a sense of clarity she had long thought lost.  And in the quiet space beside Rio, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in ages: a fragile sense of peace.

Agatha stared out at the storm, watching the wind whip the trees into a frenzy, rain slashing against the window in relentless waves. It mirrored everything that had once raged inside her—chaotic, untamed, full of fury. Yet now, sitting here, she couldn’t bring herself to feel any of it. The ticking of that damn clock, so steady, so ominous, was a reminder that time was running out. She knew the end was coming and with that knowledge, there was peace—an unfamiliar, fragile peace that settled in her bones.

And with that peace came something even more foreign.

Amends.

The realization hit her like a gentle wave, slowly at first but undeniable. She wanted to make amends, to right the only wrong that truly mattered.

It wasn’t in her nature to apologize, not after centuries of survival in a world that was bent on breaking her. Apologies felt like weakness, and there had never been room for weakness in Agatha’s life. Not when she had spent every day fighting to stay alive, to stay one step ahead of whatever enemy lurked in the shadows.

But now… now, with the shadows coming and the clock ticking down, she realized that there was no reason to keep holding onto that ironclad strength. Not here, not with Rio. Not with the only person in this world who had seen her at her worst—her weakest.

It struck her, how much she had hurt Rio over the centuries. Not just after Nicky, but long before that. The weight of her mistakes, her failures, her unrelenting need to protect herself by pushing others away—it had all built up between them, brick by brick, until they could no longer see each other through the wall they’d erected. And Agatha, so determined to survive, had never once considered stopping to tear it down.

But now, with time running out, there was no reason not to.

What did strength matter anymore?

What did her pride, her armor of survival, mean when they were both sitting here, so close to the edge of something final?

Especially with Rio, who had been there through it all, who had seen her stripped bare, in moments of weakness and defeat.

Agatha swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat before they even formed. Apologizing still felt like an impossible task, as though uttering those words would unravel her completely. But she owed this to Rio. If there was anyone in this world she needed to make amends with, it was her.

She took a shaky breath, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Rio… I am sorry.”

The words felt heavy, awkward on her tongue, like trying to wield an unfamiliar weapon

The silence that followed her apology hung heavily in the air, thick and suffocating. She shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to look at Rio, to see if there was any reaction to the words she had struggled so hard to say. But she forced her gaze forward, unable to face the possibility that her apology might be met with nothing. Old habits died hard, and it was easier to keep her eyes away, easier to stay in that familiar space of not knowing.

Then Rio’s voice broke the silence.

“I know.”

The simple, emotionless response startled Agatha. She jumped slightly, her need to hide suddenly overridden by her surprise. She turned her head to look at Rio, who remained as still and detached as before, still staring out the window, still looking so… broken. So defeated.

Agatha stared at her, confusion knitting her brow.

That’s it? I know? That was all Rio had to say?

A strange nervous energy bubbled up inside her, unsettling and uncomfortable. She stood abruptly, pacing in front of Rio as that familiar frustration surged to the surface.

She couldn’t help it.

She had sucked up her pride, done something she had avoided for centuries—apologized—and all she got in return was two dismissive words. If this was the typical response to apologies, she was glad she hadn’t bothered with them before. The nervous, slightly self-righteous energy spilled out of her the only way it usually did—with flailing hands and frustrated speeches.

“Well…” Agatha began, side-glancing at Rio before continuing her pacing. “That was… anti-climactic. I apologize for the first time in centuries—to you of all people—and all I get is a ‘I know’? What does that even mean? I thought this was supposed to be more cathartic? Why do people even bother apologizing if that’s the response they get? What’s the point? I was expecting more drama, more—something!” Her hands flailed as she ranted. “More closure! More—”

“Agatha,” Rio interrupted, her voice a mix of her name and a heavy, exhausted sigh.

Agatha stopped mid-pace, blinking at her. “Yes?”

“Sit down.”

Agatha paused, narrowing her eyes. She hated being told what to do. Especially now, in the middle of a rant she felt fully justified in.

Rio finally dragged her eyes up from the window, catching Agatha’s defiant look. She rolled her eyes, the faintest trace of the old Rio flickering across her face before giving Agatha a placating look.

“Please,” Rio added, patting the bed next to her.

Agatha hesitated, her arms still tense, but the tone of Rio’s voice, the weariness in her eyes, made her relent. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before walking back over to the bed and sitting down beside her.

It wasn’t the apology itself that unsettled Agatha. It was Rio’s detachment, the way her lack of any real reaction gnawed at Agatha’s insides. She had expected something more—a sign, a shift, anything that would make this feel like the turning point they so desperately needed. But instead, they remained in the same stagnant place, frozen in time.

The nervous energy buzzing through Agatha didn’t fade, and if she couldn’t pace, she was going to bounce.

“But how do you know,” she began, bouncing lightly on the bed, her words spilling out quickly, “I mean, truly know? I never apologized before—so how could you—even know I was—”

Suddenly, Rio’s hand shot out, firm and unyielding, snapping down on Agatha’s leg. The pressure wasn’t painful, but it pressed Agatha down into the mattress, cutting her off mid-sentence with a sharp gasp. The movement was so quick, so deliberate, that it startled her into silence. Agatha stared down at Rio’s hand, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t the violent, desperate grasp they’d used on each other in the past, when their hands brought more harm than comfort.

This was different.

It held her steady, kept her still.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Agatha stopped moving.

She stopped bouncing.

Stopped talking.

Slowly, Rio’s head turned to face her, her dark eyes locking onto Agatha’s with an intensity that burned through the air between them. Her gaze was fierce, as ferocious as the grip she had on Agatha’s leg, but there was something else there too—something deep, something steady, something that refused to let go.

“I know because I know you,” Rio said, her voice slow and deliberate, each word punctuated, sinking into Agatha like stones dropped into still water. “I know every nook and cranny of your heart, Agatha Harkness. I’ve seen it all. The good, the bad—but never the evil.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Agatha’s throat tightened as she watched Rio’s face, the exhaustion, the sadness, but also the fierce determination that hadn’t entirely left her.

“That’s why I stayed as long as I did,” Rio continued, her tone softening but remaining steady. “Even when you hurt me the most, when you pushed me to the edge, I knew… I knew you were sorry. You didn’t have to say it, because I’ve always known.”

Agatha’s breath caught, her heart thudding in her chest. Rio’s words hit her harder than she expected. She had spent so long convincing herself that Rio had seen the worst in her—that the darkness in her had driven Rio away. But hearing this… it shook her. Rio had known all along. She had seen Agatha’s deepest flaws and stayed, not out of ignorance, but because she knew her in a way no one else ever could.

Agatha stared down at Rio’s hand on her leg, feeling the weight of it—not just physically, but emotionally. This wasn’t about control or dominance; it was about grounding her, keeping her steady in the midst of everything crashing down around them.

The quiet between them felt different now.

It wasn’t suffocating.

It wasn’t tense.

It just… was.

Agatha swallowed hard, unsure of what to say, but for once, she realized she didn’t need to say anything at all.

"You know I didn't choose my duty over our son," Rio’s voice broke the silence, so sudden and raw that it startled Agatha. Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she looked at Rio. But Rio wasn’t looking at her—her gaze was locked on the storm outside, her expression distant, as though she were somewhere else entirely.

Agatha opened her mouth, but no words came. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to something she had believed for so long, something that had shaped her anger, her grief, her entire existence after they lost Nicky.

The hand resting on her leg tightened, gripping her with more force, as if Rio was grounding herself by holding on to her. Then Rio’s face cracked, her jaw tightening with a pain so deep it seemed to ripple through her whole body.

"I couldn’t heal him," Rio hissed, her voice breaking. "That sickness… whatever it was, it wasn’t something I could fix. Not even with all the power I had.”

Agatha’s heart stopped. The air between them grew thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything that had hung between them for centuries. She stared at Rio, not knowing how to breathe, how to think. For so long, she had carried the rage of believing that Rio had chosen duty over family. But now, hearing those words, hearing Rio’s confession, it felt like the ground was being pulled out from under her.

"If there had been even a chance I could have saved him," Rio’s voice choked on the words, each one sounding like it hurt to speak, “I would have filled him with every ounce of my magic. I would have drained myself completely. I would have died if it meant he could have lived."

Agatha’s breath caught, her chest tightening painfully. She watched, frozen, as a tear slid down Rio’s face, slow and unbidden. It took everything in her not to reach out, not to wipe it away.

But she didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

The truth in Rio’s words hit her like a punch, like a wound reopening in a way that made it impossible to think.

“If it could have worked… I wouldn’t have hesitated,” Rio continued, her voice a broken whisper. “But it wouldn’t have. And I knew it.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Agatha wanted to scream, wanted to throw something, wanted to do anything but sit there and listen to this. But her body refused to move, her heart aching in ways she had never prepared for.

“I still thought about it,” Rio admitted, her voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the storm outside. “I thought about just… trying anyway. Pumping him full of magic, hoping that maybe—maybe—there was something I couldn’t see. I thought about dying for him and praying that the gods or fate or whatever’s up there would see my sacrifice and give him life in return.”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of Rio’s words pressing in on her. She didn’t want to hear this—couldn’t hear this. The images Rio’s words conjured were too much. She could see it all too clearly now—Rio, exhausted and desperate, filled with so much love for their son that she would have died for him.

She could see Rio kneeling beside Nicky, contemplating the impossible.

Rio turned to face her then, finally, her eyes filled with a deep, unrelenting grief.

"And then I thought about you," she whispered. “I thought about what would happen if it didn’t work. If I did it… if I gave everything and still couldn’t save him… and you lost both of us.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, her throat tightening as she stared at Rio. Her chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, the realization of what Rio was saying sinking into her like ice-cold water.

“I couldn’t do that to you,” Rio continued, her voice trembling, her hand still gripping Agatha’s leg, holding on as though she was afraid to let go. “I couldn’t abandon you when you needed me most. Not both of us. I couldn’t leave you with nothing.”

A sob clawed at Agatha’s throat, but she forced it down, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood. Rio’s words shattered her, broke through every wall she had built. For so long, she had believed that Rio had chosen something else, had left her to carry the weight of Nicky’s death alone.

But the truth was more brutal than she could have imagined.

Rio hadn’t chosen duty.

She hadn’t chosen herself.

She had chosen Agatha.

Agatha’s chest heaved, the pain suffocating. Tears burned in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She couldn’t. Not yet. She had spent so many years blaming Rio, so many years hating her for what she thought had happened. But now, hearing this—knowing this—it unraveled her. It hurt in ways she didn’t have words for.

She had spent centuries hating Rio for not saving their son, but the truth was, Rio had been trying to save her.

Rio wasn’t done, and where sadness once was, fury mixed in, her eyes blazing with a pain that had been buried for centuries.

“And I had to take him, Agatha!” Rio’s voice cracked, anguish pulling at her every word. Her hand tightened on Agatha's leg, grounding herself in the only way she could.

“Not out of some sense of duty—fuck duty. He was our son—my son! I took him because I loved him. Because I wanted his soul to be at peace. Not trapped in this plane, wandering, searching for a peace he’d never find. Abandoned souls… they turn dark, vengeful, monstrous. I couldn’t let that happen to him—I refused to let that happen to him.”

Agatha sat, frozen, feeling her heart split with every word Rio spoke. She had convinced herself that Rio had made a cold, calculated choice—one that had stolen their son from her. But now… the truth of Rio’s torment ripped through her.

Rio’s hand trembled on her leg as she continued, her voice thick with pain.

“I know you wanted to hold him longer, Agatha—I know that. So did I. But this plane… it’s soul-starved. It grabs at you the second you’re gone, and the longer you stay, the deeper it claws at you, ripping you apart. Keeping you from leaving, from finding peace.”

Agatha’s chest ached, the pain almost unbearable. She remembered those agonizing moments after Nicky’s death, when she had held his small, lifeless body, refusing to let him go. The world had crumbled around her, but she hadn’t cared. All she had wanted was more time—more time to hold him, to pretend, if only for a little longer, that he was still with them.

But Rio… Rio had made the choice.

Rio had taken him from her arms.

The memory came crashing back, vivid and raw, slicing through Agatha’s chest like a blade. She remembered the way Rio had held Nicky, cradling him with such care as if he were made of glass. Agatha had begged her, screamed at her, to give him back. To let her hold him just a little longer, just one more second, as if that would somehow change the inevitable. But Rio… Rio had taken him.

Agatha’s vision blurred with tears as the memory played out in front of her like it was happening all over again.

She had screamed, her voice hoarse, her throat raw. She had hurled words at Rio, words she couldn’t take back. She called her names—monster, traitor—her magic flaring in desperation, wild and untamed. She threw everything she had at Rio, fire and fury, grief and rage, as she chased her through the forest, her heart shattering with every step.

Rio kept moving, her face a mask of heartbreak, but determined. Determined to take him. Determined to do what Agatha had been too blinded by grief to understand.

“I hate you!” Agatha had screamed, the words ripping from her throat, savage and final. It was the last thing she hurled at Rio, the last thing Rio heard before she disappeared beneath the ground with their son, taking him away from Agatha forever.

But now—now—she understood.

And gods… how wrong she had been.

The weight of that moment, the sheer enormity of her mistake, crushed Agatha from all sides.

“I couldn’t risk it, Agatha. Not with Nicky—not with our son.” Rio’s voice broke, and her eyes, so full of sorrow and regret, turned back to Agatha’s. “I promise you—I swear to you—I let you hold on to him as long as I could. As long as I could allow. But I had to let him go.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, the weight of Rio’s confession pressing down on her like a tidal wave. She had wanted to scream, to rage, to fight against Rio for so long. But now… hearing Rio’s broken, desperate explanation, all that anger drained away, replaced by a grief so profound it left her gasping.

For the first time, she saw it—the impossible choice Rio had made. She had taken their son, not out of duty, but out of love. She had chosen peace for Nicky, even when it meant tearing them both apart.

Agatha’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the sob that threatened to break free. Her chest heaved with the effort to hold herself together. She had spent centuries clinging to her hatred, to the belief that Rio had stolen something precious from her.

But now, with the truth laid bare, she realized that Rio had done the only thing she could.

The only thing that would have spared Nicky from a fate worse than death.

Tears blurred her vision as she stared at Rio, her heart breaking all over again.

She hadn’t known.

She hadn’t understood.

All these years, she had been carrying a wound she thought Rio had inflicted—but it was Rio who had been carrying it too. They had both bled from the same loss, torn apart by the same grief.

And for the first time in centuries, Agatha realized how wrong she had been. 

Agatha’s breath shuddered as she finally broke the silence.

“I didn’t know…” Her voice cracked, barely able to push the words out. “I didn’t understand…”

Rio’s hand snapped back from her leg as if she’d been burned, her eyes narrowing, now filled with nothing but pain and a searing anger. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, a chill settling between them that wasn’t from the storm outside.

"You never asked," Rio spat, her words laced with venom, fire licking at the edges of every syllable.

Agatha flinched as if struck, the sharpness of Rio’s voice cutting deeper than anything physical ever could.

"You just… expected the worst out of me," Rio continued, her voice raw, her emotions spilling out in a way that Agatha hadn’t seen in years. "And I think that—that hurt the worst. More than anything you’ve ever done to me."

Rio’s breath hitched, her voice breaking as she shook her head, disbelief mingling with the agony on her face.

“And you—” She stopped, biting back her words for a moment, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to say.

“You’ve done some really fucked up shit to me, Agatha. Really messed up things. But not believing in me—as your partner, as your wife, as the mother of our son… that broke me."

The finality in her voice made Agatha’s chest tighten with guilt, her throat closing up as she fought to keep herself together. She could feel the full weight of Rio’s words crashing down on her, like they had been waiting to fall for centuries.

She had never asked.

And now, hearing Rio lay it all out, seeing the hurt and betrayal written on her face, Agatha realized that Rio was right. She had never given her the chance to explain. She had assumed the worst because that was easier than facing the complexity of the truth. She had made Rio out to be the villain, the cold, unfeeling witch who had taken their son away. But that had never been the truth.

“I—” Agatha started, but no words came. She had no defense, no justification. She had expected the worst out of Rio because she didn’t want to deal with the pain of knowing that they had both been powerless to save Nicky. And that failure—their shared grief—had ripped them apart.

Tears stung Agatha’s eyes again, but this time she let them fall. She couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words barely audible, but they carried the weight of centuries behind them. “I didn’t… I should have asked. I should have trusted you.”

Rio’s face crumpled at those words, a mix of anger and heartache that seemed to twist something deep inside her. She shook her head again, as if the apology came too late, but Agatha could see the tear slipping down her cheek, the vulnerability she had been holding back finally breaking free.

