A Familiar Presence
The house on the edge of the forest had never been so quiet. No wind in the leaves. No babble from the brook. Even the birds seemed still.
It was the kind of silence that felt unnatural, as if the world had paused, holding its breath in anticipation. The tall pines surrounding the house stood rigid, their branches motionless against the dull gray sky.
Agatha sat in her kitchen, ruminating over her day, her hands curled around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. She’s spent the afternoon wandering and foraging in the woods around her home. Memories of her past swirled in the air as she walked alone. Thoughts swirled through her mind like waves crashing against the shore, relentless and stormy.
The scent of chamomile tea was in the air, but it did nothing to settle the ominous ache inside her. She barely even noticed the cup anymore—she only held it out of habit, the same way she turned the pages of a book she wasn’t really reading, lost in the rhythm and habit more than the words.
It had been a year since Nicky’s laughter had last filled these walls. She can only hear it now when she unlocks her memories.
A year since her little boy with dark eyes and an impish smile had vanished into the night.
A year since Agatha had felt whole and worthy of living every day. A year since a real smile had passed her lips.
His laughter had been her favorite thing in the whole world—more than music, more than the rustling of leaves in the wind, more than the rhythm of the rain against the roof on quiet nights. It had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the sun had broken through even the darkest clouds. But now, the house was sowed in silence, and the only place she could hear it was in her memories.
She held them close, guarding them like rare gemstones or incantations. Sometimes, she would close her eyes and let herself drift back to warm afternoons spent as a family - her son and her wife in harmony. Times filled with Nicky’s laughter, and the way it had once danced around the room, full of life, full of love. But memories were different from reality. They were whispers, echoes, fragments that faded the harder she tried to hold onto them.
And when she opened her eyes again, all that remained was the silence.
Her boy was gone, and there were no spells powerful enough to bring him back. She had tried—oh, how she had tried. In the days following his death, she had torn through every forbidden tome, scoured every incantation, burned candles until the wax melted into rivers of failure. She had begged the spirits, called to the old gods, shouted to the new gods, whispered prayers to anything that might listen.
But the answer had always been the same.
Nicky was beyond her reach.
Because Death had taken him.
Because Rio had taken him. His mother, had taken him.
The thought made her chest tighten, the old wound tearing open, as fresh and raw as the day she had found Rio standing in the doorway, bathed in the eerie glow of her ethereal spirit,holding their son’s small, lifeless soul in her arms.
“I’m sorry, Agatha,” Rio had whispered, her voice cracking as a lone tear rolled down her sullen face.
But Agatha had barely heard her over the rush of blood in her ears, over the scream that had torn from her throat.
She had hated her then at the moment, and forever.
“I will hate you forever, if you take him. Do you hear me? Forever…”
Her pleas fell on deaf ears and so it was to be.
Agatha hated the woman she had once loved beyond reason. Hated the being that had stolen Nicky away from her, as if he were just another soul to be collected, another name on her list.
But worst of all, she hated the part of herself that still longed for Rio’s touch, still ached for the comfort of her arms, still remembered what it had felt like to be hers.
She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t matter anymore. None of it did. When she took Nicky, Rio also took Agatha’s whole purpose. Rio tossed away everything that mattered and left Agatha on her own.
Her body felt heavy with exhaustion, but she knew that sleep wouldn’t come. It rarely did. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Nicky’s face.
Sometimes, in those fleeting moments between waking and dreaming, she thought she heard his voice.
Mama…I’m ok. I’m with mother.
******
Agatha’s eyes snapped open. Her senses were heightened and she was on alert al of a sudden.
The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the walls. A chill curled around her ankles, not the kind that came from the wind but something else—a shift in the air, a presence pressing against the edges of reality.
She wasn’t alone. Something feels amiss. She swears she can feel the presence of a being from another world.
Slowly, she turned her head toward the window. Beyond the glass, the night stretched dark and vast, the treetops swaying in the breeze. And just beyond the walls of her home, barely visible in the darkness, she feels something is watching her.
She rose to her feet, muscles tensing. Her fingers reached for the knife on the counter, gripping the handle tight.
She stepped forward, pushing open the door.
And then she saw it, and smelled it at the same time.
A black cat sat just beyond her doorstep, perfectly still, golden eyes locked onto her. The slightest sweet floral scent of a Rio Dipladenia lingered in the air. That scent was all too familiar and brought a feeling of angst within her.
Something about it felt wrong—or perhaps, too right. It wasn’t fear that curled in her gut but something else, something deeper, something familiar.
