How Death Became Rio Vidal
1693 - Salem
The air was particularly cold that night as Death followed the pull. This was a simple death, one that should not have her complete attention, but she couldn't shake the feeling accompanied with this particular death. It was more than just a death this time, there was something pulling at where her heart would have been. Death hurried her steps over the bramble of the forest, trudging past the tall bare trees. Salem had been filled with trials over the past year, keeping her busy and staying nearby. Men, death curled her lip at the thought, killing both witches and regular women alike. Some of the women deserved it, thought Death, having ratted out the witches who practiced healing and even her own kind of Green Witches. She herself had to step in and kill a few as the men had disrupted the sacred balance.
Death pranced up the hill, twirling her dagger as the cloud darkened above her. It was more than just a storm brewing. She could fully feel it, a strange but powerful magic taking its root in someone. The magic was ancient, she knew that and she had only felt something like it once in her long long lifetime before it was extinguished the moment it was born. That witch, that mother, had killed her own child. This one didn’t for some reason, and she was eager to see how it blossomed. The wind clawed at her hood, but Death’s crown kept it in place, the jade green glowing as purple lightning cracked across the skies.
Interesting, Death mused as she rounded up the hill and there she was: a young woman.
Well, a witch standing over a body of one of her coven members. Purple cracked around her, filtering in the air before seeping into her skin. She was dressed in a simple purple dress, her cloak black and her hair, Death couldn’t help but admire it. Long silk chestnut framed around her face, blowing silently with the wind. She stared on, eager to see the woman’s face. Her skin was like moonlight, and her eyes, such a beautiful gentle blue. The woman turned, seeming to stare right at Death, but that was impossible. Death made sure the mortals could not see her, but by the way her hands raised and her head tilted, it was as if she could sense her. Death approached slowly, her eyes lingering on her face, still finding the rare pink of such youth and life in the woman. Her chin was dimpled, her jaw carved, and her cheekbones almost as sharp as Death’s dagger.
Curious, Death thought as she chose her appearance carefully.
There were days Death did walk among the mortals, always curious of their ways but never meddling, never interfering, never getting involved. She had talked to a few, just out of politeness before excusing herself and watching from the shadows, but even in her human form, they always knew she was different. They would shiver as she passed by as some older folks’ eyes would grow wide, not knowing, but something told them their time was near. She summoned her Green magic, allowing it to clad upon her bones and dress her in a light caramelized skin. She produced dark brown eyes and got rid of her crown. Her cloak mended into a light forest green as she wore a dress of the rich. Her petticoat was green too like Spanish moss and her skirts were white and floral. She appeared slowly, the woman now summoning the purple magic that clicked along her fingers barely contained.
“Who are you?” the woman roared at her.
Death chuckled, sheathing her dagger and raising her hands to show she meant no harm. The woman put away her magic, refusing to leave her gaze. Death was shocked. Mortals always avoided her gaze, casting it to her feet, but not this woman. Her blues studied her face before sweeping among her body. Death felt a thrill run through her, she didn’t know what it was, but something liked the way the woman radiated curiosity rather than fear.
“That was quite some power,” she said, keeping her voice calm.
The purple witch turned away from her, staring down at the body. Tears brimmed her eyes as regret washed through the woman, “I-I didn’t mean it, I couldn’t–I couldn’t control it.”
Death drew by her side allowing a lesser part of her to take the soul away. She remained, her curiosity peaked as the pull between them remained.
“I-I am sorry,” the young woman then covered her mouth.
Death froze, forgetting for a second that mortals cried. She didn’t know what to do, never had she comforted a mortal before. Slowly, she placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Instead of stiffening, her shoulders fell, relaxing before falling to her knees. Death followed her, keeping careful circles on her back. She didn’t know why she did it. She could leave, her job was done, but she couldn’t shake the pull.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she spoke, her voice rougher than she meant.
The woman peaked up at her, “I-I was practicing my craft against their rules. Mother refuses to teach me anything, but I just wanted to learn. She found me and used her magic to stop me and-and I just took it. Her magic is inside of me.”
Death chuckled, making the woman’s eyes grow wide, “It sounds like you were just doing what you had to survive.”
“But-but I killed her,” the woman breathed out.