“I needed you, Agatha” Rio whispered, her voice trembling. “I needed you to believe in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. And you… you left me alone in that.”

Agatha’s heart broke all over again. She had been so wrapped up in her own grief, in her own rage, that she hadn’t seen the depth of Rio’s pain. And now, it was all laid bare before her, raw and unfiltered, and it was more than she could bear.

"I’m so sorry," Agatha repeated, her voice cracking as the guilt overwhelmed her, drowning her in waves of regret. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve—"

Rio closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, her head dipping forward as if the weight of it all was too much to hold up any longer.

Agatha hesitated, her hand trembling just above Rio’s face. She wasn’t sure if she had the right to touch her, not after everything. But in that moment, instinct took over. Her fingers brushed against Rio’s cheek, and when Rio didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, Agatha’s hand slipped behind her neck, her palm cradling her like she was something fragile, something that could break at any moment. Slowly, she pulled her forward, guiding her into the only place Agatha knew how to offer—her arms.

Rio’s body collided with Agatha’s, tense and rigid, like she was holding herself together by sheer willpower. For a second, Agatha was sure she’d push her away, that Rio would retreat, lock herself back behind those walls. But then, without warning, Rio collapsed. She crumbled into Agatha with a force so unexpected, it almost knocked Agatha off balance.

The sound that escaped Rio’s lips wasn’t a sob. It was a scream. Raw and jagged, ripped from her soul, a sound so full of anguish that it echoed through the room, louder than the storm outside. Agatha flinched, her breath catching in her throat, startled by the sheer depth of Rio’s pain. She had never heard her like this.

Ever.

The scream broke her.

It was like hearing every ounce of grief, every unspoken word, every piece of Rio’s soul that had been shattered, all spilling out in one unbearable, heart-wrenching cry. And Agatha—Agatha, who always had something to say, something sharp, something clever—was silent. All she could do was hold on tighter, pulling Rio’s trembling form closer against her chest.

Rio’s body shook with sobs, the kind that didn’t stop, the kind that tore through you like a storm that wouldn’t let up. Agatha’s hands moved through Rio’s hair, her fingers shaking, her lips pressing against Rio’s forehead, her temple, her hair—anything she could reach, as if her touch alone could offer some small comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha whispered, her voice cracking, the words barely escaping her throat. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I’m sorry.”

She whispered it again, and again, each time more desperate than the last. Agatha Harkness never apologized. Not for anything. She had spent centuries avoiding apologies, thinking they made her weak, thinking they would strip her of the armor she had carefully built around herself. But here she was, her voice breaking, her lips pressed to Rio’s head, repeating the words like a prayer, like a plea for forgiveness she knew she didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her hands tightening around Rio’s shaking form. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Rio’s cries didn’t stop. She clung to Agatha, her fists gripping the fabric of her clothes like she was drowning and Agatha was the only thing keeping her from being pulled under. Her body trembled with every sob, every agonizing breath, and Agatha felt it all. She felt the weight of it, the years of pain, the centuries of loss, all of it crashing down on both of them.

Agatha kissed the top of Rio’s head, her tears falling silently into Rio’s dark hair, mixing with the sobs that continued to shake them both.

 “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, the words coming out broken, desperate. “I never should have—Gods, I never should have doubted you. I’m so sorry.”

Rio’s grip tightened, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her body was too consumed with grief, her sobs too raw, too jagged. It was like years of suppressed emotion, bottled up for centuries, were finally finding their way out, and Agatha could do nothing but hold her, her heart breaking more with every shudder, every tear, every scream that tore from Rio’s throat.

Agatha glanced out the window, the storm outside mirroring the chaos within. The wind howled, rattling the glass, the rain slamming against the house like it was trying to tear it apart. Lightning cracked across the sky, casting eerie shadows across the room, and the ticking—that goddamn ticking—grew louder.

Tick.

Tok.

Agatha’s eyes burned with unshed tears as the sound became a countdown, a reminder that their time was running out.

But she didn’t care.

None of it mattered. The world could end, the shadows could swallow them whole, and she wouldn’t move.

Not now.

Not when Rio was breaking apart in her arms, not when the one person who had seen every corner of her soul needed her more than ever.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have—”

She broke off, her own sob catching in her throat, as she buried her face in Rio’s hair, her hands gripping her like she was afraid to let go.

The storm outside roared, the ticking clock relentless, louder and louder, but none of that mattered. Agatha had nothing left but her apologies, whispered into the darkness, repeated over and over again, like she could somehow fix what was broken, like she could somehow mend what had been torn apart for centuries.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

And as Rio collapsed further into her, screaming and sobbing, Agatha held her tighter, knowing that she could spend the rest of their time—however little they had left—whispering those words into the world, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Chapter Text

Agatha held Rio as her sobs racked through her body, each one shaking them both, like a storm that had finally broken after centuries of silence. She didn't speak—there were no words that could heal this, no magic strong enough to erase what had been done. So, she simply held on, her fingers tangled in Rio’s hair, her cheek resting against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of the only person who had ever known her completely.

The minutes passed in a blur, time slipping away, but Agatha didn’t care. The world outside could end, the shadows could swallow them whole, and it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was the woman in her arms, the shattered pieces of Rio she cradled so carefully, as if she could somehow mend them by sheer will.

Rio’s sobs slowly subsided, the rawness of her grief giving way to a heavy, almost unbearable silence.

But Agatha didn’t let go.

She couldn’t.

She wasn’t sure if she ever would.

How could she, after everything?

After all the pain, all the misunderstanding, all the years spent blaming each other for a loss that had destroyed them both?

Letting go wasn’t an option.

Rio’s breathing slowed, but her body was still pressed tightly against Agatha’s, as if she, too, was afraid to let go. Agatha could feel Rio’s heartbeat against her own chest, still rapid, but calming, settling into a slow, steady rhythm.

Agatha closed her eyes, her hand gently stroking Rio’s hair, her lips brushing against her forehead in soft, almost imperceptible kisses. The room was still, save for the distant roar of the storm outside and the relentless ticking of the clock. That sound, tick, tok, tick, tok, echoing louder now, reminding her that time was running out. The end was creeping closer, minute by minute.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha whispered again, her voice barely audible, the words more for herself than for Rio. She wasn’t sure how many times she had said it now, wasn’t sure if it even mattered anymore, but she couldn’t stop. It was like the apology had become a part of her, a mantra she clung to in the hope that somehow, it might make a difference.

“I know,” Rio whispered back, her voice rough, exhausted, but soft.

Agatha’s chest tightened at the choice of words, the same ones that had hung in the air earlier, heavy with meaning. She couldn’t help but replay them in her mind.

“I know every nook and cranny of your heart, Agatha Harkness. Even when you hurt me the most, when you pushed me to the edge, I knew… I knew you were sorry. You didn’t have to say it, because I’ve always known.”

And just like before they hit her with full force, like a wave crashing against her already fragile defenses. Agatha had spent centuries burying her regrets, her apologies, convincing herself that it was easier to stay angry, to stay hurt. She had built walls so high around her grief that she never allowed herself to imagine that Rio might have already forgiven her—or worse, that Rio had never blamed her at all.

And that was the most heartbreaking truth of all, wasn’t it? That Rio had always known. Even in the worst moments, when Agatha had pushed her away, when she had screamed and lashed out, when she had said things meant to wound—Rio had known.

Agatha felt a sob rising in her throat, one she wasn’t sure she could stop. The realization of how much pain she had carried, needlessly, hit her like a punch to the gut. She had been punishing herself all this time, thinking that Rio saw her as the villain, as the one who had failed their son, who had failed them.

But Rio had always seen her, the real her—the woman who was broken and angry, yes, but also full of love, even when she couldn’t show it.

Agatha closed her eyes, her fingers tightening in Rio’s hair, as if holding on to her could somehow make up for the years of distance, the years of pain. The weight of it all was too much, and for the first time in centuries, Agatha let herself feel the full depth of her own guilt, her own grief.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Agatha whispered, her voice trembling. “Not the way I did. Not like that.”

“I know,” Rio whispered again, her hand resting over Agatha’s heart, her touch gentle, even in the aftermath of everything they’d endured.

The simplicity of Rio’s response shattered something inside Agatha. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t absolution. But it was understanding. It was Rio saying she had always known Agatha’s heart, even when Agatha hadn’t known how to face it herself.

Agatha exhaled a shaky breath, her forehead resting against Rio’s as she tried to keep herself from breaking down entirely.

“I’ve always loved you, even when I thought I hated you,” she confessed, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the sounds of the storm outside.

Rio’s fingers brushed lightly against Agatha’s chest, a silent acknowledgment of the truth they had both been avoiding for so long.

“I know,” she said again, and this time, the words didn’t sting. They soothed, like a balm on a wound that had festered for far too long.

And maybe that was the only thing that mattered now—that Rio knew. That she had always known.

Agatha opened her eyes, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. She didn’t need to keep saying she was sorry.

Rio already knew.

She had always known.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Agatha murmured, her voice still fragile, but steadier now. “I don’t know how to make it better.”

Rio sighed softly, her breath warm against Agatha’s skin.

"Maybe we can't," Rio repeated, her voice weighed down with exhaustion, a finality that Agatha hated with every fiber of her being. It was one thing to accept death, to go wherever came after this, but not like this.

Agatha’s mind raced, searching, clawing for anything—anything—to fix them, to hold them together just a little longer. And then, suddenly, an idea took root. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t certain, but it was something.

Without thinking, she pulled Rio’s face away from her chest, gripping her firmly, forcing her to meet her gaze. Desperation laced every move, her heart pounding as she looked into Rio’s dark, tear-streaked eyes.

"Give me a redo," Agatha said, her voice intense, almost pleading.

Rio’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across her face.

"What… what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice shaky, unsure. "You can't go back in time and erase what happened, Agatha.  There is no redo."

“I’m not trying to erase it,” Agatha said, her voice gentler now, though it still trembled with the weight of desperation. “I’m not asking to forget it. But we can try again. We can choose differently. Maybe this trial, this nightmare… maybe it’s our chance to get it right—like we should have the first time.”

Rio shook her head, a sadness etched deep into her expression.

“Agatha—he’s already gone,” she said softly, pointing toward the door. “What’s out there isn’t him. It’s my grief—manifested.”

Agatha’s chest tightened. She knew that. Deep down, she understood what Rio was saying. But maybe there was a small part of her that wished—hoped—that somehow, it was him. Some desperate part of her heart that refused to let go, that still longed for a chance to hold him again, even for a moment.

“You’re certain it isn’t him?” Agatha asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging in the air like a plea she couldn’t keep buried any longer.

Rio nodded, her eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored Agatha’s own.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I checked the moment we got here.”

Agatha blinked, trying to understand, her mind swirling with confusion.

“Checked?” she echoed, unsure of what Rio meant. Agatha had never fully understood the depth of Rio’s powers when it came to death. It had always been a mystery, something Rio kept to herself—something Agatha had never truly questioned, perhaps out of fear.

“Wait—you can still—”

Rio shook her head, cutting off that thread of hope before it could take root.

“No,” she said, her voice firm but gentle, like she was trying to protect Agatha from a truth that was too painful to bear. “He’s beyond my reach now.”

The finality of Rio’s words settled heavily in the room, and Agatha felt her heart sink further. She wanted to push, to argue, to find some loophole in the universe that could change things, but the look in Rio’s eyes silenced her.

It was futile.

He was gone.

“But I remember,” Rio continued, her voice quieter now, more reflective, as if she was speaking more to herself than to Agatha. “I remember what the world was like with him in it. How bright his soul was.”

Agatha listened, her heart aching as Rio’s words painted a picture she had tried so hard not to forget—how beautiful, how full of life Nicky had been. The weight of those memories pressed down on her, threatening to overwhelm her.

“A child made of pure magic is rare in this world,” Rio said softly, her voice imbued with deep, aching reverence. Her eyes grew distant, as if she were gazing into the past, witnessing something only she could see. “It leaves a trail—a mark that lingers. But what we made—Agatha, gods... his soul…” Her voice faltered, a tremor passing through her as she continued. “It was brighter than anything I’ve ever known. Like a sun that never set. Just pure light.”

The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, pressing down on Agatha’s chest. The vivid image of their son, with his incandescent spirit, filled her mind—his laughter, his magic, the joy he brought with him. He had been something otherworldly, a rare and precious gift that was entirely theirs.

“And when he was gone,” Rio continued, her voice cracking slightly, the pain surfacing again, “the world… it just got a little darker.  It is still dark.  He isn’t here.”

Agatha turned her gaze toward the door, where the other Nicky played, oblivious to her presence. It seemed so real, so tangible, like she could just reach out and pull him into her arms. And oh, how she wanted to. The selfish part of her ached to hold him again, to feel his small body pressed against her, to hear his laughter fill the room.

But it wasn’t just that.

Agatha wanted the do-over—for Rio, for herself, but most of all… for Nicky.

Her mind drifted, pulled back into the memories she had tried so hard to bury but never could.

The regrets.

The what-ifs.

The endless, suffocating pain of that night—Nicky’s last night.

Her heart clenched painfully, the familiar ache settling deep in her chest. There was one memory that haunted her the most, a wound that never truly healed, one that bled fresh every time she let herself think of it.

“I hate that the last thing he heard…” Agatha’s voice broke, the words barely making it past the lump in her throat. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep herself together as the emotions surged, overwhelming her. “…was me yelling at you.”

The memory slammed into her like a tidal wave, crashing over her, drowning her in the desperation and fury she had felt that night. She had screamed at Rio—begged her, pleaded with her to do something, anything, to save him. She had been so consumed by her own grief, by the helplessness that had gnawed at her, that she hadn’t even realized when Nicky had slipped away. It had happened so quietly, so suddenly.

One moment he was there, the next… he was gone.

“I didn’t even realize…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I was so angry… so blinded by it… I didn’t even realize when he—” Her voice caught again, unable to finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. The truth of it was too heavy, too much to say aloud.

Suddenly, Rio’s hand came up, gently placing it over Agatha’s hand on her face, grounding her. She looked at her—really looked at her, and in that moment, something in Rio’s gaze softened. There was still pain there, but it was tempered by something else.

Something gentler.

Something almost reassuring.

“I told him you didn’t mean it,” Rio said, her voice quiet, but steady.

Agatha’s breath hitched. Her mind reeled. She hadn’t even considered—hadn’t even thought—that Rio might have spoken to Nicholas after he was gone. After he had slipped away. It was a thought that broke something fresh inside her.

A fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes, and she could barely get the words out.

“You did?” she asked, her voice sounding so small, barely audible as the sob caught in her throat.

Rio’s other hand came up, this time to cradle Agatha’s face, her thumb wiping away the tears that spilled over, the touch tender and familiar, like a balm to a wound that had been open for far too long.

“Every nook and cranny, Agatha,” Rio whispered, her voice soft but sure. “I knew. And I made sure Nicky knew too.”

Agatha’s tears fell harder, her chest shaking with the force of her emotions. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that—how much that one simple reassurance could shift the weight she had carried for so long. Knowing that Rio had spoken to him, that Rio had told him the truth in her absence, was almost too much to bear.

She closed her eyes, leaning into Rio’s touch, letting the tears fall, letting the pain she had buried for centuries finally surface. There had been so much anger, so much grief, and now it was all spilling out, raw and unfiltered. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone in it.

Rio had known. She had always known. And now, after everything, Agatha knew that she hadn’t failed Nicky in the way she had always believed. Rio had made sure of it. Rio had made sure their son left this world knowing that his mother had loved him, even in her worst moments. That her anger hadn’t been directed at him, that it had come from a place of fear and loss, not hate.

And for the first time since that night, Agatha felt a piece of the crushing guilt lift, even if just a little.

She opened her eyes, looking back at Rio, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Thank you.”

Rio gave a small, sad smile, her thumbs still gently brushing the tears from Agatha’s cheeks. They sat there, holding each other’s faces, wiping away at the tears that seemed endless, and in that quiet moment, Agatha felt something stir deep within her—something she had thought long buried.

Gods, she missed this.

Not the tears. No, Agatha hated crying, despised it with every fiber of her being. But what she missed—what she had craved for centuries—was this closeness. The touch. The simple act of being cared for, of being seen by someone who understood her in ways no one else could.

She had spent so long building walls, convincing herself she didn’t need this, that she didn’t need Rio. But now, sitting here, feeling the warmth of Rio’s hands against her skin, feeling the love that still lingered between them despite everything, Agatha realized just how much she had missed being loved.

She missed Rio.

She missed them.

