Chapter 7
Rio and Agatha met on the day Evanora Harkness died. Rio had no name at that time, she was just a goddess of death walking among all things; while Agatha was a girl chained to the execution rack, with blood oozing from her pale wrists as she struggled.
Evanora accused her daughter of being born evil and secretly learning magic. Agatha never understood why her mother taught her magic like other witches. No matter how Agatha begged her mother, she would only be insulted or even physically violent. Agatha didn't understand what heinous crime she had committed that caused her mother to unite with her witch group to trick her out and then kill her - was it because the dishes were not washed clean, or was dinner not prepared on time? Agatha didn't know, she could only beg: "Mom, I can be good, I can be the good girl you want!" Tears covered Agatha's face, reflecting the moonlight in the sky. Today's moonlight was beautiful, but Agatha's heart was only confused and sad. Evanora turned a deaf ear to them, and just showed a crazy smile on her face, as if she was about to be liberated.
The magic beams of Evanora and the witch group tore through the night sky. When the first beam of light penetrated Agatha's chest, her scream startled the jackdaws on the dead tree in the distance. The curse penetrated into her blood vessels like a living thing, like countless red-hot iron needles wandering in her bone marrow. The pain came violently and suddenly, Agatha's nails dug deep into the wood of the execution rack, and tiny sawdust oozed out from her fingers. But just when she was about to faint, the raging energy suddenly began to transform - the needle tip turned into a warm current, and the burning turned into soothing, as if someone was gently sweeping her festering old wounds with a feather dipped in honey. Agatha suddenly laughed, and tears washed away the blood on her face. How ironic, the hateful magic that should have torn her apart was now filling her empty stomach in the most gentle posture. The witches were horrified to find that the girl was actively swallowing every beam of light that came at her, like a hungry baby sucking milk stained with poison.
Suddenly, the shouting of the witch group stopped, and there was silence all around, with only the sound of something falling on the fallen leaves. Agatha opened her eyes and saw that her mother and the witch group had all fallen to the ground, their bodies stiff. She looked at their faces and found that they were all dry and twisted. At this moment, Agatha understood what had happened. Her mind began to uncontrollably emerge with the scene of her mother scolding her for being "born evil" over and over again. Looking at the corpse on the ground, Agatha felt very scared. Could it be that her mother was right, was she really born evil? How could she not be evil? No kind person would kill her mother.
Agatha burned the rope with magic, and the whole person slid down the execution rack, crying as she looked at the corpses on the ground. She had nowhere to go and didn't know where to go. The goddess of death appeared at this inopportune time. In fact, she had been watching in the dark for a while. She had to admit that she was attracted by Agatha's peculiar physique. Somehow, the goddess of death thought that Agatha looked beautiful when she absorbed magic. The goddess of death worked quietly. She thought Agatha had cried herself to sleep, but Agatha just sat and stopped crying. Agatha watched the man in the green cloak in front of her shuttle between the corpses and say something from time to time. No, this person in front of her could not be called a person. Agatha was surprised to find that there was no skin or flesh on his face, only bones.
Perhaps because the shock of matricide was too strong, Agatha found that she could not have the slightest fear of the wandering skeleton. When its moss-colored cloak swept across her mother's stiff fingertips, she even had an absurd sense of relief - just like seeing the cook properly deal with spilled milk, at least someone came to clean up the sticky and smelly mess she caused. She thought of the banned books she had read secretly in the attic, and the illustrations of the god of death painted with ochre pigment on parchment. The image of the skeleton that seemed scary at the time now looked unusually...professional in the moonlight. Every time the bony fingers touched a corpse, a silver-blue halo floated out of the dead person's mouth, like a honey collector skillfully collecting crystals in a beehive.
The goddess of death persuaded these unwilling souls to go to where they should go. Except for Evanora, everyone else obeyed their fate.
Evanora kept cursing the goddess of death and Agatha. She hated that she was killed by Agatha, and hated that the goddess of death had to take her away and ignored her proposal to kill Agatha. Evanora couldn't believe that death would take away a kind person like herself instead of the evil Agatha. Evanora's anger grew stronger and stronger, and in the end, she inevitably became a ghost that gave the goddess of death some headaches-which meant that the goddess of death had to spend more time working overtime to deal with her work.
"No! This is not fair!" Her voice was as sharp as broken glass, tearing in the night, "I am the victim! That bastard - she sucked me dry! She is the one who should go to hell!"
The goddess of death tilted her head, and her empty eye sockets stared at this hysterical soul. She had seen too many unwilling dead people, but it was rare to see someone like Evanora who was still determined to kill her daughter after death.
"Your fate is determined." The voice of the goddess of death seemed to come from a deep well, calm and irresistible.
"Fate?" Evanora laughed, "Is fate to let me die at the hands of the monster I raised?" She pounced on Agatha, but the ghost without magic could not even maintain its form, and could only stir up a gust of cold wind, like the last breath of a dying person.