The cat didn’t move, didn’t flinch under her watch.
Her heart pounded. She knew magic. She knew spirits. She knew when something was more than it appeared to be.
And this… this was not an ordinary cat.
She knelt slowly, setting the knife down beside her. “You know … you shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. “I don’t want you or need you here.”
The cat blinked and switched its tail.
A wave of cold shiver ran down her spine.
She hesitantly reached out a hand. An ordinary cat would hesitate some - be wary. But this one stepped forward without fear, pressing its head into her palm.
And for the first time in a long time, Agatha felt something.
Something warm. Something real.
Her fingers curled into the soft fur. Her throat tightened.
She didn’t know why, but she swore the cat was smiling at her.
******
Rio had never been good at staying away from Agatha.
Not when they had first met after one of Agatha’s “purple” episodes. Not when they had fallen in love. Not even now, when she was supposed to be nothing more than a shadow.
She had tried—God, had she tried. She had told herself it was for the best, that distance was necessary and it was what Agatha wanted. But space had never suited them. It had never been part of their story.
Maybe it was the way Agatha lingered in her thoughts, in the quiet moments. Maybe it was the way Agatha’s voice still lived in her head, soft and teasing, saying her name like it meant something sacred.
Or maybe it was just love—the kind that didn’t fade, no matter how much time passed or how many centuries stretched between them.
Rio had never been good at resisting what she wanted. And when it came to Agatha, she had never wanted anything or anyone more. Against all of the rules, nature, logic and time - Rio still loved her Agatha with all she had.
******
Rio stood at the edge of the in-between, watching through the thin veil that separated the living from the dead. She felt that even if Agatha claimed to despise Rio, she would always watch over her one love. Rio would always look out for her and protect her at all costs whenever possible.
Agatha had always been a force of nature, all sharp edges and untamed magic. Hectic, maniacal, and unhinged. She had been the first to ever look at Rio without fear, the first to challenge her, the first to love her despite what she was.
And Rio had loved her back. Oh, how she loved that woman with everything she could offer. Loved her with a fire that burned through several lifetimes, with a devotion that defied the laws of existence.
She had broken every rule for Agatha. Agatha had a hold on her heart but even that couldn’t stop what had to happen when duty called. Maintaining the “sacred balance” was Rio’s destiny that nothing could alter. Not even love could change the rules and Rio had no control over when souls were to be called home.
And yet, when it had mattered most, she had failed Agatha.
A memory flickered, unbidden.
Years ago—before everything fell apart.
It had been one of those crisp autumn days when the woods seemed to come alive in shades of gold and amber. The little Harkness-Vidal family had decided to venture deeper into the forest than they ever had before. The sun streamed through the trees, casting shadows on the rocky trail beneath their feet. Nicky, with his boundless energy, had dashed ahead.
“Wait up, son!” Rio had called, laughing as he raced ahead, his small legs moving faster than Agatha could keep up with. Rio, despite her quick stride, had to jog to keep pace, her smile as wide as her son’s.
Agatha followed behind, moving at a slower pace. She had always loved the woods, but something about the way Nicky had been soaking it all in made her heart explode. He was already so much like Rio—wild and untamed in the most beautiful way, drawn to the earth with an instinct that Agatha couldn’t quite describe or understand completely.
They came upon a clearing, and Nicky, always the explorer, dropped to his knees beside a giant patch of ferns. He ran his hands slowly over the fronds with a wide smile. His little fingers traced the delicate edges of the leaves as though he were reading a secret language, his eyes wide with awe.
Rio bent down next to him, her expression softening as she watched him. “What do you think, buddy?” she asked, her voice gentle, as though she, too, were waiting to hear what the forest might whisper to them.
Nicky looked up at her, his face glowing with excitement. “It feels like magic,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “Like the trees are talking. The trees and plants are happy today.”
Agatha, watching the scene unfold before her and couldn’t help but smile. She moved to stand next to Rio, her voice low as she commented, “He’s just like you. He is so much your son. I’m so glad we made him together. He is the best of us.”
Rio’s gaze shifted from Nicky back to Agatha, a quiet tenderness in her eyes. “I think he’s even better,” she said softly. “He’s got that same connection … that pull to the wild, to the earth. It’s like he’s always known it. He’s my own little version of a Green Witch.”
Agatha nodded, her heart full. “He’s a part of it, isn’t he?” she said, watching Nicky as he stood up and took a few cautious steps toward a nearby stream. He crouched down, dipping his hand into the cool water to gather some liquid for a drink, a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he watched the ripples spread.