Without thinking, Agatha leaned forward, closing the space between them, her lips brushing against Rio’s in a kiss that tasted of tears. It was soft, tentative, like they were both afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled between them. But as soon as their lips met, something shifted, something familiar and yet so deeply missed that it made Agatha’s heart ache.

Rio didn’t pull away. Instead, she kissed her back, her hands moving to cradle Agatha’s face with more certainty, more tenderness. The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if they were trying to remember how to be close again, how to feel each other in the way they had once known so well. It was a kiss filled with all the years of distance, of hurt, of regret—but also with the love that had never really disappeared.

Agatha’s hands slipped around Rio’s neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss just a little. The taste of their tears mixed between them, salty and bittersweet, but neither of them cared. The world outside didn’t exist in that moment. It was just them—two souls who had fought, who had broken each other, but who still found a way to come back together.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Agatha rested her forehead against Rio’s, their faces so close that she could still feel Rio’s shaky breath against her lips. Agatha’s hands held onto Rio like she was afraid to let go, as if this fragile moment might shatter if she did.

“Okay,” Rio murmured, her voice a soft sigh that brushed against Agatha’s lips.

“Okay, what?” Agatha whispered back, still in a daze, her heart pounding in her chest.

Rio pulled back slightly, her fingers gently pushing Agatha’s hair away from her face, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Let’s do the do-over,” she said quietly, the words hanging between them like a lifeline.

Agatha blinked, pulling back just enough to really look at Rio, her eyes searching her face.

“Really? Are you sure?” There was hesitation in her voice, an uncertainty that she hadn’t expected. “You don’t have to.  I’ve lived a long life.  After everything you’ve done…I don’t want to push you to do something you don’t want to do.”

Rio gave her a sad smile, one that made Agatha’s heart ache a little more.

“No,” Rio whispered, her voice soft but certain. “I can do it. For better or worse, or whatever, right?”

Agatha’s brow furrowed in confusion for a second, but then she caught the meaning behind Rio’s words, the familiar teasing tone. Rio was poking fun at their marriage. Agatha’s lips twitched into a smile despite herself.

“We didn’t have vows,” Agatha reminded her, a playful glint in her eyes as she leaned back, letting a bit of her old self surface in the moment.

Rio’s smile turned wicked, her eyes gleaming with a familiar heat.

“We didn’t?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I could’ve sworn there were vows in there somewhere.”

Gods—Agatha missed this.

She swatted Rio’s arm lightly, a grin pulling at her lips.

“No, we unloaded a ridiculous amount of magic at each other under a blood moon and fucked until we both passed out.”

Rio’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she tilted her head, pretending to remember.

“Oh yeah… that’s right.” She paused, her grin widening. “You know…isn’t there a blood moon coming up soon?” Rio’s voice took on a suggestive edge as she raised an eyebrow. “You want to renew our vows?”

Agatha couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. The sound was strange, unfamiliar, like something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in far too long, but it felt good. It was like the tiniest crack in the grief and darkness that had weighed her down for centuries, a release she hadn’t known she needed.

She shook her head, her grin still tugging at her lips as she leaned in, pressing her forehead against Rio’s once more. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside could wait.

“I tell you what,” Agatha murmured, her voice soft but steady. “If we make it out of this—if we actually manage to survive… sure. We can do that.”

“Really?” Rio asked, her voice catching with a flicker of surprise.

Agatha nodded, her forehead still resting against Rio’s. She pulled back slightly, enough to meet Rio’s gaze, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“But,” she added, her tone light but mischievous, “you’ll have to get on one knee—and ask.”

Rio snorted, rolling her eyes, but there was a smile fighting to break free.

“Only one knee? Or would you prefer both?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief Agatha had missed so much.

Agatha grinned, unable to stop herself from reaching up and gently patting Rio’s cheek.

“You know the answer to that, mi amor,” she said, her voice warm, full of affection.

Chapter Text

Agatha’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the damned souls slowly making their way toward the house. The black smoke moved with purpose, relentless and vengeful, and her pulse quickened with every inch it crept closer.

They were coming for Rio.

No, Agatha thought fiercely, I won’t let them take her.

A protectiveness she hadn’t felt in centuries surged through her veins, flooding her with a sense of purpose so intense it nearly knocked the breath out of her. It had been so long—too long—since she’d felt that fire, that instinct to protect, to shield. Agatha had always been at her most dangerous when the world dared to mess with the people she cared about. Thankfully for the world, that number had only ever been two, and then, after everything fell apart—none.

For centuries, she had lived with a heart hardened by loss, with nothing to protect but herself, no one to care for. The world only had to worry about not fucking with her, and she’d made it very clear over the years that she was more than capable of protecting herself.

But now…

Now, that empty space inside her, the one that had remained hollow after Nicky, after Rio, was slowly being filled again. Not fully, not like before, but enough. Rio’s presence, fragile and fractured as it was, had begun to seep back into her heart, and even if it was just a sliver of what they once had, it was enough.

Agatha could feel it—just a drop in the ocean of love that had once been theirs. But she had lived in a desert for centuries, and even the smallest drop of that love was enough to stir something primal within her.

The ticking clock loomed in the background, reminding her that time was running out, but Agatha felt her resolve harden. She wouldn’t let them take Rio. She had already lost her once.

Not again.

Agatha’s thoughts burned with fierce resolve, but when she glanced over at Rio, her heart lurched. Rio’s gaze was fixed on the approaching shadows, her eyes wide and distant, like she was caught in a trance, staring at the only thing in the world that could truly kill her. The air in the room felt heavier, as if the weight of that realization pressed down on both of them.

Agatha's breath caught in her throat. For all the strength Rio had shown, for all the power she wielded, there was a vulnerability in her now—raw, exposed—that Agatha hadn’t seen in centuries. She looked at Rio, the woman she had once loved so fiercely, and felt that protectiveness grow even stronger, blazing hotter in her chest.

"Rio," Agatha said, her voice low but urgent. When Rio didn’t respond, her eyes still lost in the sight of the looming darkness outside, Agatha felt a surge of frustration and fear. She stepped closer, grabbing Rio's arm firmly, and then turning her to face her. Without hesitation, she cupped Rio's face in her hands, forcing her to look at her.

“Look at me,” Agatha stressed, her voice trembling with intensity. She held her breath, waiting for those dark eyes to focus, to snap out of the trance that the oncoming storm of souls had pulled Rio into.

“We need to complete the trial,” she urged, her voice fierce, but laced with a hint of desperation.

Rio blinked, her gaze slowly sharpening as she looked into Agatha's eyes. For a moment, she seemed completely lost, her mind still trapped in the fog of what was coming for her. But then the weight of Agatha’s words seemed to sink in, the fog in her eyes lifting just enough to bring her back to the present.

Still, Agatha saw it—the way Rio’s eyes darted to the door. The fear was written in her every movement, in the way her body stiffened, and in the tension that radiated off her. It wasn’t just the monsters outside, the vengeful souls clawing their way toward the cabin. No, that wasn’t the true terror haunting Rio. Agatha could see it, clear as day.

Rio would rather face those monsters—let them tear her apart piece by piece—than go out that door and face what was waiting for them.

Agatha’s heart clenched.

The fear in Rio’s eyes, the way her fingers trembled just slightly in Agatha’s grasp, was so unlike her. She had seen Rio stand fearless against the worst the world had to offer, had seen her take down foes that should’ve left them both dead. But this was different. What lay beyond that door, in the heart of the trial, was something far worse than death for Rio.

It was truth.

It was pain.

It was everything they had run from for centuries.

"Hey," Agatha whispered, her voice soft but insistent, pulling Rio's gaze back to her. She held her face gently, making sure Rio saw the conviction in her eyes. "It’s going to be different this time. I will be different this time."

Agatha's thumb brushed against Rio's cheek, her touch steady despite the storm of emotions swirling between them.

“I’m not going to leave you alone again—okay?”

Rio’s eyes, still filled with fear and uncertainty, searched Agatha’s face, as if she wanted to believe her but didn’t know if she could. The weight of their past hung heavy between them, a chasm of mistakes, regrets, and unspoken wounds that had festered for centuries. But Agatha wasn’t the same person she was back then. She couldn’t be.

“I promise,” Agatha continued, her voice trembling just slightly, but firm. “No matter what happens, no matter what we face—I won’t leave you. Not again. Not ever.”

Rio’s lips quivered as she took in Agatha’s words, the smallest flicker of hope sparking in her eyes. She gave a shaky nod, but Agatha could feel the hesitation still lingering in her. The scars of their past ran too deep for promises to heal instantly, but this was a start.

Agatha exhaled slowly, trying to keep her own fear in check. They had no idea what awaited them, but this time—this time—they would face it together.

The clock behind them gave one last ominous chime, the sound echoing through the room like a final warning. Time was up.

“Ready?” Agatha asked, her hand still resting on Rio’s face, a quiet strength behind the question.

Rio swallowed hard, then nodded, the fear still present but no longer paralyzing.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Agatha nodded, her heart hammering in her chest, and she gave Rio one last reassuring look before turning toward the door.

No more running.

No more hiding.

They would face what was waiting for them—together.

Agatha grabbed Rio’s hand and pulled her toward the door, ignoring the way Rio's grip tightened, nails biting into her skin with a desperate hold. Agatha didn't let go—couldn’t let go. They had to move forward, no matter what waited for them on the other side of that door. With a swift motion, Agatha ripped the door open and stepped through, pulling Rio along with her.

The cabin still looked the same, no sudden changes as they entered the living room. But tension hung thick in the air. The others were gathered near the windows, their faces pale and drawn as they nervously watched the encroaching fog. It had already reached the porch, rolling up like a wave of black smoke, crashing against the glass.

"Get away from the windows!" Rio commanded, her voice sharp with authority.

They all scrambled back—except for Alice. She seemed frozen, her hand lingering against the windowpane, her face slack with an almost trance-like expression. Agatha's heart lurched as the shadows slammed into the glass, the darkness swirling and pressing against the window. Alice snapped out of her daze just in time, pulling her hand back with a sharp hiss of pain.

She turned toward the others, cradling her hand, her eyes wide with panic. Agatha followed Alice’s gaze down to her fingers—and her heart skipped a beat. The tip of Alice's middle finger was black, and the darkness was slowly creeping, spreading down her finger toward the first knuckle.

"What is happening?!" Alice shrieked, staring at the spreading blackness with a wild look of horror.

Agatha didn't have an answer. She’d never seen anything like it. But Rio stepped forward, her movements precise, confident. Pulling out a knife from seemingly nowhere, and with a cold, measured glance, she approached Alice.

Without hesitation, Rio took Alice's hand, and with a swift flick of the knife, she cut off the blackened finger just below the infected knuckle. Alice screamed, her voice raw with pain, but Rio didn’t flinch. She quickly pressed her hand over the stump, and green magic seeped from her fingers, glowing around the wound. Alice’s scream died off, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps, as the magic worked.

When Rio pulled her hand away, Alice's finger was healed, though it ended abruptly at the middle knuckle, clean and smooth. The blackened digit that had been cut off lay on the floor, shriveled and lifeless.

"Necrosis," Rio muttered, her eyes flickering down to the severed finger as it crumbled to ash on the wooden floor.

Agatha swallowed hard, following Rio’s gaze to the remains of the finger that had been consumed by the shadows. It disintegrated completely, nothing but a faint trace of ash left behind.

Rio lifted her gaze, her eyes sharp and filled with urgency as she addressed the group.

"Don't let the shadows touch you."

The weight of her words hit like a hammer. Everyone looked around nervously, the walls seeming to close in, the fog outside pressing harder against the windows. The shadows weren’t just a danger—they were death itself, creeping ever closer.

“Ohh—we are going to die!” yelled Jen, her voice pitched high with panic.

Agatha rolled her eyes at the dramatics, but she couldn’t fully disagree. The tension in the room was suffocating, the weight of the impending doom pressing down on them. Her gaze flicked to the clock, and then back to the shadows, her heart pounding in sync with each tick.

Click. Click.

With every second, the shadows seemed to inch closer, curling and twisting as they pressed against the windows, creeping in through every crack and crevice in the cabin’s walls. It was as if the barrier that had been protecting them was weakening, retreating bit by bit, allowing the darkness to seep in. The fog slithered through the smallest gaps, and the room grew colder, the temperature dropping with every second.

Agatha’s pulse quickened. The air itself felt thick, the danger closing in around them like a tightening noose. She watched as the shadows curled along the edges of the door, their inky black tendrils searching for a way inside.

“Get away from the walls!” Agatha snapped, her voice sharp. “The barrier’s breaking. We don’t have much time.”

Everyone scrambled back toward the center of the room, huddling together, their eyes wide with fear as the darkness continued to encroach.

Tick. Tock.

“Okay, but what do we do? Did you figure out how to beat the trial?” Teen asked, his voice shaky, panic clear in his eyes.

Agatha and Rio's eyes locked at the same moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on them like a crushing force. They didn’t need words; the gravity of what was coming was unmistakable.

Before either of them could answer, a frantic scream echoed down the hallway, a voice that froze Agatha to her core.

“Rio!” The voice was filled with fear—Agatha’s voice, unmistakably her own—but it hadn’t come from her lips. It reverberated through the cabin, a hollow echo that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Her blood ran cold as the words cut through the air.

“Get in here! Something’s wrong with Nicky!”

The cry came from Nicholas’s room, the door at the end of the hallway glowing with an eerie green light. Agatha's breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest. It was her voice from the past—the same voice that had screamed those exact words the night everything fell apart.

The clock chimed again, the sound deeper, more ominous, reverberating through the cabin with a finality that felt like the last warning.

Agatha could feel it—this was the moment. The tipping point. If they didn’t face it, if they didn’t confront whatever lay in that room, there would be no second chance. The shadows creeping into the cabin, the souls outside—they weren’t the trial.

This was.

The past was reaching out to them, pulling them back to that one night, that one moment where everything had gone wrong.

“Rio,” Agatha whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of what she knew they had to face. “We have to go in there.”

Rio’s eyes were wide, her breath shallow as she stared at the glowing door, her body frozen in place. Agatha could see the fear in her, the hesitation, the pain that lingered in every inch of her posture. But there was no time for fear.

Agatha reached out, gripping Rio’s hand tightly, grounding her.

“We have to face it,” she said, her voice stronger now, though her heart hammered with dread. “If we don’t… we’ll lose everything.”

Another chime rang through the cabin, and the green glow from the room seemed to pulse, like the heartbeat of something alive, waiting for them. Daring them to step inside.

Rio swallowed hard, her gaze flickering back to Agatha, a silent understanding passing between them.

This was the trial.

This was what they had run from for so long.

They couldn’t run anymore.

Rio nodded, her grip tightening around Agatha’s hand, her body still trembling but her resolve hardening.

“Let’s do it.”

Agatha turned toward the hallway, her steps slow but deliberate as she led Rio toward the glowing door, the echoes of her own past screams ringing in her ears.

With one final glance at each other, they stepped through the doorway, the green glow swallowing them whole.

Chapter Text

They stepped into the room, and the sight that greeted them felt like a blade plunging into Agatha’s chest.

Nicky lay in his small bed, drenched in sweat, his body twitching and writhing in pain. His little hands clutched the sheets, his face twisted in agony as soft, pitiful whimpers escaped his lips. Every whimper was a dagger to Agatha’s heart.

The scene felt all too familiar, like a nightmare she could never wake from.

And there, by his side, was the other Agatha—her from that night—desperately trying to soothe him, her hands trembling as they hovered over his small body, helpless. The fear on her face was palpable, an expression Agatha remembered all too well. The way it clawed inside her, ripping her apart as she tried to stay strong for Nicky, but at the same time, it was tearing her to shreds from the inside out.

Her past self was breaking—no, had broken—and Agatha could feel every ounce of it as she watched the scene unfold.

Other Agatha looked up, her eyes wild and full of desperation, but she didn’t see Agatha standing there.

Her gaze locked onto Rio—only Rio.

The raw desperation in the other Agatha’s eyes as she looked at Rio was like a physical force, one that seemed to make Rio stiffen beside her, sucking in a sharp, painful breath.

“Where have you been?!” the other Agatha screeched, her voice raw and shredded from fear, the pain clawing at her vocal cords. “Get over here and help him!”

The accusation hit like a lash, and even though Agatha knew it wasn’t directed at her in this moment, the weight of her own voice filled with such careless blame made her flinch. It was barbed, sharp, thrown at Rio with the cruelty that came when pain had no direction but outward.

Instinctively, Agatha’s hand moved to Rio’s back, her fingers pressing into her, whether to offer an apology or simply to show her that she wasn’t alone, she didn’t know.

Maybe both.