She kept her smile as she wiped the tears with her thumb getting the woman to face her, “She gave you no choice. You did what you had to do and you protected yourself. Your power is a gift, don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
The young woman produced more tears, the opposite of what Death wanted. She almost pulled away, not wanting the woman to feel worse. Instead, the woman learned into her linger hand, pressing her cheek into it. Death froze, her eyes growing wide. She had just comforted a mortal. Death: the symbol of the end and unknown. The singular thing all humans could agree they were scared of, comforted a human woman. Death looked around, her attention on a group of souls running through the forest towards them. She didn’t think as she grabbed the woman, pulling her against her and allowing her cloak to render them invisible. She pulled them back, her magic moving them to opposite tree lines, but still in view as sisters gathered around the body crying. The woman in her arms didn’t move. She stared as well, watching as a woman with long grey hair parted them, kneeling down to their lost sister and bowing her head.
“Evanora, what is this?” a sister cried. “You said we were safe–”
“We are,” the older witch hissed, casting her gaze around.
Another witch stepped forward, “Then what did this? Her power, Evanora, is gone. Her life force sucked out. I thought succubus witches were always killed. What coven would dare?”
The older woman bowed her head, “I don’t know, but we have to hunt this witch down. This evil cannot be allowed to live.”
Death turned back to the young woman, finding her crying again. She sunk them to ground, her spell now making them silent as the witches took the body from the hilltop. She didn’t speak as she held the woman, just tracing circles upon her back until the woman stopped, pulling away from Death. She stared up at her, her eyes glowing with the water Death never produced. Her body twitched. She didn’t understand it. The feeling was foreign, unnatural. Why did she care this much for a mortal she just met?
The woman pulled away but remained seated on the forest floor with her, “Thank you, um?”
She waited, cocking her head expecting Death to speak. Death matched the look, confusion rippling through her. What was she looking for in Death? Why did she remain in her arms? Death’s mind circled as something else developed within her. She has been scared before, more times than would like to admit, Hell, even nervous. She hated meetings with her cosmic kin, it always unsettled her, especially as an outcast among them, but this was new. She was scared to reveal herself as Death to the woman. She would run, leaving Death with so many questions. She couldn’t have that.
The woman laughed instead, pulling back slightly to face her more, “Cat got your tongue now?”
Death kept a confused gaze, making the woman chuckle more as she wiped her tears.
“Your name please?”
Death answered simply, “I don’t have a name.”
The woman carefully stood, pulling Death up with her, “Huh, playing hard to get now?”
She stared at her, her mouth open, not sure how to reply at the woman’s sudden change of mood. She pondered for a second more, realizing it was just a defense thing humans did. She was trying to remain strong. Death took her hands, staring at them as she felt the power that clicked and cracked in her palms.
“You are a wonder,” she muttered, feeling the pull deepen between them.
“And you, my mystery knight in a green cloak,” the woman flashed a sadden smile but taking a step back, her head bowed again. “But um, why did you help me?”
Death snapped her gaze away from calloused hands before feeling another tug far off in the world, “I must go.”
The woman’s eyes widened, holding her hands, “Will I see you again?”
Death nodded, stepping back to smile at the woman. She bowed, producing a purple chrysanthemum in her hand, offering it to the woman who took it with a saddened smile. Death stood, conjuring a smaller one and placing it in her hair.
“Te veo,” she said, allowing the pull to take her away.
***
Over the next few days, Death couldn’t get the woman out of her mind. She was fascinating, powerful, and so radiate. She was full of life, everything Death was not even though being a Green Witch also meant life, but Death always found herself with decay no matter how much she loved her Green, blackness always followed. The woman haunted her, more than cared to admit. The pull was still there, begging Death to go back to the woman for some reason. It wasn’t even a weak until the pull changed, something begging Death to reveal herself to the woman. It wasn’t a death, but something else. Death seeped out a lesser version of herself, allowing it to guide the soul to the Afterlife, and allowing herself to travel through the earth to the pull. She climbed through the earth, her human from twisting and cracking as she pulled herself to the surface. She heard a gasp, feeling the powerful magic gather before stopping as Death stood, cracking her neck into place. She brushed the dirt off of her, taking in everything. They were by a river, fish jumping up the stream as rain drizzled from the skies. The forest was alive with crows and the woman who had sucked the power from her sister, stood against a tree, her hands raised and tears sprinting from those blues.