Agatha shrank, and the coldness pierced into her bones. She couldn't see the ghost of her mother, but the familiar, hateful coldness made her tremble all over. She closed her eyes tightly, her teeth chattering - was the goddess of death finally coming to take her away? Just like taking away other ghosts?
But the goddess of death just sighed (if skeletons could sigh), stretched out her hand and grabbed Evanora's neck like a disobedient wild cat.
"What you call kindness," she said coldly, "is murdering your own daughter?"
The goddess of death tilted her head, and with a slight hook of her finger bones, dark chains sprang out of the void and tightly bound Evanora's ghost. She snapped her fingers carelessly, and two hooded shadows emerged from the shadows, holding the still screaming ghost on the left and right.
"Take her to the Styx," the goddess of death waved lazily, "let her curse the river until her soul is gone."
The shadow obeyed the order and dragged the struggling Evanora into the ground. The world was finally quiet.
The goddess of death then turned around and looked at the girl curled up under the rack. The moonlight traced Agatha's trembling outline. She looked so small, so broken - but so interesting.
She snapped her fingers.
Flesh covered bones, magic turned into flowing night, and when the goddess of death took the first step, she was already a god in the skin of a girl. Black curly hair hung on her shoulders, and her eyes were big and round, like a newborn deer in the forest, innocent and curious. But her breath was still cold, and the whisper of death lingered around her, and even the moonlight retreated fearfully at her feet.
She squatted in front of Agatha, holding her chin, staring at her intently.
Agatha could feel that gaze - hot and cold, as if someone was gently touching her soul with fingertips. She finally couldn't help but open her eyes.
...Huh?
It's not a skeleton. Instead, it was a girl who looked younger than her, tilting her head to look at her, her eyes full of childlike curiosity.
But Agatha was not fooled.
There was an eternal void hidden deep in those eyes, and the air around her was slightly distorted by her presence, as if even the world was resisting her touch. Agatha's throat tightened, she was too familiar with this feeling of oppression - when her mother cast a spell, there would be similar tremors around her, but it was far less than one ten-thousandth of what it was at this moment.
"I know who you are," Agatha whispered hoarsely, "You are the goddess of death."
The girl blinked, and a sweet arc rose at the corner of her lips.
"Are you here to take me away?" Agatha clutched the corner of her clothes, "I... can go with you." She paused, and then added carefully, "No complaints." Agatha swallowed her saliva, and looked at the somewhat cute face in front of her in the moonlight - damn, does the goddess of death know that she thinks of her like this, will she be even more angry?
"Why should I take you away? It's not your time yet. Do you know who I am?" The goddess of death was very surprised. She didn't expect someone to recognize her. The girl's eyes were like sapphires shining in the night sky. She was fascinated and wanted to reach out to touch her, but she forgot that she didn't let her palm grow flesh. Agatha was startled and shrank to dodge. The goddess of death quickly retracted her hand.
"I'm sorry, I forgot my hand... What's your name? I just want to touch your eyes."
"Agatha, Agatha Harkness. If letting you touch my eyes can save me from death, please touch them." Agatha grabbed the bones of the goddess of death's hand without hesitation when she transformed her palm and put it on her cheek - the goddess of death's hand was cold, but Agatha didn't feel scared at all. This coldness calmed her heart.
"Agatha, nice to meet you. Please close your eyes." The goddess of death gently stroked Agatha's face, moved her fingers to Agatha's eyelids, touched them searchingly, and then moved her hand away. She snapped her fingers, and Agatha was wearing a warm robe.
"Goodbye, Agatha, I still have work to do." The goddess of death stood up and prepared to leave. But Agatha suddenly held her hand loosely: "Are you really not going to take me away? I killed so many people, I killed my mother, I am evil, you won't take me away?"
"Agatha, death will only come when it is time. Your mother's death is karma. If she didn't attack you, she wouldn't die at all. You are not evil - in my eyes, there is no one who should die and who shouldn't die, it's just that the time will eventually come." The goddess of death leaned over and touched Agatha's head, carefully moving her hand away.
"Do you have a name?"
"No, I don't have your human name, I'm just Death."
"Then can I give you a name?" Agatha's voice suddenly became firm, "So you won't forget me." She took a deep breath, "Rio Vidal, how about it?"
The goddess of death raised her eyebrows: "River of Life? Good name, I like it very much." A bright red azalea suddenly bloomed between her finger bones, and the petals were still wet with night dew. She handed the flower to Agatha, and the flower looked particularly gorgeous between her pale fingers.
Agatha took the flower, and her fingertips accidentally touched Rio's hand bones, which was cold but inexplicably reassuring. She looked at Rio's back as he turned and left, and suddenly shouted: "Rio! Will I see you again?"
The night wind rolled up Rio's cloak, and her voice dissipated in the moonlight with her figure:
"You will see me again. Te veo."
Agatha stood where she was, and the azalea in her hand swayed gently in the night wind. She suddenly realized that this was the first gift she had ever received in her life.