She just knew she needed to touch Rio, to offer some kind of connection amidst the pain of this moment.

Rio’s breath hitched, her body still stiff from the memory, but at Agatha’s touch, she seemed to exhale, her tense shoulders loosening ever so slightly. It was as if she had been holding her breath for centuries, and only now could she let go.

Agatha could feel it—the way Rio’s body relaxed against her hand, the way her presence alone grounded them both.

This wasn’t just a memory.

This was their trial.

This was everything they hadn’t faced.

And now, there was no escaping it.

But this time, they would face it together.

Rio’s eyes flickered with pain as she stepped forward, toward the other Agatha and Nicky, her movements slow and deliberate. Agatha’s hand remained on her back, a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone in this.

The other Agatha’s eyes never left Rio, filled with an unbearable mixture of desperation and fury.

“Do something!” she cried again, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. “He’s in pain! He needs you—I need you!”

Agatha’s heart shattered at the sound of her own voice, full of so much raw anguish, so much fear. It was like watching her worst nightmare play out again, only this time, there was no denying the truth of what had happened.

They were reliving the moment that broke them.

And now, they had to find a way to survive it.

Rio moved slowly toward the bed, her steps deliberate and heavy as if every inch closer weighed her down. She sat down on the edge, her eyes locked on Nicky, and Agatha could see it—feel it—the sheer pain in Rio’s dark eyes as she looked at their son.

It wasn’t just grief.

It was helplessness, regret, and the deep, aching sorrow of a mother who had the power to save so many—but not the one who mattered most. The weight of it all was reflected in the way Rio’s body seemed to sag, her hands trembling just slightly as she reached out.

The moment Nicky saw her, his small, frail body instinctively curled toward her, seeking her warmth, her protection. The movement was so immediate, so automatic, that it shattered something inside Agatha all over again.

“Mama, it hurts,” Nicky cried, his voice small and broken.

The sound of his plea made Agatha’s chest tighten painfully. She remembered this moment so vividly now—the way Nicky had called out for Rio, the way his small body twitched with pain. And the way she had lashed out in her desperation.

Rio looked down at him, her face a mask of heartbreak, so broken and so helpless. Agatha could see it in her eyes—how much Rio wished her magic, her very soul, could save him. But there was nothing she could do.

“Don’t just sit there! Do something!” screamed the other Agatha, her voice full of fear, of anger, of a deep, soul-crushing desperation.

Agatha flinched at the sound of it. Her own voice, raw and jagged, filled the room like a knife cutting through the air.

But Rio didn’t flinch.

She didn’t react at all.

It was like she was expecting it, like every word Agatha had thrown at her that night was seared into her memory, burned so deeply that nothing could surprise her anymore.

And in that moment, Agatha realized something else. While she had been consumed by her own fear, by her own helplessness, Rio had been carrying the weight of it all—every barb, every angry word—taking it silently. Agatha had said things that night she could barely remember now, things that her fear had allowed to override everything else, but Rio… Rio remembered every last bit of it.

The room was thick with tension, the air suffocating, as they stood on the edge of a moment that had destroyed them both.

“Rio,” Agatha whispered, her voice barely audible but trembling with the emotion she hadn’t been able to express that night. Her hand moved to Rio’s shoulder, fingers curling tightly into the fabric, grounding them both. “I’m right here.”

The weight of her words hung in the air between them. Rio’s body tensed beneath Agatha’s touch, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she sat there, staring at Nicky as he whimpered, his small body wracked with pain. The other Agatha’s desperate cries still echoed in the background, but this moment—this moment was different.

Agatha could feel the agony radiating from Rio, the helplessness that had consumed her for so long. But there was something else too—a small flicker of resolve, a sense of togetherness that hadn’t existed that night.

This time, Rio wasn’t facing it alone.

Nicky let out another pained cry, his little body twisting as he reached out toward Rio.

"Mama…" he whimpered, his voice barely a breath, filled with a pain that no child should ever have to endure.

Rio’s hand hovered above Nicky, trembling, the conflict written all over her face. Agatha could see it—the war raging inside her. The instinct to reach for him, to try and heal him, to do anything to take his pain away. But Agatha knew now—just like Rio did then—that there was nothing left to be done.

And then, Rio’s words from before echoed in Agatha’s mind.

“I thought about just… trying anyway. Pumping him full of magic, hoping that maybe—maybe—there was something I couldn’t see. I thought about dying for him and praying that the gods or fate or whatever’s up there would see my sacrifice and give him life in return.”

Agatha’s breath hitched at the memory of those words. And as she looked at Rio, she could see the desperation in her eyes, the torment of a mother who would have given everything to save her child—even when she knew deep down there was no chance.

Her hand squeezed Rio’s shoulder a little tighter, her fingers trembling with the weight of everything left unsaid.

She could feel Rio’s guilt, the unbearable burden of not being able to save their son, the silent suffering she had carried for centuries. Agatha had blamed her for so long, letting the anger fester, but now, standing here again in this room—his room—the truth hit her hard.

Rio had been fighting just as much as she had, and the pain was still etched in every line of her face, her heart—in her soul.

Nicky whimpered again, his frail body convulsing in pain, and Rio flinched as though she felt every tremor with him. Her hands moved instinctively, trembling as green magic flickered to life at her fingertips, casting a faint glow in the dim room. The energy swirled, growing brighter before she gently placed her palms on Nicky’s small chest. The moment her magic flowed into him, his body stilled, and the pained cries subsided.

Nicky let out a soft sigh, his tiny frame relaxing into the bed as though the weight of his suffering had been lifted.

Across the room, the other Agatha gasped, her shoulders shaking as relief flooded through her. With trembling hands, she reached forward, her fingers carefully brushing the damp hair away from Nicky’s forehead, stroking through the dark curls, her touch tender and desperate.

Agatha watched with an ache in her chest, wishing she could reach out and feel him one more time—just once more.

“See,” the other Agatha whispered, her voice shaking with relief, her lips brushing against Nicky’s temple. “I told you Mama would make you feel better.”

But Agatha knew—it was a false relief. She remembered this moment all too well. The surge of hope, the desperate belief that everything would be okay, only for it to come crashing down. It was a fleeting comfort, one that she had clung to in her desperation, only for reality to tear it away again.

Rio’s eyes flickered upward, locking onto the other Agatha. Pain rippled across her face, a flash of raw emotion that mirrored Agatha's own. She remembered this moment—every moment—just as vividly.

And now, standing here again, side by side, they both knew exactly what was coming next.

Rio just had to say the words.

With a tremor in her voice, Rio spoke, her tone quiet but each word felt like it was igniting a fuse.

Agatha could feel the tension in the air, like the strike of a match before the explosion.

“I took the pain away,” Rio murmured, her voice thick with the weight of that long-buried memory. She paused, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “Just the pain.”

The words hung in the air like a confession, and Agatha, standing behind her, tightened her grip on Rio’s shoulder, bracing for the inevitable.

“What do you mean—just the pain?” the other Agatha demanded, her voice frantic as she searched Rio’s face, pleading for reassurance, for something to cling to.

Rio stiffened, her body going rigid under the intensity of the question, the guilt washing over her again, just as it had that night. Agatha, felt the cold wave of memory crash over them both, but this time—this time, she wouldn’t let Rio stand alone in it.

She moved forward, settling beside Rio on the bed, her arms wrapping around her, holding her tightly. Her hands wrapped around her, bracing against her back as if she could somehow shield her from the next wave of pain that was about to hit.

“I’m right here,” Agatha murmured, her voice soft but steady, like she was speaking directly to Rio’s heart. Her forehead rested between Rio’s shoulder blades, her voice low, intimate, meant for Rio alone.

“She isn’t me. I know you did what you could, mi amor. This isn't real. I'm right here.”

Rio’s breath shuddered, her body trembling beneath Agatha’s touch, but she didn’t pull away. She let Agatha hold her, let her words sink in, as if they were an anchor in the storm of guilt that threatened to pull her under.

The other Agatha, completely unaware of her presence, stood there with tears streaming down her face, her voice raw with desperation as she stared at Rio.

“Just fix him, Rio!”

The plea hung in the air, thick with fear and grief, as if it were the last sliver of hope she had left to cling to.

Agatha, sitting behind Rio, tightened her arms around her, bracing herself as Rio’s body tensed beneath the weight of the accusation. Agatha could feel the tremble running through Rio’s body, the way she held herself together by a thread.

"I can't," Rio whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the weight of the truth. She turned slightly toward the other Agatha, her eyes filled with sorrow, but her gaze didn’t fully meet her past self's. It was as if she couldn’t bear to look her in the eye, couldn’t face the crushing disappointment that would follow.

“Agatha—” Rio’s voice faltered, her breath catching as she fought to find the words. “I can’t fix it.”

The other Agatha’s face twisted in agony, her eyes wild with fear, her voice rising to a near-scream as she hurled her rage at Rio.

“What do you mean you can’t fix it?” Her voice cracked with desperation, her hands trembling as they clutched the bedposts, as if anchoring her to some semblance of control. “You’re Death, Rio! You have more magic running through your veins then any being in this world!  You can fix anything!”

Agatha wrapped her arms tighter around Rio, her fingers digging into her as she tried to steady Rio against the onslaught.  Her chin rested on Rio’s shoulder.

“She doesn’t understand,” Agatha whispered softly into Rio’s ear, her voice trembling. “She’s just scared.  I am not—I am right here.”

But the other Agatha didn’t relent. She was just starting.  She leaned towards Rio, her face contorted with pain.

“I’ve seen you heal! I’ve seen you patch up holes in me, bring people back from the brink! You mend, you heal! You control death, for gods’ sakes! So—control it!”

Rio flinched visibly at the words, her breath catching as if the weight of those accusations was pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. Agatha could feel the tremor running through Rio’s body, the way her muscles tensed beneath her hands.

“I can’t control this, Agatha,” Rio choked out, her voice raw. “I tried, I did everything I could…” her voice trailed off. 

“I know you tried, mi amor,” whispered Agatha, pressing her lips gently to Rio’s hair, offering what comfort she could. “I know you did everything you could.”

But the other Agatha was spiraling now, her voice rising, the fear pouring out of her like venom.

“No! No, you’re lying! You’re lying, Rio! You have power! You’re just choosing not to use it!” Her words were frantic, each one striking like a blow. “You just—don’t care enough! You don’t love him like I do, or you’d fix this!”

Rio flinched again, the accusation hitting her like a slap. Her whole body went rigid, her breathing shallow, and Agatha felt the sharp pang of those words cutting through them both.

“You do care,” Agatha whispered into Rio’s back, her voice shaking with the need to erase the cruelty of her past self’s words. “I know you how much you loved him.”

The other Agatha’s face twisted, her grief morphing into something manic, uncontrollable, as she stepped around the bed towards Rio, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch.

"You didn’t carry him in your body for nine months! You didn’t feel him grow inside of you—I did! You didn’t make him, you didn’t create him! Do you even feel anything?!  Are you that dead inside, that you would do this me—to him?!”

Agatha flinched at her own words, her heart tightening painfully, but she held Rio tighter, pressing her face into Rio’s neck, grounding them both.

“She’s wrong,” Agatha whispered into Rio’s ear, her voice trembling but steady. “You loved him just as much as I did. You still love him.”

Rio let out a shuddering breath, her whole body shaking as if the weight of those words might break her.

“Agatha, I love him. He’s my son, just as much as yours,” she said, her voice cracking, pleading for understanding. “But there’s nothing I can do. Please, believe me.”

The other Agatha wasn’t listening. Her grief had turned into something frantic, uncontrollable, and she lashed out at Rio, her hands trembling with the force of her rage.

“No!” she screamed. “You’re just choosing not to! You could save him, but you’re just sitting there! You don’t love him enough—you don’t love me enough, or you would have already saved him!”

Agatha flinched, her heart breaking at the cruelty of her own words from the past, but she held Rio tighter, pressing her face against Rio’s shoulder.

“That’s not true,” she whispered softly, her voice full of regret. “You love us. I know you do.”

Rio’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as the other Agatha’s words hit her like a physical blow. But instead of lashing back, she spoke softly.

“Look at him, Agatha.”

The other Agatha faltered, her anger momentarily breaking as she looked at Nicky. His small body lay so still on the bed, his pale skin almost translucent, his chest rising and falling in weak, shallow breaths. His eyes were closed, and he looked so fragile, so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

“I can feel his death calling me, Agatha,” Rio whispered, her voice barely holding together. “He doesn’t have much time left. You need to hold him. Just hold him.”

“No!” the other Agatha raged, her voice frantic, wild with grief. “Don’t you dare choose your duty over our son!”

Agatha winced at the venom in her own words, but she wrapped her arms tighter around Rio, grounding her.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Agatha whispered into Rio’s ear. “She’s terrified. We were both terrified.”

Rio stiffened in Agatha’s arms, but she spoke softly, calmly, despite the turmoil raging inside her.  She glared up at other Agatha, just like she did all those years ago. 

“Fine, if you won’t hold him, then I will.”

The other Agatha’s eyes widened in horror, her body shaking with rage and fear.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” she screamed, stepping closer, her voice raw with desperation. “Don’t lay one finger on him, Rio!”

Agatha’s heart shattered at the cruelty of her past self, but she understood it at the same time—the fear of Rio taking him.  Of knowing in order for death to take your body, it needed physical touch.  She ground herself closer to Rio, holding tighter. 

Rio’s voice wavered as she spoke again, her eyes fixed on Nicky, her heart breaking with every shallow breath he took.

“He’s scared, Agatha. I can feel it. Someone needs to hold him.”

The other Agatha shook her head violently, her fear spiraling out of control.

“No!” she argued, her voice trembling with barely contained hysteria. “You’re going to take him away from me—from us! If you take him, I’ll never forgive you! Do you hear me? I will never forgive you!”

Rio’s body trembled beneath Agatha’s touch, and Agatha could feel her breaking, feel the fragile edges of Rio’s control starting to splinter under the weight of it all.

Agatha stood up, her legs trembling as she moved swiftly around the bed. She couldn’t let Rio retreat into the past, couldn’t let her be consumed by the memory of their pain. She needed Rio to look at her—not the memory of her, not the version of herself from that terrible night, but her, the woman standing beside her right now.

Agatha moved in front of Rio, forcing her to look into her eyes. She reached up, gripping Rio’s face gently but firmly, her fingers curling into the familiar shape of her jaw. Their eyes locked, and Agatha could see the storm of emotions swirling in Rio’s dark gaze—the agony, the guilt, the fear.

But Agatha wasn’t going to let her drown in that.

“Look at me,” Agatha whispered, her voice low but filled with determination. She held Rio’s gaze, not letting her slip away. “I’m right here. Not the past. Not the memory. Me.”

Rio’s breath hitched, her body stiffening under Agatha’s touch, but she didn’t pull away. Slowly, her eyes sharpened, focusing on Agatha—really focusing—and the weight of the present began to anchor her, pulling her back from the brink.

“There’s nothing to forgive, do you hear me?” Agatha said, her voice firm yet tender, pouring everything she could into her words. “You did everything you could. I’m right here. You’re not alone. This is not your fault. I’m right here—I have you. I’ll always have you.”

As the weight of Agatha's words sank in, Rio’s breath hitched again, a soft, ragged sound escaping her lips.  Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looked almost fragile, like a delicate glass sculpture about to shatter.

But the other Agatha wasn’t done. Her voice rose again, raw and hysterical, each word lashing out like a weapon, her grief, her desperation, needing an outlet—and Rio had always been her favorite target.

“You don’t deserve him, Rio! If you’re giving up on him this easily, you don’t deserve to be a mother—”

Something inside Agatha snapped.

Her blood boiled, rage igniting in her chest like wildfire. She couldn’t listen to it anymore, not even from her own past self. She let go of Rio, stepping forward, positioning herself between the other Agatha and Rio, as if her very presence could block the assault—even though she knew the other Agatha couldn’t see her—could walk right through her if she wanted. 

“ENOUGH!” Agatha roared, her voice shaking the air.

Magic crackled, flaring violently around her. It wasn’t hers she realized—it was Rio’s magic, a fierce, storm-like energy that pulsed through the room, powerful and electric, like a lightning storm ready to strike. It danced across Agatha’s skin, charging the air with raw intensity.

The other Agatha flinched, stumbling back, her hands flying up to shield her eyes from the sheer force of it. And then, slowly, cautiously, she lowered her arms, her eyes wide with terror. She stared ahead, confusion and fear etched into every feature as her gaze landed on Agatha—really landed on her.

She could see her.

For the first time, the other Agatha could see her.