Death grazed over her face, seeing one cheek was redder than the other. Something twitched inside Death as she tongued her cheek. She gathered the woman in her arms as she did before, but the woman hissed in pain. Death pulled away, finding her hands were ornated in blood. She turned the woman around, finding the blood drenching the back of her dress. Death didn’t wait for the woman’s permission, in fact she didn’t even realize what she was doing as her hands went straight for the laces of her dress. The woman didn’t stop her, just cried as she peeled away the cotton to find her back plagued with lashes.
“ Why?” Death growled as the woman hid her face with her hands into the tree.
The woman whimpered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the river, “She called me a monster. She thinks I killed her.”
“ You are not a monster,” Death growled again, pulling away more of her dress to fully address the slashes.
They were bright and angry, a shadow of Evanora’s hate and disdain for her own flesh and blood. They weren’t too deep and she knew the woman was nowhere near her time. Death crouched, her hands on the woman’s hips as the witch clung to the tree, its bark crumbling beneath her fingers.
“How do you know that? You don’t even know me,” the woman whispered, as Death allowed her Green magic to surface.
She could let her magic run over her, but this would be quicker and less painful. She moved long chestnut locks away, her tongue darting out and licking up the first wound. The woman gasped, freezing in Death’s hold as she tasted the sweet iron. Her blood was sweeter than she had ever tasted, it sparked with power, ambition, and even a little bit of herself. The darkness had swaddled the woman from childhood, and Death wanted to bask in it. She moved up the woman’s bare back, watching as only a smear of blood remained from where her tongue could not pick it up. She made it to her shoulder blades, feeling the strong muscles underneath them, moving over past scars, and to the tops of her shoulders. The woman let out a breath before biting her lip, and it made Death ever more curious.
Her fingers were nimble, clearing away the smeared blood before lacing up the simple gown, “I know, because I see your soul. You are strong and powerful. Never feel sorry for possessing such a gift.”
The woman turned, leaning against the tree, her head slightly turned up to look at Death. Her eyes were still glossy, still beautiful. She shook away the feeling, leaning forward and for a moment, the woman’s breath filled her senses. She smelled of herbs, spices, and something sweet. She licked up against her cheek, healing the mark upon her face and listening to how the mortal’s breath hitched.
“When did this happen?” she said before the woman could say anything more.
The witch looked away, “This morning. I had casted a spell to preserve the flower you had given me and she found it. She said the magic to produce a flower that doesn’t exist here was evidence I was taking more power for my rank.”
Death scoffed, her lips curling, “Over a flower?”
The woman shook her head, sitting down upon a rock, motioning Death to follow her, “How did you know to come?”
It was Death’s turn to ignore her question. How was she supposed to explain to a mortal that she has this weird pull towards her, that something beyond her cosmic being has latched them together in some random twist of fate? How was she supposed to tell her the woman was making her become involved in the trivial life of humans when she was supposed to be distant, ordered…emotionless…humanless…
Death changed the direction, “What is your name?”
The woman chuckled, seeming to not mind her avoiding the question, instead she fired, “You first.”
Death raised her eyebrow, “I told you before, I have no name.”
The purple witch stared at her, studying and searching for the lie, but settled on, “Why not?”
She chuckled, “Because I lurk in the shadows.”
“There’s more to it than that,” the woman fully faced her. “You have to be called something. You’re just not telling me.”
Death looked away, subconsciously tonguing her cheek again, “That is for you to find out on your own.”
The woman smirked, her eyes widening at the mystery, “Well, I have to call my hero something.”
Death flinched underneath the layers, Hero?
She hid it, looking back to the river before at the woman, “You choose. What do you want to call me?”
The witch looked to the river too with a smile before turning back to her, “What about Rio? It means–”
“River,” Death answered.
The woman’s lips curved up ever so slightly, “It’s calming, sure it can be rough, but there’s a steady, natural flow to it. It brings me peace and comfort, just as you have done.”
Death froze again, unsure how to respond to her.
To her luck the witch continued, “You need a last name too. Rio, Rio–”
Death felt a shiver run up her spine as the name rolled off the woman’s lips with ease. It was foreign again, something that had everything in Death screaming to run away from the woman, but she couldn’t. The pull was too strong. She watched the woman mutter, playing with her hands as the wind blew her hair back. Her cheeks clasped with youth as she looked to the clearing sky, watching the crows and a few cranes fly overhead. In the river, swans and their cygnets floated down together. The witch smiled brightly, her eyes sparking at Death.