Rio chuckled, her voice affectionate. “He never stops. It’s like he was born to roam these woods.”
They stood there for a moment, watching Nicky. Agatha’s gaze softened. “He’s your son, through and through.”
Rio’s smile deepened, her eyes softening. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love him so much and you’re ok too.” Rio leaned in and kissed Agatha softly on the cheek.
The woods, the air, the earth—it all seemed to belong to Nicky in that moment. The way he touched everything, as if he could feel emotions of all living things. The way he moved through nature like he had always belonged there, was like a testament to the connection Rio had always shared with the world around her.
They had been happy then, each step taken in the quiet harmony of the forest. And Nicky, with his wild spirit, had always been their little reminder of that deep-rooted bond to the land.
They had been a family, in the woods and in their hearts.
Neither woman could have asked for or wanted more.
******
And now …
The silence of the present felt heavier, pressing against Rio like a thick fog settling into her bones . It was the absence of footsteps beside her, of a voice calling from ahead, of laughter twining through the branches like sunlight. It was the emptiness left behind, a void that no rustling leaf or whispering wind could ever fill.
Nothing but emptiness where Agatha’s love had once lived.
Rio clenched her fists, the weight of her grief pressing against her ribs.
She had not wanted to take their son. Had not wanted to hear Agatha’s sobs, to see the betrayal in her eyes. She had fought against fate, had tried to stop the inevitable, had begged the universe for another way.
But Death was not meant to love.
And yet, she did.
Even now, she still loved Agatha.
She always would and she would always protect her whether Agatha wanted to see her or not.
******
Rio was so full of sorrow and felt the pull towards Agatha. Today marked 1 year since she had to do the unimaginable. Rio needed to be with her wife but Agatha had been very clear about never wanting her around again.
Mistake or not, Rio was going home. She had to see Agatha. She came up with a crazy idea.
******
The transformation had been a quiet surrender of release. The moment she had crossed the veil between worlds, it had felt like water slipping between her fingers. She was no longer Rio Vidal, the woman who had carried the weight of breaking her loves heart and a child’s death on her shoulders. She was just… a cat. A simple creature, sleek and black, her fur shimmering like black diamonds that caught the light like shadow and flame.
Rio’s transformation was not like the shifting of lesser creatures, not like the spells of witches who borrowed the skins of animals. It was something deeper, something woven into the fabric of who and what she was—Death. She could take any form, slip between shapes as easily as stepping from shadow to light. But for Agatha, she could not be herself. Not as Rio. If Agatha saw her, she would push her away, too hurt, too angry, too full of grief to allow Death back into her home. So Rio became something small, something unassuming, something Agatha might let close without suspicion. Her form condensed, bones shortening, limbs shrinking, flesh melting into sleek, black fur. Her golden eyes remained, but even they dulled, just enough to pass for ordinary. It was the only way. As a cat, she could stay by Agatha’s side, watch over her, make sure she was not drowning in her sorrow. As a cat, she could linger where Rio herself was no longer welcome.
Agatha. Her love. Her wife.
She had been waiting for this moment, waiting for the moment when the distance between them would dissolve, when the ache in her heart would quiet. She was no longer bound by the things that had kept her apart from Agatha for so long. She was no longer the embodiment of death. She was simply… Rio, in the purest form.
The first time Agatha reached out to the cat, it was tentative. But even in this new form, she thought perhaps Agatha had recognized her. There was something in the way Rio moved—something familiar, something that touched a place deep inside Agatha, where love and grief and longing had all once intertwined.
When Agatha finally reached out to touch her, the moment was more than just a simple gesture. It was an affirmation. Agatha’s fingers brushed the soft fur of Rio’s back, and it was as if the world shifted. The weight that had pressed down on Rio for so long—guilt, fear, the constant heaviness of her past—melted away in that single touch.
She felt like she could breathe.
The warmth of Agatha’s hand on her fur sparked a flood of emotions Rio hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. Love. Relief. Tenderness. And in that moment, Rio knew that no matter what form she wore, no matter where they were or what had come before them, this—Agatha’s touch—was where she belonged. It wasn’t about the past or the labels they carried. It was just about them, together, existing in the purest form of connection.
She nuzzled her head into Agatha’s hand, a quiet purr rumbling deep in her chest, a sound of peace, of acceptance. And Agatha, for her part, seemed to breathe a little easier too, the edges of her own world softening in the warmth of Rio’s presence.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
There were no more words needed between them. No explanations. No apologies. In that moment, as the black cat pressed into Agatha’s palm, the two of them were simply together, and that was enough.