The room hung in a suffocating silence, the storm of magic still crackling in the air as Agatha stood tall, her chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to hold onto control. Her heart raced, her fury curling through her veins like molten fire.

The other Agatha stumbled back, her rage fading, confusion and fear creeping into her eyes as she looked at Agatha standing before her.

“What—what is happening?” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Who are you?”

Agatha's shoulders heaved with barely contained rage, the emotions roiling inside her, threatening to explode. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her gaze fixed on the terrified version of herself.

“I am you,” Agatha growled, her voice low and dangerous. She could feel Rio’s magic buzzing beneath her skin, but it was her need to protect that truly gave her strength. “And if you say one more word to her… just one more thing…”

She stepped even closer, her eyes burning with a fury that had been simmering for centuries.

“I promise you, I will rip out your heart with my bare fucking hands.”

The threat hung in the air like a blade, and the other Agatha, wide-eyed and trembling, took another shaky step back. The magic around them crackled louder, the tension in the room palpable, and in that moment, Agatha knew—she was in control now.

Rio’s soft exhale behind her was the only sound, a fragile reminder of what they were fighting for, of the love that still lingered beneath the layers of hurt and anger.

And Agatha wasn’t going to let anyone—not even herself—destroy that.

"She—" the other Agatha stammered, her voice faltering as the rage and certainty drained away, leaving only confusion and fear.

"She is your wife!" Agatha roared, cutting her off with a voice filled with fury. "She has walked by your side, supported you, built you up into the witch you are today! She has never doubted you—not once! She has followed you into flames and storms, on your reckless, senseless missions! She has saved you! Loved you! And never—never—left your side, even when you deserved it!"

The other Agatha flinched, visibly recoiling from the raw, unfiltered truth. Agatha could feel the weight of every word hitting her past self like a hammer, shattering the defenses she had built around her pain.

"Nicky—she won't—" the other Agatha tried, grasping desperately for some justification, something to hold on to, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

"She is his mother, you idiot!" Agatha hissed, stepping closer, her voice dripping with venom. "You grew him, yes, but her magic made him! She is his mother just as much as you are! From the moment he took his first breath, she was there! Every babble, every sleepless night, his first word, his first steps—everything! She was right there beside you—beside him!"

The fury surged in Agatha’s voice as she leaned in, her eyes locked on the terrified version of herself.

"She loves that boy with the same all-consuming fire that you do. She would never let anything happen to him. You know that!"

The other Agatha stood frozen, her breath shallow, her eyes wide as the truth of those words crashed into her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The accusations she had thrown at Rio suddenly felt hollow, like crumbling ashes in the face of the truth she couldn’t deny.

"You’ve never doubted her before—never!" Agatha pressed on, her voice unwavering. "You know she would burn the whole fucking world for him! She would never let anything happen to him!"

The room seemed to tremble with the force of Agatha’s words, her fury filling the space, leaving the other Agatha trembling, speechless, and powerless beneath the weight of her own guilt.

"Listen to her," Agatha said, her voice no longer a roar but a quiet, firm warning. It wasn’t anger now, but something softer—something more desperate. “She told you she can’t save him. She has never lied to you. She has always told you the brutal truth—even when you didn’t want to hear it.”

The other Agatha stood frozen, her eyes darting between Rio and the version of herself standing in front of her, tears welling in her eyes as reality began to set in.

Agatha took in a ragged breath, her voice trembling with the weight of the truth she had fought so long to avoid.

"She is telling you—she can’t save him,” Agatha whispered, her own tears finally breaking free as her chest tightened with the unbearable pain. “Stop blaming her.”

Her voice cracked, breaking under the emotional strain. She wiped her eyes quickly, but the tears kept coming, her heart aching as she stared at her past self.

“It’s not her fault,” Agatha cried, her voice shaking.

Agatha felt the words leave her, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight she had carried for centuries—the anger, the guilt, the blame—began to loosen its grip. Each word was like a release, a crack in the iron walls she had built around her heart.

It wasn’t just for Rio.

It was for her.

She had needed to say it, to feel it.

Her chest rose and fell with deep, shaky breaths, but with each one, there was a sense of catharsis, of healing. The raw, jagged edges of her grief softened as the truth settled between them, like a balm on a wound that had never fully closed.

“She didn’t fail us,” Agatha repeated, her voice quieter now, filled with a kind of clarity she hadn’t known she needed. “She didn’t fail him.”

The other Agatha’s expression shifted, her fury dissolving into something softer, something broken. Her face crumpled as the truth pierced through the fog of her grief. She took a step back, hands trembling as she looked at Rio. The anger she had clung to for so long was slipping away—and as it left, so did she.

Agatha watched, wide-eyed, as her past self slowly began to disappear. Magic curled around her like a soft mist, wrapping her in a peaceful glow as she faded from existence. Her face, once twisted with rage, now held a gentle serenity.

She was finally at peace.

Agatha stood frozen, staring at the empty space where her other self had been, unable to process what had just happened.

"Agatha," Rio’s voice came from behind her.

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t filled with gratitude. It was laced with surprise, almost disbelief. Agatha turned slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, dread creeping into her bones.

Rio was standing now, her tear-streaked face turned toward the wall, eyes wide, locked on something far beyond the room.

What now?

What else could possibly happen?

The shadows?

More death?

She didn’t know if she could survive another trial.

“What is it?” Agatha asked, her voice small, almost afraid to know the answer.

Rio didn’t answer—not right away. Instead, she just stood there, eyes wide locked on something far beyond the room. Her hands trembled at her sides, another wave of tears spilling over as she turned to Agatha.

“The world…” she said her voice barely above a whisper.  “It got brighter.”

Agatha’s heart sank with confusion.

“What? What does that mean?”

Rio stared at her in shock, and then—her eyes moved across the room, almost as if she tracking something only she could see.  She turned slowly toward the bed, her breath hitching, her body shaking with a sob that seemed to come from deep within her chest.

And then…

"Mommy."

The sound hit Agatha like a tidal wave, crashing into her, stealing the breath from her lungs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She slowly turned, her eyes wide, afraid to hope, afraid to believe what she had just heard.

But there he was.

Nicky was sitting up in bed, looking at them both with bright, sparkling eyes, no longer pale, no longer sick. His face lit up with a wide smile, his small body full of life again.

“Rio,” Agatha whispered, her voice trembling, barely able to form the words. The weight of what she was about to say felt like a heavy stone in her chest, and her legs went weak beneath her, threatening to buckle. Just as she felt herself begin to fall, Rio's strong hands shot out, catching her with a firm grip.

“Tell me,” she pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words trembled on her lips, fragile and full of fear, as if speaking them aloud would shatter her completely. She was terrified of the answer, terrified of the hope that was rising inside her despite everything they had been through.

Rio’s eyes, wet with tears, locked onto Agatha’s, filled with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen in so long. Agatha could feel her heart pounding, the world narrowing down to this one moment.

“It’s him,” Rio breathed, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It’s really him.”

And just like that, Agatha’s heart broke and mended all at once.

Chapter Text

The sound that came up from Agatha’s throat wasn’t human.

It was raw, primal—something between a sob and a scream, torn from the deepest part of her soul. Her body shook with it, her legs giving out completely as the full weight of what Rio had just said slammed into her. Agatha fell forward, her grip on Rio tightening as if she might fall into nothingness if she let go.

Rio held her, arms strong but trembling as she kept Agatha from collapsing completely. Agatha’s chest heaved as the inhuman sound continued, echoing off the walls of the small room, filling the space with the kind of grief, shock, and desperate hope that had been buried for centuries.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t process it.

Nicky.

Her body sagged further into Rio’s arms, her fingers clutching desperately at Rio’s clothes. She buried her face in Rio’s shoulder, her tears soaking through the fabric as another guttural, heart-wrenching sound escaped her.

Rio didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her own tears fell silently, her body trembling under the weight of what they were both experiencing. She held Agatha tighter, her hand moving up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair in a gesture so familiar it almost broke Agatha even more.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—locked together in their shared grief, their shared relief, their shared disbelief. The air was thick with emotion, too much to name, too much to understand.

Slowly, painfully, Agatha lifted her head. Her eyes, red and swollen, finally shifted to the bed where Nicky sat, his small body looking so alive, so real, his bright eyes filled with a childlike innocence that had been ripped from their lives so long ago.

“Hi, Mommy.”

Nicky’s soft voice broke through the thick silence like a fragile thread, and Agatha’s heart shattered all over again. It wasn’t just the sound of his voice, so innocent and pure—it was the impossible reality of it, the hope she hadn’t dared to allow herself.

Her legs nearly gave out again as she pulled away from Rio, her steps faltering, her breath catching in her throat as she moved toward the bed. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her hands shook violently as they hovered just above Nicky’s dark hair, her fingers trembling in fear.

What if it wasn’t real?

What if she reached out, and her hand just passed through him, like the ghost he was supposed to be?

But Nicky blinked up at her, his wide, innocent eyes shining with a trust so pure it was unbearable. He was so unaware of the storm raging inside her, the agony, the disbelief, the years of grief weighing her down like a chain.

Agatha’s breath hitched, her body shaking as her trembling fingers finally made contact with his hair. The sensation was so painfully familiar—soft, like silk, inky black threads slipping through her fingers just as they had so many times before. Her heart thudded in her chest, harder and harder, as the realization sank in.

He was real.

He was really there.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stared down at him, her tears blurring her vision.

Nicky didn’t move, just watched her with those wide, curious eyes, unaware of the years of pain, the nights spent screaming for him, or the broken woman standing before him now.

His tiny hand reached for her wrist, clutching her fingers with the gentle touch of a child who trusted without question, who loved without hesitation. His small voice broke through again, so soft, so heartbreakingly worried.

“Mommy—you’re crying... Are you sad?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Agatha’s knees buckled, the weight of his words nearly taking her down. She choked on her sobs, her body shaking uncontrollably as she fought to keep herself together. She had imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing prepared her for the sheer force of it—the raw, unrelenting emotion threatening to consume her entirely.

With trembling hands, she cradled his face, blinking back her tears, desperate to see him clearly, to memorize every inch of his little face again.

“They’re happy tears, baby,” she whispered, her voice cracked and raw, barely able to push the words out.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. Agatha moved forward, climbing into the bed beside him, pulling him into her arms like she had when he was a baby. She pressed him against her chest, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body curling protectively around him as if she could shield him from everything, even time itself.

He felt warm.

He felt so alive.

Agatha sobbed, her tears falling freely now as she cradled him, her entire being consumed by the impossible joy—the overwhelming relief—of holding her son again. Every breath she took was laced with disbelief, every beat of her heart a reminder that this moment, as impossible as it was, was real.

She held him, felt him, breathed him in—gods, he even smelled the same. That familiar, earthy scent that was uniquely him, like fresh dew and dirt, like the forest. Like life.

Like his mother.

Rio.

Agatha’s eyes darted up, searching for her, and there she was—standing in the same spot, rooted to the floor, her tears flowing just as freely. Rio looked... frozen. Her whole body trembled, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, as if she was fighting with everything in her not to rush forward and hold him too. She seemed locked in place, caught between the overwhelming need to reach out and the fear of intruding on this moment.

Agatha’s heart ached all over again, seeing the raw emotion on Rio’s face. The longing. The restraint. The pain of wanting to be there but holding back, as if afraid she didn’t deserve to share this moment.

“Rio,” Agatha’s voice cracked, soft but insistent.

Rio’s gaze met hers, and in that instant, Agatha knew what was holding her back. She could see it—the guilt, the weight of every moment Rio had carried alone for centuries. The belief that she had failed them, failed him.

Agatha shook her head, her arms still wrapped tightly around Nicky as she spoke, her voice breaking through the thick emotion in the room.

“He needs you too, mi amor.”

Rio blinked, her lips parting slightly, but she didn’t move. It was as if her body wouldn’t allow her to step forward, as if the pain of losing him had paralyzed her.

Agatha’s heart shattered all over again. She knew Rio. Knew how deeply she felt things, how much she had been carrying for so long. She knew that Rio was still holding herself back—still thinking she didn’t deserve this moment.

“Rio,” Agatha said again, firmer this time, tears streaming down her own cheeks. “He’s your son. Come here. Please.”

Rio’s breath hitched, and slowly—painfully slowly—she took one trembling step forward, then another, until she was standing on the other side of the bed, right beside them.

Agatha shifted slightly, making space, and Rio sat beside them, her trembling hand finally reaching out to touch Nicky’s hair, her fingers barely grazing him at first, as if she couldn’t believe he was real.

Nicky, sensing her presence, turned toward Rio, his wide eyes lighting up.

“Mama!” he cried out, his arms reaching for her.

And that was all it took.

Rio collapsed forward, pulling him into her arms with a sob so raw it tore through the room. She held him close, her face buried in his hair, her whole body shaking as she wept. The restraint, the guilt, the centuries of grief—it all poured out of her in that moment.

Agatha watched through her own tears, her heart breaking and healing all at once as she held onto the moment, knowing it was fragile, knowing it could never last.

Then, the grandfather clock chimed.

Louder this time. With a finality that seemed to seep into the very walls, reverberating through the room, through them. Agatha’s breath hitched, her body tensing as the echo hung in the air like a warning. Rio, who had been holding Nicky so close, stiffened. Agatha saw it in her eyes first—the flicker of fear, of resignation.

Her heart knew before her brain caught up. It lurched violently in her chest, as if trying to fight back against the inevitable, as if she could stop what was coming with sheer willpower. But the look on Rio’s face, the way her fingers clutched Nicky tighter—it told her everything.

The truth she didn’t want to hear.

No. Please, not yet.

But her mind, sharp as ever, finally caught up, and the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, drenched in sorrow, in disbelief.

“It’s calling him back, isn’t it?” Her voice cracked, the sound barely audible as she choked out the question she already knew the answer to.

Rio looked at her, and the pain in her dark eyes was unbearable. Agatha could see it—feel it—the overwhelming urge Rio had to lie, to offer her just a few more precious moments of hope.

But Rio had never lied to her.

Not once.

Her heart always told the brutal truth.

“Yes,” Rio murmured, her voice breaking, her fingers tightening possessively around Nicholas as if holding him a little harder might somehow defy the inevitable.

Agatha’s chest felt like it was caving in, crushed beneath the unbearable weight of the truth. It was suffocating, swallowing her whole. She glanced down at Nicholas—their Nicholas—so alive, so warm, curled into Rio’s side. 

He didn’t understand.

He couldn’t understand.

Her throat tightened, a sob rising in her chest as her hand trembled. She reached out, her fingers brushing through his soft hair, and the familiarity of the gesture broke something inside her. At her touch, Nicky shifted, pulling away from Rio’s embrace to turn toward her, those wide, blue eyes—the only thing he had gotten from her. Everything else was Rio. He was a carbon copy of the woman she loved, something Agatha had always cherished. But those eyes… those were hers.

And they were staring up at her, full of so much trust, so much innocence, that Agatha’s heart cracked wide open.

But deep down, in the marrow of her bones, she knew. She had known the moment she’d held him, the moment she heard his voice—this wasn’t permanent. This was the trial, offering them the gift of a redo, of one more precious moment with him.

But it would end.

It was always meant to end.

Agatha’s fingers curled in his hair, her chest shaking with quiet sobs as she tried to hold herself together. She didn’t want him to see her fall apart.

Not now.

Not when he was looking at her like that—with those eyes, those beautiful, trusting eyes that had always made her feel like she could do anything. Be anything.

She couldn’t save him.

Not last time.

Not this time.

But she could give him the one thing she hadn’t been able to last time.

Her voice broke as she spoke, barely more than a whisper, the words catching painfully in her throat.

“Come here, baby,” she said softly, patting the spot between her and Rio, her hand trembling as she reached out.

Nicholas moved instantly, with that innocent, unburdened ease of a child. He nestled between them, looking up at his moms with that impossibly bright smile on his face—the smile that had always lit up their world. The smile of a child who had only ever known unconditional love.

Agatha’s breath hitched as she looked at him, at that perfect little face that was a blend of both of them. He looked so peaceful, so happy. He had no idea what was coming. No idea that this would be the last time.

And that smile—gods, that smile—it broke her.

Nicky looked up at her, then over to Rio, his small hands reaching out to hold each of theirs. He giggled, the sound so pure, so innocent, and it tore through Agatha like a knife.

She could feel Rio trembling beside her, could feel the tension in her as she fought to hold it together. And Agatha knew she had to be strong.

For him.

For them.

Agatha swallowed back the sob that threatened to break free, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold it together. Forcing herself to smile through the tears, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Nicholas’ head, her lips trembling against his soft hair. When she lifted her gaze, she found Rio’s eyes waiting for her, filled with the same overwhelming grief she felt.