“Rio Vidal,” she decided and for the first time, Death smiled for real.
She tested the name, quirking an eyebrow at her, “Rio Vidal? River of life?”
Oh, you foolish woman, Death thought fondly.
The woman nodded, holding her hand out, “Nice to meet you, Rio Vidal. I’m Agatha Harkness.”
Rio took her hand, bringing it up to her lips and kissing it sweetly. Warmth radiated off the woman that filled her. She felt something strange twitch in her chest, as if she had a heart. Then there it was, that pull needing her off into the world to do her job. It was stronger, requiring her full attention. She gave Agatha a saddened smile, making another flower appear in her hand: a purple Rio Dipladenia. Tucking it in Agatha’s hair, and slowly twirling a thick lock in her fingers, she found those eyes again.
“I have to go again,” she said, making Agatha’s smile falter. “Te veo.”
As she allowed herself to slowly step into her realm, she heard Agatha’s soft voice respond, “I'll see you soon, Rio Vidal.”
***
Something was happening to Death, well Rio. She didn’t feel as cold, or detached. She felt young, well youthful. Death was never young, she just was, but Agatha had done something to her. She couldn’t name it– she could but she refused to as the days led to weeks and turned to months. She saw Agatha at least once a week, at least. Sometimes it was more as they spent their time together in the woods away from her wicked coven. Rio found herself running through the trees with her and teaching her simple spells the coven should have taught her when she was child. She watched Agatha under careful calculating eyes. Her eyes would shine with her purple, the way it danced around her was something Rio would never tire of. She taught Agatha about the forest, the cycle of life, and most importantly flowers. She found herself always departing with a new flower for her every time, but then quickly found that Agatha loved the Rio Dipladenias the most. In return, Agatha taught Rio to be human without even realizing it. Rio found herself eating, resting, and even breathing. She would match Agatha’s breaths as Agatha had mentioned she never noticed Rio taking breaths. She wasn’t ready to reveal her true form yet, she couldn’t scare this woman away. Something needed Agatha, something called her to this purple witch.
Agatha never questioned her when she had to go, it was a silent rule between them, an unspoken agreement. Instead, she would just nod and eagerly await the flower. Unfortunately, most of their meetings were due to the pull Rio felt tugging at her chest. She would appear, finding Agatha crying by the river, new lashes, bruises, and marks upon her skin. Rio would lick them away, holding her in silence until she calmed down. Sometimes Agatha would tell her about it, other times Agatha would find a way to distract them. Rio never pushed, just happy that her presence brought a sense of safety for Agatha.
It had now been weeks away from Agatha, and it bothered her more than she cared to admit. Some type of plague had ravaged a tribe in South America, requiring her attention as it spread. It didn’t last long, but Rio stayed away, scared somehow she would give it to Agatha. She never spread the diseases before, but she also never had been so close to a mortal before. Rio sat on her throne, her dark eyes scanning around the room as green torches flickered. Something was wrong and she couldn’t be in the mortal world as the pain in her chest continued. Pain, she wasn’t supposed to feel pain. It tickled and in truth, it thrilled her to feel such a simple human thing. She swallowed hard, feeling something rushing through her. It was too mortal for the cosmic entity. Something was wrong. Rio allowed her truth self to reveal, her skin melting away, revealing the ivory bones. She pulled her dress away from her chest where the pain still ached. Her eyes widened, staring at the strange thing wrapped in her green magic. Black lines ventured around her chest cavity, latching to her ribs and engraving runes. Death stared on, watching as the other ends wrapped together, forming a beating muscle. She gasped, her mind racing as it formed a black human heart. It didn’t beat, it was motionless, but nonetheless there.
You are Death. Of course it wouldn’t beat, she told herself, but her mind pondered the reasons why her magic took hold and formed such a thing.
Her mind drifted back to piercing blue eyes, the way they saw her. Her name echoed in her ears, the way Agatha had first said it. Purple sparkled around her as the memories filled her: Agatha’s carefree smile, the way they ran together, the power of Agatha drawing Death in, the way she always intensely listened to her, and seeked her touch even when it wasn’t needed. Her eyes softened, seeing Agatha relax the moment her arms wrapped around her and how for once, Death wasn’t just in the shadows. Rio was living. She was living because of Agatha.
Agatha, what are you doing to me? she wondered.
Just as her mind lingered a little more on Agatha, the black heart in her chest started beating.