Their gazes locked, and Agatha could see the moment Rio understood what she was doing—what she was about to do. There was no need for words. There had been a time in their lives when they were so close—so connected—that they didn’t even have to speak. A single look was enough to convey everything. They could just look at each other and know.

And now, in this heartbreaking, impossible moment, that connection was back. As if nothing had ever broken between them.

Agatha didn’t say a word, but Rio saw it all in her eyes. The resolution. The pain. The love.

Rio swallowed hard, her chest shuddering as more tears slipped from her dark eyes. She wiped them away with a shaky hand, her gaze never leaving Agatha’s. Then, after a heartbeat of silence that felt like an eternity, she gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was a silent permission. A shared understanding.

They had to let him go.

Agatha’s heart shattered all over again, but she nodded back, her hand tightening around Nicholas’ small one as she prepared herself for what came next.

“Nicky,” Agatha whispered, her voice trembling, not knowing where she found the strength. Her heart was breaking, splintering into pieces, but she had to keep it together. She waited until his eyes looked up at her.  She smiled at him—forced, she knew—but she wanted him to see her smile. To see that she wasn’t scared.

Not now.

Not for him.

“Remember when you asked me what Mama does for work?” she asked, her voice wavering, glancing up at Rio.  “Do you remember what I told you?”

Rio let out a shaky breath at her words, her face contorting for a brief second before she turned away, struggling to hold it together. Agatha could see the battle Rio was fighting, the weight of it pressing down on her as she fought not to break. Agatha knew that pain—it was the same pain clawing at her own heart. But Rio… Rio was always stronger than anyone she knew.

And Agatha watched as, slowly, Rio found that strength again—the strength only a mother could summon in moments like these. It was the kind of strength that allowed a human woman to lift a thousand-pound car off her child. Something primal, something inhuman, born the second they became mothers. An unyielding, unbreakable resolve to protect, to care, to do anything for their child. Even now.

It only took a moment for Rio to gather herself, to push back the grief, to find that same fierce, unyielding strength. When Nicky turned to her, Rio was ready—her face calm, her eyes soft, a smile pulling at her lips. Gone was the agony, the unbearable sorrow. In its place was something steady, something unshakable.

She looked at him with so much love, so much tenderness, that Agatha’s heart clenched painfully in her chest.

Nicky nodded, his innocent eyes flickering between them.

“You said Mama takes people on adventures,” he said, smiling up at Rio. “She helps them find the place they want to go to.”

Rio’s breath caught in her throat, and she turned to look at Agatha, her expression one of surprise and pain. They’d never really talked about her job around Nicky—it had always felt too heavy, too complicated for him to understand. And deep down, Agatha knew that Rio had been afraid. Afraid that if Nicky knew the truth about what she did—who she was—it would change how he saw her. So they left it alone, wrapped it in vague explanations. Rio would go on "work trips," and Agatha would wait with Nicky until she came home. But as he grew older, his curiosity grew too, and one day, he had asked.

Agatha hadn’t told Rio that she had answered him. That she’d found the gentlest words she could, a way to make sense of it all for a five-year-old.

Adventures.

A softer version of the truth, to keep the world safe in his eyes just a little bit longer.

But now Rio knew.

Rio’s eyes locked onto hers, leaning forward slightly as the weight of the moment pressed down on them both. And there, in the safety of the space just above Nicky’s head where he couldn’t see her face, Rio crumbled. She was still holding on, but only just. Her free hand reached forward and grabbed Agatha’s, squeezing so tightly it should have hurt—but it didn’t. Agatha didn’t flinch, didn’t wince. She just held on, too.

Agatha could feel Rio’s silent plea in that grip, her trembling fingers the only outward sign of the battle raging inside her. Agatha squeezed back, trying to give Rio what little strength she had left, trying to be strong enough for both of them.

In that moment, they were bound together not just by their shared love for Nicky, but by the unbearable pain of knowing they were about to lose him—again.

Agatha fought to keep her voice steady, but it trembled with every word, the weight of the moment crushing her heart, breaking it over and over again.

“That’s right, baby,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “And remember when Mama left for her last work trip? You told me you wished you could go with her.”

At those words, Rio’s hand tightened around Agatha’s, her grip almost painfully strong, but Agatha welcomed it. It was grounding, keeping them both tethered in a moment that felt like it might slip away at any second.

Nicky’s wide, innocent eyes looked up at Rio, his face lighting up with that bright, beautiful smile that both melted and broke both of their hearts.

“I’ve never been on an adventure before,” he said softly, as if explaining why he asked to go, with a hint of awe, like it was something magical.

Agatha’s throat tightened, and her vision blurred with fresh tears. The simplicity of his words tore at her insides, because this wasn’t the kind of adventure a child should ever go on.

But Nicky didn’t know.

He couldn’t know.

And looking at him, so trusting, so full of wonder, Agatha felt like she was suffocating under the weight of it all.

Her fingers gently combed through Nicky's soft hair, the familiar sensation threatening to undo her entirely. Her hand trembled, fighting against the tears welling up behind her eyes, forcing the smile on her face to stay in place, when all she wanted to do was collapse into sobs.

"Well..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper, each word tasting like glass in her throat. "Mama has to leave for a work trip soon, and she asked me if she could take you with her."

Her breath hitched, and her free hand gripped Rio's harder than ever, channeling every ounce of agony she couldn’t show into that connection.

Rio squeezed back just as tightly, her fingers saying what words couldn’t: I can take it.  Give it to me.

Agatha forced herself to look down at Nicky, his wide, trusting eyes searching her face, completely unaware of the devastation beneath the surface.

"And I told her..." Agatha's voice cracked, but she pushed through, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek as she tried to hold it together for just a few more seconds. "...that you could go."

Nicky’s eyes lit up with excitement, his small body wiggling between them as if the idea of going on an adventure with Rio was the most thrilling thing he’d ever heard.

“Really, Mommy? I can go with Mama this time?” His voice was so innocent, so full of joy, that it felt like a knife twisting deeper into Agatha’s heart.

She smiled, though her lips trembled, threatening to give way to the sobs building inside her.

“Yes, baby. You can go with Mama.”

He beamed, looking up at Rio with the kind of love and trust that only a child could give, and it was too much—Agatha felt the weight of it crushing her. Her hand tightened around Rio’s, and Rio’s grip tightened back, both of them holding on as if they could keep each other from falling apart completely.

Rio’s voice cracked as she finally spoke, her eyes locked on Nicky, filled with tears.

“We’ll go together, sweetheart. It’ll be the best adventure,” she said, her words soft but thick with emotion.

Nicky, blissfully unaware of the finality of it all, nodded enthusiastically.

“I can’t wait!” he exclaimed, his little face glowing with happiness.

Agatha leaned down, kissing his forehead, her lips lingering there as if trying to memorize the warmth of his skin, the softness of his hair. Her tears finally spilled, dripping onto his cheeks as she pulled back, but she didn’t let him see them.

Her voice was a broken whisper.

“You’re going to have the best time.”

Nicky looked up at her, completely trusting, his little hand reaching up to touch her face, wiping away a tear he hadn’t meant to see.

“Don’t be sad, Mommy. I’ll be with Mama.”

Agatha’s chest tightened to the point of unbearable pain, her entire body shaking as she pulled Nicky close, hugging him tightly. It was the last time she’d hold him like this—the last time she’d feel his warmth, his heartbeat so close to hers.

She buried her face in his hair, running her trembling fingers through the soft, inky strands, fighting to keep herself from falling apart. Her lips pressed to his forehead, the familiar scent of him—so alive—filling her lungs with one last breath of a life she would never have again.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, barely holding together. “Your mama’s going to take such good care of you, like she always has...”

Her heart shattered as Nicky smiled up at her, still so innocent, unaware of the agony crushing her.

"I know, Mommy," he said, his voice full of trust. "Mama always takes care of me."

Agatha’s hands trembled as she let go of him, lingering on his small shoulders, memorizing the weight of him one last time.

She felt Rio’s eyes on her—felt the connection between them.

The pain.

The understanding.

The way they both had to break for him to be at peace.

She glanced up at Rio, their gazes locking, and the world fell away. Agatha saw the grief mirrored in Rio’s eyes, the silent plea to be strong, even though they were both drowning. Tears streamed freely down Rio’s face, her lips trembling as she fought to stay composed—for Nicky, for Agatha, for all the pieces of their shattered family.

Agatha wanted to scream, to beg the universe for more time, but the clock was ticking louder now, and they both knew this was it.

“You ready to go, buddy?” Rio whispered, her voice trembling, barely able to keep it together.

“Yes!” Nicky shouted, his excitement spilling over as he scrambled off the bed, jumping up and down like it was the best day of his life.

Agatha felt a sob catch in her throat, but what came out was a soft, broken laugh. She stood slowly, legs weak beneath her, while Rio, beside her, moved more deliberately, her every step like a battle she was barely winning.

Rio knelt down in front of Nicky, whispering something in his ear, her voice so quiet it didn’t reach Agatha. She couldn’t hear the words, but she could see the weight Rio was carrying, the way her hand shook as she gently stroked Nicky’s hair.

Agatha stood there, frozen, watching them, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. Her heart was in pieces—shattered by the reality of what was happening—and yet, somehow, still full of love as she watched the two of them. She had never wanted to stop time more than she did right now.

When Rio pulled back, she gave Nicky a smile that was full of love and heartbreak all at once. Nicky, still oblivious to the depth of the moment, nodded enthusiastically and turned toward Agatha.

He ran into her arms, throwing himself at her with all the energy and trust of a child who knew nothing but love. Agatha caught him, pulling him into her chest, and he squeezed her so tightly around the neck that it almost hurt—but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except the fact that she was holding him.

Her little boy.

Her heart.

She buried her face in his hair, inhaling the scent of him—trying to etch it into her memory, because she knew this was it.

This was the last time.

Her arms tightened around him, as if she could keep him there forever if she just held on tight enough.

Nicky pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his little hands still clutching her neck. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek, his lips warm and soft, and when he smiled at her, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Mama said I had to give you an extra big hug and kiss,” he said, his voice so sweet and innocent it made Agatha’s heart physically ache. “’Cause you’re gonna miss me.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she could feel her chest tightening again, the tears spilling over despite her efforts to keep them at bay. She tried to speak, but her voice wouldn’t come. It felt like the world was closing in around her, like she was losing him all over again.

She kissed him back, her lips trembling as they brushed his forehead, and she forced herself to smile, even though every fiber of her being wanted to scream.

“I’m going to miss you so much, baby,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.

More than you’ll ever know.

Her arms tightened around him one last time, trying to memorize the feel of him—his warmth, the sound of his little heart beating against hers. She held him like her life depended on it, because in a way, it did. Letting him go felt like tearing herself apart, but she knew she had to.

When she finally loosened her grip, it felt like something inside her was breaking beyond repair. She set him down gently, and the moment he left her arms, it was like she had lost a piece of herself.

The clock chimed loudly, and with it, the magic in the room shifted, heavy and suffocating. Agatha’s breath caught as she saw the far corner of the room begin to glow—soft and green, like an otherworldly portal slowly materializing. It led out to the forest.

The trial was over.

"Wow, cool!" exclaimed Nicky, looking at the portal with so much excitement.

Agatha’s chest tightened, her heart aching with the cruel reality of what was coming. Nicky had to leave. Rio had to leave. And she—she had to stay behind. Again.

Rio stepped closer, her face streaked with silent tears, her body trembling with the unbearable weight of the moment. Her hands rose slowly, cupping Agatha’s face with such tenderness it felt like her touch was the only thing keeping Agatha together. She wiped away the tears spilling down Agatha’s cheeks, even as her own cascaded in steady, heartbreaking streams.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Rio whispered, her voice cracking with every word. She forced a small, fragile smile, her thumb gently brushing Agatha’s tear-stained cheek. “I promise.”

But Agatha couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening with a sob she could barely suppress. Rio was crumbling, her heart breaking, and yet here she was—still worrying about Agatha, still putting her first, still trying to hold her together even though she was falling apart herself.

Always Rio. Always holding them together.

But Agatha couldn’t let her. Not this time.

“No,” Agatha rasped, her voice shaking, tears choking the words from her throat. She reached up, her trembling hands cupping Rio’s face, feeling the warmth, the life in her, something she wasn’t ready to let go of. Not yet. “Take your time with him. Take him on a real adventure.”

Rio’s breath faltered at that, and Agatha could see the conflict—the heartbreak—written all over her face.

She didn’t want to leave.

Not now, not like this.

But for Nicky... she had to.

Agatha leaned in, pressing her forehead against Rio’s, her fingers trembling as they wiped the tears from her wife’s cheeks.

“I’ll always be waiting,” she whispered, her voice breaking, a sob clawing at her chest. "But don’t worry about me. Not this time.”

Rio’s body trembled, and Agatha could feel the deep, unyielding sorrow in her. They had been through everything together—storms, battles, heartbreak—but this... this was a goodbye she wasn’t ready for.

“I love you,” Rio whispered, her voice soft but fierce, as if she needed to say it as many times as she could before stepping away.

“I love you, too,” Agatha choked out, her throat raw, her heart shattered.

For a moment, they stood there, their foreheads still pressed together, their tears mingling. The air between them was thick with all the unsaid things, all the broken pieces they would never be able to fully heal. Agatha kissed her, softly, their lips trembling against each other—a kiss filled with all the words neither of them could bear to speak aloud.

It was gentle, heartbreaking, and final.

When they pulled apart, Rio turned, her hand slipping from Agatha’s grip. Agatha’s fingers twitched, aching to pull her back, to hold on just a little longer.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Rio walked slowly toward the glowing portal, her steps faltering as she reached Nicky, who was waiting for her, his small hand extended toward her with that same trusting smile on his face. She knelt down, wrapping her arms around him, whispering something in his ear that made him nod excitedly. Then, with one last look back at Agatha, Rio stood and took Nicky’s hand.

Agatha’s heart screamed, her body frozen as she watched them step into the light. Nicky turned and waved to her, his smile bright and innocent, his voice echoing in her ears.

“Love you, mommy!”

Agatha stood rooted to the spot, her legs trembling as she watched them—her entire world—walk hand in hand through the forest. Nicky’s small, excited voice carried through the air, and Agatha clung to every word, every sound, desperate to hold onto the moment. He was jumping up and down, tugging at Rio’s hand, his joy so pure, so radiant. She caught the glimmer of a smile on Rio’s face, and then—Gods help her—Rio laughed.

Agatha hadn’t heard that laugh in centuries, and it broke her heart all over again.

She wanted to run after them, to pull them both back, to beg for just one more moment, one more second. But she couldn’t. All she could do was watch, helpless, as they slowly disappeared into the trees.

The forest began to swallow them, the shadows creeping in, until they were nothing more than faint figures in the distance. She watched as Nicky’s small hand tightened in Rio’s, his little body pressing closer to her for warmth. Rio bent down, whispered something into his ear, and Nicky giggled, his laughter ringing out one last time.

And then they were gone.

Swallowed by the earth. Returned to the place where all lost things go.

The clock gave one final, ominous chime.

The ticking stopped. The room fell into a deafening silence.

And Agatha was alone.

Chapter Text

Agatha sat by a stream alongside the witches' road, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she could somehow hold the shattered pieces of her soul together. The soft murmur of the water over the rocks was the only sound that seemed to ground her, but even that felt distant, like it was too far away to pull her back from the abyss she teetered on.

Behind her, the fire crackled, casting faint light over the coven as they huddled in quiet conversation. They hadn’t spoken to her since the trial. Maybe they knew. Maybe they understood that what she had been through—what Rio had been through—was beyond words.

There was no comfort that could ease this kind of pain, no kind words that could stitch up the raw, bleeding wound the trial had left behind. And for that, Agatha was thankful for their silence. She didn’t have the strength for pleasantries, didn’t know how to string together words that didn’t scrape against the jagged edges inside her, cutting her deeper with every attempt.

She felt fragile, so fragile. Held together by nothing but a thin, trembling thread that threatened to snap under the weight of her grief. She could feel it unraveling, could feel the pieces of herself slipping away like sand through her fingers.

In a strange way, Agatha was thankful she didn’t have her magic.

It was an odd blessing, to be powerless right now. She knew herself too well—knew the darkness that lurked inside her, the rage that could tear through her like a storm when she wasn’t in control. She had seen it before—lived through it before. After they lost Nicky the first time, she had become something else entirely, something monstrous. She had let the grief consume her, let it try and fill the gaping hole that Nicky’s death had left behind. She had unleashed a fury on the world that even terrified her.

She had made the world feel her pain, made sure that every soul who crossed her path suffered for what she had lost. She’d become the thing her mother had always warned her about, the thing her mother had said she would turn into—a monster. And for a time, she didn’t care.  She didn't fight against the name—she embraced it.  The devastation she wrought had been her only comfort, a twisted balm for the emptiness inside her.

But it was never enough.

No matter how much power she took, no matter how many lives she ruined, it never filled the void Nicky had left behind. She had stolen magic from witches more powerful than her, had torn apart covens and kingdoms alike, all in the name of vengeance she couldn’t even name. She thought that if she just kept feeding the darkness, kept taking and taking, eventually, she’d feel whole again.

But it never worked.

Agatha’s throat tightened at the memory, the pain of those years still fresh in her mind. She had lost herself in that grief, let it drown her until there was nothing left but anger and hate. It had taken nearly a century to pull her back from the edge.

But without her magic—without that outlet—she was left with nothing but the pain. No way to make the world suffer like she had. No way to make it all go away. And maybe that was the point. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to run from it this time. Maybe she was supposed to sit with it, let it hurt, let it tear her apart, and still find a way to survive.

Her fingers twitched as if searching for something they couldn’t grasp. She rubbed them together, feeling the phantom sensation of Nicky’s hair slipping through her fingers, soft as silk, curling at the ends like it always did.

The memory of his weight in her arms was still so vivid—so real.

She had felt him.

She had felt his warmth, his heartbeat against her chest, if only for a fleeting moment.

The tears she had been holding back finally fell, spilling down her cheeks in silent waves. Agatha pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs threatening to escape, but it was useless. The grief was too heavy, too much to contain. She felt like she was breaking all over again, like pieces of herself had been scattered between that cursed house and this stream, and no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to put herself back together.

How was she supposed to carry this grief? How was she supposed to wake up tomorrow and pretend to be whole when every part of her felt like it had been ripped apart, scattered like ashes in the wind? She had no idea how to move forward. The thought of it—just taking another step, just breathing through this pain—felt impossible. It was like asking her to lift the world while her bones were breaking.

The weight of it, the sheer magnitude of what she had lost, sat heavy on her chest, pressing down, suffocating her. How did people do this? How did anyone survive after something like this? Agatha had been through so much, seen so much, but this—this was different. This wasn’t just another battle scar to wear proudly, wasn’t just another wound to heal.

This was the loss of something irreplaceable. Something she would never get back.

And she had to go through it twice.

She felt hollow, like a part of her soul had been left behind with Nicky, like she wasn’t really here. Not completely. Like she was floating somewhere between this world and the memory of him.

The fire crackled behind her, the stream gurgled in front of her, and the world went on—unbothered by her breaking heart.

It seemed cruel.

Indifferent. 

The tears came faster now, choking her, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest, trying to hold herself together.

And then, without warning, a thought slammed into her like a force of nature.

Rio.

She needed Rio.

The realization hit her so hard, she nearly gasped. She hadn’t even realized it, hadn’t even allowed herself to feel it until this very moment, but the truth was there, stark and undeniable.

She needed Rio’s arms around her, holding her the way only Rio could. She needed Rio’s strength, her presence, her warmth. She needed the only person in the universe who knew what this felt like, who had suffered beside her, who had fought and bled with her, who had loved Nicky just as fiercely, just as deeply.

She needed her.

Agatha’s breath hitched in her chest, her heart pounding as the thought took root, spreading through her veins, flooding her with something she hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. She needed Rio—like air, like the ground beneath her feet. She had spent so many centuries alone, had convinced herself that she could bear anything, that she could survive anything.

But this—this grief, this crushing, hollow ache—it was too much to carry alone a second time. It was a weight so heavy, she wasn’t sure how she was still breathing under it.

She heard footsteps behind her, quiet but deliberate, and she tensed.

It had to be Teen.

Of course it was.

He was the only one clueless enough, brave enough, to approach her right now. She could already see his face in her mind—innocent, wide-eyed, the way it always was. And she could already feel the rage rising in her, the way she’d tear into him, rip him to pieces just because he was there. Because he dared to be there when she felt like she was falling apart.

And that face of his would crumble under her words, would break, and it wouldn’t stop her. The guilt wouldn’t stop her, either. It would just add another stone to the tower of pain she was already buried beneath.

He was getting closer. She could feel him. Her body stiffened, muscles coiled, ready to explode, to let loose the anger, the agony. She braced herself for it, clenched her teeth, waiting for him to get close enough.

Then… a touch.

Not Teen’s.

Light. Barely a whisper against her skin.

Familiar.

The fight in her crumbled, her shoulders sagging instantly. Her whole body leaned back, collapsing into the touch, surrendering to it before she even realized what she was doing. Her eyes slipped closed as a shaky breath escaped her.

The hands moved more surely now, sliding around her shoulders, fingers grazing the base of her neck. Then they wrapped around her, circling her waist, pulling her back into a warm embrace. Holding her. Holding all the pieces of her that felt like they were slipping through her fingers.

And she let them.

She sank into it, the tears spilling over without permission, a sob clawing at her throat. The scent of earth and rain filled her lungs, grounding her in a way nothing else could. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving, barely holding back the flood.

“You’re back,” she whispered, her voice barely a sound, her hands trembling as they found the arms wrapped around her waist, as if she needed to touch to believe it was real.

She felt the familiar warmth of breath on her neck, a gentle nose trailing along the curve of her throat. The sensation sent a wave of relief so intense through her that she felt weak, like her body might collapse entirely.

“Yes,” Rio whispered, her voice soft and broken against her skin, like she had just exhaled a thousand years of pain in that one word. The sound of it shattered something deep in Agatha’s chest.

Agatha’s breath came out in shaky gasps, and more tears spilled, her whole body trembling now.   And Rio, like she had done so many times before, just held her. Her lips brushed the shell of Agatha’s ear as she whispered softly.

“I’m here,” Rio breathed, her words heavy with emotion, with all the love, all the guilt, all the pain they’d been through together.

Agatha felt Rio’s chin settle on her shoulder, the weight of it comforting and familiar, as if Rio’s very presence was holding her together. The stream still trickled softly, unchanged, yet everything else in Agatha’s world had shifted irrevocably. They sat there in silence, just staring at the water, wrapped in each other’s arms, both too raw to speak but too desperate to let go.

For a long while, neither of them moved. The fire crackled behind them, distant voices murmuring from the others, but it was like none of it reached them. They were locked in this moment, suspended between the agony of what had been and the ache of what was gone.

But eventually, the question that had been lodged in Agatha’s chest since the moment she let him go rose to her lips, clawing its way out despite the fear gripping her heart. She didn’t know where she found the strength to ask, but the words came, trembling and broken.

“How was he?” Agatha whispered, her voice trembling, barely able to speak. She was terrified of the answer, but the need to know burned inside her, fierce and undeniable.

She couldn’t live without knowing.

Rio’s arms tightened around her, like she was bracing for impact, as if the question had hit her just as hard. Agatha could feel her heart racing through her chest, the deep, uneven breaths Rio was taking. For a long, agonizing moment, there was nothing but silence. Agatha wondered if Rio couldn’t speak—if the pain of that memory was too raw, too unbearable.

But then Rio let out a shaky breath, the sound so fragile it was as if she were speaking from the deepest, most shattered part of her soul.

“He… he talked the whole way.”

Agatha’s breath caught, her chest constricting painfully at the tenderness in Rio’s voice.

She could picture it so clearly—Nicky’s endless questions, the way he would jump from one thought to the next without stopping to breathe, his boundless curiosity lighting up everything around him. Those moments had once driven her mad, but now... now she’d give anything to hear that constant stream of questions again. And she could see Rio too, walking beside him, with that soft, patient smile she always wore, the one that made Agatha fall in love with her over and over again.

“What… what did he talk about?” Agatha asked, her voice barely holding it together, her body trembling as she waited for Rio’s answer.

Rio let out a tear-choked laugh, her grip on Agatha tightening like she was holding on for dear life.

“Everything,” she whispered. “He asked about the stars, why the trees were so tall, why we couldn’t see the moon yet. He wanted to know where the birds went at night, why the wind made the leaves dance.  He said—.”

But then Rio’s voice faltered, her breath catching in her throat, and Agatha knew what was coming. She braced herself, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could prepare her for the pain that followed.

“It only took 10 minutes, before he said he missed you,” Rio whispered, her voice breaking, her words so soft and fragile that Agatha almost didn’t hear them.

That was it.

The final blow.

The one that shattered Agatha into pieces.

A sob tore from her chest, raw and uncontrollable. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was no use. The tears came in waves, hot and relentless, spilling down her cheeks. She shook her head, her body trembling as she buried her face in her hands, trying to hold herself together, but failing miserably.

“He missed me?” she choked out, her voice breaking, the words barely audible through her sobs.

Rio’s grip on her tightened, her hands trembling as she held Agatha closer.

“Every step of the way,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “He talked about you the whole time, Agatha. He never stopped.”

Agatha broke—completely, utterly. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, fragments of pain and grief that she knew she would never be able to put back together. The weight of it all was too much, crushing her under its unbearable force.

“He… he wasn’t scared?” Agatha managed to ask, her voice cracking as fresh tears slipped down her cheeks.

Rio shook her head, her chin brushing against Agatha’s shoulder.

“No,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling, barely holding together. “Not until the end. He got a little nervous when I told him I couldn’t follow him anymore.”

The sob that tore from Agatha’s throat was jagged and raw, a sound she couldn’t control, couldn’t stifle. It was as though her entire chest was being ripped apart from the inside. She clung to Rio, burying herself in the warmth of her, trying to hold on to anything that kept her from shattering completely under the weight of it all.

“What... what did you say to him?” she whispered, her voice trembling, the words barely able to escape her lips. She was terrified to hear the answer, knowing it would only make the pain worse, but needing to hear it nonetheless. Needing to know what Rio had said to their son when she had to let him go.

Rio’s breath hitched against her, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. Agatha could feel the tension in her body, the way Rio’s grip tightened around her like she was trying to pull herself together just long enough to get the words out. Her lips brushed softly against Agatha’s neck as she whispered, her voice so tender, so full of aching love, that it almost broke Agatha all over again.

“I told him where he was going, he’d never have to eat another vegetable ever again,” Rio murmured, her voice breaking with the bittersweet smile that Agatha could feel against her skin.

Agatha let out a sob—half laughter, half heartbreak—the sound catching in her throat as her body trembled in Rio’s arms. She couldn’t help it; it was so perfectly Rio, the way she always knew exactly what to say to soothe Nicky.

“Of course that’s what you said,” Agatha whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She pressed herself back against Rio, sinking deeper into her warmth, into the comfort of her touch. They sat like that for what felt like an eternity, with the stream murmuring softly behind them.

Rio kissed her temple, her neck, her shoulder, and each kiss was like a balm to Agatha’s soul. The gentle press of Rio’s lips against her skin spoke the words neither of them had the strength to say aloud—that they were still here, still together, despite everything that had tried to tear them apart. And as Agatha sat there, wrapped in the quiet strength of Rio’s arms, she realized something that hit her like a tidal wave.

She still loved this woman with every part of her being.

She needed her, more than she’d ever been willing to admit before. The loss, the pain—had been unbearable, but the thought of losing Rio now, after all of this, was something she couldn’t survive.

“Rio,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to say the words, even though she was terrified of what Rio might say in response. “You... you can’t leave me alone again. I won’t survive losing you both a second time.”

For a moment, Rio paused, her breath catching in her chest, and Agatha’s heart seized with fear. She felt as though the world had stopped spinning, as though everything was hanging on Rio’s next words. The silence stretched out, suffocating her, making her wonder if maybe she had pushed too far—if maybe she had done too much damage, said too many hurtful things to ever come back from it.

Rio’s hand gently cupped Agatha’s cheek, the warmth of her touch grounding Agatha in a way she hadn’t felt in so long. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. There was no more pain, no more guilt—just Rio’s steady presence, the love in her gaze that had survived the weight of centuries, of grief, of everything that had tried to tear them apart.

"Sweetheart," Rio whispered, her voice trembling with tenderness. “I never left you. I just kept my distance. But I was always there."

Agatha blinked, her heart skipping a beat at Rio’s words.

“You were?" she murmured, disbelief coloring her voice. She had never known. Not once. Of course, she knew Rio was probably cleaning up the messes, picking up the bodies left in her wake as she tore through the world like a storm, but Agatha had never felt her, never seen her. Not until Wanda, not until the Witches' Road.

"Yes," Rio replied softly, her voice steady but filled with a quiet vulnerability. “It was selfish on my part, really. I couldn’t let you go. I didn’t know how. So I watched from the shadows, always close enough to step in if you needed me, waiting for any sign that you wanted me to come back.”

Agatha’s chest tightened, a flood of emotions crashing through her at once. She had spent so many years believing she was alone, that she had pushed Rio too far, but now... now she realized that even in her darkest moments, Rio had been there, waiting for her.

Always.

Tears welled up in Agatha's eyes, the weight of everything she had carried alone finally beginning to ease. She reached up, covering Rio’s hand on her cheek, her thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

"I never stopped wanting you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I just... I didn’t know how to find my way back."

Rio’s breath hitched at her words, her own tears spilling over as she leaned in, her forehead resting gently against Agatha’s. They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing together, the pain and love that had defined them now swirling around them like the air itself.

Agatha’s fingers curled into Rio’s, gripping her tighter as if afraid to let go again.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "For everything. For pushing you away. For making you feel like you had to leave."

Rio’s arms wrapped tighter around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

"There’s nothing to forgive," she murmured, her voice soft but firm.  “Every nook and cranny, Agatha—I knew what you were going through. I knew why you had to do it, even when it hurt."

Agatha swallowed hard, her heart breaking all over again, but this time, it wasn’t with pain. It was with the overwhelming love she felt for Rio—the love that had never truly left her, no matter how many walls she had built around her heart.

"So, you are sticking with me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Rio leaned forward and kissed her, soft, gentle, everything that they weren’t were, before pulling back.

"Until the very end, my love," Rio whispered, her voice soft but unwavering, her hand still cradling Agatha’s cheek. Her thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped free, the tenderness in her touch grounding Agatha in a way nothing else could.

Agatha let out a shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into Rio’s hand. She felt the weight of everything slowly starting to ease—the years of grief, the unbearable loneliness—all softened by Rio's presence.

She felt like she could finally breathe again.

And then, like only Rio could, she broke the silence with a teasing tone that had Agatha opening her eyes in surprise.

"Plus, I believe a certain someone promised me something if we survived," Rio said with a playful glint in her eye, her lips curling into a small, mischievous smile.

Agatha blinked, momentarily thrown off, but then realization hit her, and she let out an exasperated huff as her own words played in her head.

“If we make it out of this—if we actually manage to survive… sure. We can renew our vows.”

“Do you ever forget anything?” Agatha muttered, half exasperated, half infatuated by the woman in front of her.

“No,” Rio murmured, a light teasing edge still in her voice. “It’s one of the many perks of being a cosmic being.”

Before Agatha could get a word out, Rio leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. The touch was light, tender, almost playful, but it sent a wave of warmth through Agatha’s chest that ached and soothed all at once. She tried to glare at her—tried to hold on to the last vestiges of frustration that had always been her shield—but it was useless. Rio’s love, her presence, was overwhelming, melting every icy wall Agatha had built to protect herself.

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Agatha felt something shift inside her. The sharp edges of grief, the jagged shards of pain that had festered for so long, seemed to soften in the warmth of Rio’s touch. They hadn’t disappeared—no, they were still there, still raw—but they were bearable now, like a wound that was beginning to heal rather than one that continued to bleed.

“Who knows,” Rio murmured, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against Agatha’s in a way that made her breath hitch. “Maybe this time, I can finally convince you to take my name.”

Agatha blinked at her, startled by the absurdity of the comment, and then pulled back just enough to give Rio the most incredulous look she could muster.

“You really want to have this fight again?” Agatha’s voice was laced with mock exasperation, though the corners of her lips tugged upward, betraying her amusement. “I told you—Agatha Vidal just doesn’t have the same ring to it as Harkness.”

Rio, completely unbothered, flashed a grin that could melt glaciers. Without missing a beat, she slipped a hand behind Agatha’s head and pulled her into a kiss so intense, so full of fire, that Agatha forgot everything but the taste of her, the feel of her, the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly in that moment.

When Rio finally pulled back, leaving Agatha breathless, she whispered against her lips.

“It does if I give you a ring with it this time.”

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked, momentarily stunned by the words—by the promise behind them. For a second, she couldn’t find her voice. She just stared at Rio, her heart beating wildly in her chest. And then, because Rio always knew how to light a fire inside her, she found her words again.

“Oval cut,” Agatha murmured, pulling Rio’s face back toward hers, “and anything less than a carat, I’m chucking it into the nearest river.”

Rio chuckled, her eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint.

“Of course,” she agreed, her voice low, almost teasing.

“And,” Agatha continued, her fingers tightening in Rio’s hair, tugging lightly, “you still have to ask.”

Rio raised an eyebrow, smirking as she leaned in close, their lips almost brushing again.

“On both knees,” she whispered. “I remember.”

Agatha let out a huff of laughter, and it came from somewhere deep within her, a sound she hadn’t made in what felt like centuries. There was something so liberating about it, like pieces of her soul were finally coming back together—pieces she hadn’t even realized were missing until this very moment.

They sat there in the soft glow of the firelight, holding each other, the stream quietly babbling beside them, the forest humming with the sounds of life around them. For the first time in ages, Agatha felt like she could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

“Gods, you drive me crazy,” Agatha said, shaking her head as she smiled, brushing her fingers through Rio’s hair. “You know that, right?”

Rio grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Agatha’s temple. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Agatha leaned into her touch, her eyes drifting closed as she let herself just be—be held, be loved.

And as they sat there, wrapped in each other, Agatha realized something. There would always be pain, always be grief. But with Rio, there was also love. And that love—strong, unbreakable—was enough to carry them through anything.

Even this.

It didn’t matter how long it took, how many storms they had to weather. Agatha knew she’d wait a thousand lifetimes to hold Rio like this, to feel her heartbeat against hers, to know that they were still standing—still fighting—together.

“I love you,” Agatha whispered, the words so quiet, so reverent, like they were the most important thing she’d ever said.

Rio smiled against her skin, pressing another kiss to her neck.

“I love you too,” she murmured. “Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Agatha Harkness felt whole again.

Chapter Text

234 Years Later

The world had truly gone to shit. Global warming. Plagues. Food shortages. Greed. War. It all came together like Thanos’s little infinity stones, and with a snap of the universe’s cruel fingers, chaos reigned. Rio had never been so busy. And she’d been around during the Black Plague—unjustly blamed on her, of course.

There was so much death now.

More than Rio could handle at times, though she'd never admit it. The air was thick with it, the stench of rot and decay almost suffocating. It clung to her, followed her through every town, every city, as she quietly took the souls who still had somewhere to go.

There were fewer of those lately. She used to be able to walk among humans with a sense of detachment, knowing she was there to serve a purpose. Death wasn’t something to mourn; it was a passage, a release. But now? Now the ones who died weren’t going to the beyond.

No, they weren’t deserving of it anymore. Not after the cruelty they had unleashed.

It was a strange thing—how the balance had shifted.

In the past, death was a tragedy, something that cut lives short, something that wasn’t supposed to come so soon. But now? Now Rio saw death as a mercy. It was the rare souls—the ones still clinging to hope, to love—that she found herself walking alongside. The ones who deserved rest. The ones who still carried light in a world that had gone dark.

Rio knelt beside a dying man, her expression cold, unmoved by the grotesque gurgling sound that came from his throat as he choked on his own blood. His body twitched, fingers clawing at the dirt in desperate attempts to hold onto life. His little gang had made the fatal mistake of stealing an ancient tome of death magic, using it with a sadistic glee that even made Rio’s stomach turn. The way they’d torn through towns, leaving nothing but ruin and screams in their wake, had drawn her here. And now, as the life drained from him, she watched without a flicker of emotion.

She had seen it all before. Death was her world. But some deaths—like his—were earned.

His eyes glazed over, and as his soul began to slip from his body, he finally saw her. His face contorted in horror, his final breath catching in his throat.

"Please... take me," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken, the weight of fear palpable in every word.

It always amazed her, how the worst of the worst always begged in the end. They’d tormented, slaughtered, and destroyed without a second thought, showing no mercy. And yet, when they saw her, they pleaded. They fell to their knees, terrified of the fate they knew awaited them. The irony wasn’t lost on Rio—their victims had begged too. Their screams had echoed in the same way, only to be met with cold indifference.

So, she returned the favor.

Rio didn’t flinch. She simply stood, silent, and turned her back on him.

Behind her, his screams turned from the agonized wail of a dying man to something far darker—a sound that echoed around the room, the scream of a soul trapped, torn from this world but never allowed to leave.

She had no mercy for monsters.

His soul would rot here, forever bound to the misery he had created.

The air in the room was thick with the stench of death, bodies strewn across the floor in dark, crumpled cloaks. These men—no, these monsters—had brought this on themselves. Rio had only come to deliver the consequences.

From across the room, purple magic crackled and hissed, cutting through the air with a savage intensity. The beam hit one of the last remaining men, and his scream reverberated through the hollowed-out room, bouncing off the stone walls and filling the air with its haunting sound. It was the kind of scream that stuck with you, that crawled under your skin and stayed with you long after it stopped.

Rio’s gaze landed on the source of the magic, knowing exactly who it came from.

Agatha stood at the far end of the room, her face twisted in pure, unbridled rage—the same fury she had carried in her youth. But time, as it always did, had marked her, like it had everything else, even witches. Her once dark hair had turned a striking shade of silver, the strands catching the dim light of the room like threads of moonlight. Her face was lined with wrinkles, etched by years of heartache and battles.

Rio didn’t age.

She never had.

It was both a perk and a curse of being what she was—a cosmic being, beyond time, beyond death itself. But she could manipulate bodies, shift her appearance to blend in. As Agatha aged, so did she. Gray streaked through her hair, wrinkles carved themselves into her skin, and the look of frailty clung to her like an old cloak. But it was all a façade. Beneath it, she was still as powerful as ever, capable of breaking someone in half if necessary.

Sometimes, it was even fun—taking those by surprise who thought they were dealing with an innocent old lady, only to find out they were woefully mistaken.

But now, as she watched Agatha—watched the weight of centuries hanging off her like heavy chains—Rio felt an ache deep inside her. Agatha had truly aged. Time had marked her, left its fingerprints in the silver strands of her hair and the lines etched across her face. And yet, there was something about her in this moment, something raw and untouchable, something that transcended the years.

The fire in Agatha’s eyes, the strength that had never waned, even in the face of all they had lost—it was still there, burning just as fiercely as ever. And it made Rio’s heart clench with that same familiar ache of longing she had always felt for her.

Gods, even now, after everything, Agatha was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Rio stepped forward, her eyes glued to Agatha’s labored breaths, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. There was something unbearable about the sight—the weight in every breath, the weakness in Agatha’s posture that shouldn’t exist in someone like her. This woman, who once set the world on fire with a glance, now seemed too heavy, too tired to stand straight.

A century ago, Rio had felt it. The first soft tug, like a whisper from the universe, telling her that time was running out for Agatha. She’d felt it deep in her bones, the same way she felt Nicky's, and it had nearly broken her. The first time the pull came, it tore through her so violently she nearly brought down their entire house with a storm of magic that hadn’t erupted from her in over 5,000 years.

She never told Agatha. Rio didn’t lie to her, ever—but gods, she had thought about it then. She had considered lying, just once, to protect her from the truth. But Agatha had never asked, and so Rio had kept her silence, grateful for that one small mercy. Agatha had chalked up Rio’s outburst to another tragedy in their broken world, and Rio let her believe it.

That night, Agatha had simply made her soup, sat beside her on the couch, and read aloud from their old, worn copy of Candide. It was a balm to the storm inside Rio, soothing her without words, without questions. It was just what Agatha did.

But time was relentless. The pull on Agatha’s soul had only grown stronger, harder to ignore, louder with each passing year. It gnawed at Rio, a relentless, unyielding force. The truth was, no matter how powerful she was, Rio didn’t have the ability to stop the world from turning. She couldn’t hold back the sunrise, no matter how hard she tried. And every time she felt that pull, she knew—Agatha’s time was running out.

She had even considered finding the Time Stone, diving into the multiverse to seek it out, but she couldn’t risk it. Time was fickle in the other dimensions. A day spent searching could mean centuries lost here. She could come back to a world where Agatha was long gone, and that... that was a fate Rio could never accept.

And now, standing here, the pull on Agatha’s soul was like a scream. Rio felt it in her core, in the way her magic hummed with warning.

Something had shifted.

She stepped forward again, her heart pounding in her chest. Agatha’s face twisted in a wince, her hand pressing hard against her side, trying—futilely—to stop the steady flow of blood pooling beneath her shirt.

“Agatha,” Rio’s voice came out as a broken whisper, her chest tightening painfully. 

Agatha met her gaze, stubborn as always, even in pain.

“It’s nothing,” Agatha muttered through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched tightly as she pressed her hand harder against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

But Rio knew better. She could feel the pull, that terrible, familiar sensation gnawing at her insides—the countdown had begun, and this time there was no turning it back. Agatha’s soul was slipping away, and if Rio didn’t stop the bleeding soon, it would be gone for good.

“Let me see,” Rio demanded, her voice soft but trembling with urgency. She stepped closer, her hands shaking as she reached out, helping Agatha sit down. She winced at the sound of Agatha’s sharp intake of breath, the pained whine that escaped her lips as she sank against the crumbling wall behind them.

Rio’s chest tightened painfully, her heart twisting at the sight of the woman she loved suffering like this. She’d patched Agatha up more times than she could count—this wound wasn’t even the worst one she’d seen. But somehow, it hurt more now. It hurt in a way that felt deeper, sharper, like her heart was curling in on itself, folding under the weight of the inevitable.

Rio knelt beside her, carefully pushing Agatha’s blood-soaked hand aside to get a clearer look at the wound. The crimson seeped through her fingers, warm and unrelenting, as she tried to assess the damage. 

“You’re getting slower in your old age, my love,” Rio said, her voice teasing, knowing the jab would bother Agatha just enough to distract her from the pain. Normally, those words would have come easily, a playful banter between them, but now they felt heavier on her tongue.

Agatha’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She let out a ragged breath, wincing at the sharpness of the pain that spread through her side.

“Don’t… push your luck,” she muttered, her voice weak but defiant.

But Rio saw through it. She always had. She could feel the pull—Agatha’s soul, slipping away, the countdown nearing its end. It terrified her more than any enemy they had faced together. More than the armies, more than the wars, more than death itself.

“Here—let me fix this,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling despite her best effort to keep steady.

She moved forward, green magic already flaring at her fingertips, desperate to heal—mend—anything to stop the inevitable. But before her magic could do its work, hands—wrinkled now but still so familiar—came down gently on hers, stopping her. The feel of them, the way they grasped her, firm but tender, sent a wave of emotion crashing over her.

Agatha.

Rio didn’t want to look down, but she did. She stared at their hands, intertwined over the wound, and felt it before she even had to look into Agatha’s eyes. The release. The quiet, heartbreaking acceptance. Agatha’s soul—ready to let go, ready to move on.

Once, that feeling had been a comfort. It used to bring her peace, a soft melody of closure. But now, coursing through her veins, it was unbearable. Like fire. Like loss. Like her world was being torn apart, and this time she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“No,” Rio whispered, but her voice came out so weak, so broken, that she hated herself for it.

“Let me fix it, Agatha” she said, her voice more urgent as she pushed against Agatha’s hands, desperate to bring her magic back, to do something—anything.

But Agatha held on tighter, her grip weak but unyielding. She wasn’t going to let Rio save her this time.

“Mi amor,” Agatha whispered, and there was something so soft, so final in her voice that it made Rio flinch. Their fingers, once pressing against the wound, slowly intertwined—holding hands now, not to stop the bleeding, but as if to hold on to something far more fragile: time.

Time that was slipping away.

Rio felt like she was shattering, piece by piece. The weight of it all—Agatha’s life slipping through her fingers, the helplessness that wrapped around her like a vice—was suffocating. She couldn’t bear to look up, couldn’t face the truth that was already written in Agatha’s eyes.

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice cracking as she tried again, even though she knew it was useless. She pressed her trembling hands to Agatha’s wound, trying to summon her magic once more, feeling it surge beneath her skin, but Agatha’s hand came down gently, stopping her.

“Please, let me fix this,” Rio begged, her voice raw with desperation, trembling as she struggled to hold back the rising tide of panic. The words hung in the air, desperate, pleading, like a prayer she knew would go unanswered.

But there was only silence.

A heavy, unbearable silence, one that pressed down on Rio’s chest like a weight she couldn’t lift. The stillness of it stretched on, filling the space between them like a gaping chasm, an unspoken truth that Rio wasn’t ready to face.

She could hear Agatha’s shallow breaths, each one weaker than the last, the sound growing fainter, like sand slipping through an hourglass. Time was running out, and Rio could feel it, could feel Agatha slipping away, even as she fought to hold her close.

The silence felt like a scream trapped in her throat. It felt like death, creeping closer with every heartbeat.

“Look at me,” Agatha rasped suddenly, her voice faint but commanding, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Rio hesitated, her heart pounding as she blinked back tears and forced herself to meet Agatha’s gaze.

Agatha was slumped against the wall, her body growing weaker by the second, but her eyes—those piercing blue eyes—still sparked with life. The fire in them had always been Rio’s beacon, the thing that pulled her back from the edge, time and time again. But now… that light was fading, and the thought of losing it made Rio’s chest ache like she was being ripped in two.

Agatha shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’m tired, Rio.”

The words sliced through Rio like a blade, sharp and unrelenting, piercing through every defense she had left. She wanted to fight, to rage, to push against the reality of it, but Agatha’s hand—weak as it was—held hers in place. Agatha’s grip was enough to anchor her, pulling her back to the truth neither of them wanted to face.

“No,” Rio’s voice broke, a sob clawing at her throat, threatening to escape. She felt helpless—completely powerless.

Gods. It felt like Nicky all over again.

That same unbearable pain, that same crushing grief. Only this time, it was worse. This time, Rio had the power to heal it. Agatha still had time.

“Agatha, please,” Rio’s voice was barely audible, her hands shaking against Agatha’s. Her magic flickered, weak and unstable, but Agatha’s purple magic just deflected it.

“I need more time,” she pleaded, the words strangled in her throat. “Just… a little more time.”

Agatha’s lips quirked in that familiar, tired smile, the one that had always undone Rio, and the sight of it now shattered her all over again.

“We’ve had centuries, Rio,” Agatha whispered, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her hand slipping weakly from Rio’s grasp. “And I… I’ve loved you every single second of it.”

Rio squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head fiercely, refusing to let go, refusing to accept the finality of those words. She clung to Agatha’s hand, her heart shattering in ways she didn’t think possible. The centuries they’d spent together flashed through her mind—a lifetime of love, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She wasn’t ready to lose her. Not yet. Not ever.

But Agatha, with that familiar stubbornness, gently unraveled their intertwined fingers, and then, Rio felt her hands on her face, cradling her with a tenderness that made Rio’s breath catch in her throat. Even now, Agatha was the one offering comfort, and it broke her all over again.

"Look at me, please," Agatha murmured, her voice soft but insistent, knowing exactly what that one word—please—would do.

Even after 580 years, Agatha had never quite mastered manners. She used them only when absolutely necessary, when she wanted something desperately enough to break her usual defiance. And this… this was something she wanted from Rio, something final, something that made Rio’s heart splinter and fracture with each passing second.

Reluctantly, Rio opened her eyes, her vision blurred by the tears she had fought so hard to hold back. They fell, one after another, and Agatha’s thumbs moved gently across her cheeks, wiping them away as if they were nothing more than droplets of rain. That simple tenderness, the softness of her touch, undid Rio completely.

Agatha pulled Rio forward and kissed her, so soft—so tender—that it broke something deep inside Rio. The kiss felt like a farewell, so final, so filled with love and acceptance that Rio couldn’t hold back the choked sob that escaped her, the sound muffled against Agatha’s lips.

When Agatha pulled back, she brought their foreheads together, resting against Rio with a familiarity that felt like home and goodbye all at once.

Rio’s breath hitched, tears spilling freely now, and Agatha just stayed there, her fingers curling weakly into Rio’s hair, offering the last of her strength. She was slipping away, and Rio knew it, could feel it. The countdown, the pull, the inevitable—all of it crashing down in this moment.

Agatha’s voice, barely a whisper, was the last thing Rio heard before the world shifted.

“Take me on an adventure, mi amor.”

The sun rose on the horizon, and Agatha was gone.

Agatha Vidal died on October 19th, 2258.

She was 584 years old.

She died wiping out an entire coven of witches who had been harming innocents. The world had gone to shit, and people no longer deserved to walk with death. But Agatha Vidal walked with her wife out of the world hand in hand.

She lived a long life, full of adventures, but her favorite one was her last.