A Little Death
Nuzzling into the silk, the scent consumed her like the memories from the waterfall hall. She couldn’t name them, her memory fuzzy as a sharp scent of cinnamon tickled her, stirring a feeling of warmth, and lavender brought a phantom ache, as if soothing an old scar. Pumpkin lingered too, braiding itself with the unmistakable scent of eucalyptus and grounding her, but the scents were too warm, so lively that it felt almost like…a person. A phantom sensation of something warm pressed into her back, lips guiding their way down her shoulder blades that made her twitch as a smile tug on her lips. She wondered if she was dreaming, but she would have to be human to dream, and with that, her body jolted, her eyes snapping open to be greeted only by more darkness…but she wasn’t falling anymore.
Rio let her magic out, lighting candles that called to her and bringing a deep green glow into the room. Blinking at the image before her, she found Death in a queen sized bed. The Spanish moss duvet was kicked to the floor while lavender coloured sheets draped over her naked body. She stared into the mirror across from the bed, not recognizing whose room she was in. Rio was in her human form, laying on her side as her black hair cascaded over the pillows. Sitting up, she found the room bigger than necessary. In front of the bed sat a dresser with a mess of jewelry thrown over it along with knives. Candles littered the room as a tv sat above the dresser. The mirror to the side was a walk-in closet she guessed and to the right of her was two more doors and shelves of books lining the wall with plants growing in every corner of the room. It was so Rio, but something else lingered here, a familiar power once more Rio could not understand.
She stood slowly, finding a green robe thrown across the bed. It was silk as well, the base green as purple flowers covered it with images of giraffes and lighter purple florals. The edges of the robe were a darker green along with the tie as she found it covered herself just enough. It would have to do for now, until she figured out where the hell she was. Her feet were light against the hardwood floor, careful to not make a sound as she opened the black door and into a corridor. It didn’t make sense, the bedroom she woke in was from the modern era, sans the use of electrical lighting it seemed. The halls were lined with torches, the floor marble, and the walls of jagged ebony. They seemed to pulse faintly in the torchlight, shadows dancing slowly in ways that defied the flickering green flames. The marble was cool underfoot, sending chills up even Death’s body. She paused her, listening for the faintest sound, but was only greeted by a perfect silence.
She hated it.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she padded down the halls, finding paintings covered with mulberry drapes, hiding whatever may lay beneath. She stopped before a large one, her hand reaching out shakenly as she lifted the curtain to find the painting was of Lady Death. Her crown was tall, twisting up as her bones were painted to a perfection. Her cloak was grander, laced with a pattern of swirling bark. She moved to the next one, finding a younger version of Death sitting on a throne, and the next was Rio Vidal in her Salem era, her green cloak…the same outfit she had worn when she had taken Nicky. She dropped the curtain like it was coated in poison, her body shaking as she turned back to the halls. All the doors were closed, but they were all different. Some were an old mahogany, others a dark pine, but two caught her attention.
They were a pair of double metal doors with runes etched into the outsides. Each one a symbol for protection, focus, knowledge, curiosity, and finally a group to ward off trespassers. She traced them with her fingers, feeling every ridge as she trembled. Something settled in her mind, a burning realization. Whoever had etched them knew her magic– they knew her. But the thought struck harder than she expected, scarring her deeper as she just knew this couldn’t be hers. It couldn’t belong to her, not after everything, and yet, symbols hummed against her skin, as if calling her home.
No, she told herself.
She pushed her hand away, but her magic sprang to the surface as the door creaked. Rio froze, her mouth open as she stared into the room before slipping inside. The room expanded impossibly. There was no physical explanation for a room as grand as this to be attached to such a small hallway. The marble stretched infinitely, broken only by towering bookshelves that disappeared into the glass dome ceiling above. Her breath hitched. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and magic. Vines crept lazily over the shelves and walls, wrapping around possessively as if claiming the room. Their leaves glistened as if they themselves were polished as roses peaked out from corners too shy to meet her. Her gaze flickered to the spiders that crocheted their homes among the shelves. She moved through slowly, her hand moving over the leather bound books until she froze: The Tether of the Earth. The handwriting on the spine was unequivocally hers, but her hands trembled more as she pulled it free. Rio had written this eons ago, when she was still learning of her role and as the first Green Witch. It used to be her grimoire before she had made another, but this was an old, ancient part of her she hadn’t thought of until now.
The desks at the room’s center drew her attention away from the book, leaving it haphazardly on the shelf as her feet carried her. There were two, each carved from an old oak, but one was pristine. Its surface untouched, waiting for use that hadn’t come, while the there was cluttered with open books, a stack in the corners, quills placed everywhere, and splatters of ink stains. A mug sat abandoned, its contents cold but the faint scent of lemon and dragonwell making her smile. She stared at the grimoire lying open, its pages alive with a faint orchid glow. The trace of magic called to her, making her own respond in kind. Everything here whispered home, yet it wasn’t hers. Not entirely. Someone else had been here– someone who had carved the space that seemed to wait for her to return…but why…why would she deserve all of this?
Taking a slow breath, Rio found her way back to the halls. The torches guided her, the silence echoing in her ears. She couldn’t take it, the anxiety rushing in like a wave, threatening to drown her. Her footsteps hurried, staring at the orange glow ahead, but the hallway seemed to stretch on and on. Rio stopped, needing to catch her breath. She had to keep herself together, prepare for whatever was waiting here. It was another test, one she would not fail. She had to make it to the end, so she could sleep. So her heart could stop aching with the scar that mawed her.
She didn’t understand this. Everything seemed to be alive while in reality she knew she was dead. She had taken Death’s hand, crossed the veil, and walked the falls of memories. The wave was back again, this time sweeping her unearth the undertow. Her breath was lost, but something silently reminded her that she didn’t need it. She was dead. Nothing could hurt any more. The past would fade and she would cease to exist.
Rio moved to the light, watching how the room opened up. She leaned against the edge of the obsidian, staring at a chandelier of bone and decay. The bones were carved, more runes on them, ones she couldn’t quite see them from with the way thick crimson liquid wrapped around them. Blacken flesh poked out from the blood, but it was all held together by roses and vines. Another reminder of who she was: life and death.
Below the chandelier, a modern home is set forth. Two spiraling staircases landed on dark hardwood floors, the walls tall and painted a deep forest green. From where the two steps met, sat a door that was possibly the entrance. She bolted, her feet a little louder as she sprinted down the uneven stones of steps. She needed to get out of here. Something was latching to her again, connecting her to something she wasn’t sure was real. She was being dragged across the sea floor, shards of shells digging into her as she opened the door prepared to greet the cold of the outside…
more blackness…
maybe the forest…
or another road…
anything but what sat before her.
Her feet, however, betrayed her, slow and hesitant. They guided her into the middle of the room, her body following as if someone was pulling the strings and she was nothing but a puppet to their cruelty. She turned, eyes locked on the steps where so many had cowered before her, both cosmics and self-proclaimed gods alike. The room was the same. It should have been comforting, a peace of home with her, but it wasn’t the same– not with the additions. It wasn’t just her throne that stood tall and proud, carved from vines and bone; but, beside it another matched the grace of beauty of her own. They sat together, the tops intertwining together with shades of purple and green as they crept up the walls. Her throat tightened at the sight of it, a sob clawing it was from her depths. Tears pricked at her eyes as she was pushed further into the undertow. The shards dug deeper, placing their holds in her. Her throne, the one she had always dreamed of for her — now seemed so distant, so hollow… it laughed in her face, a mockery of all that wasn’t hers anymore.
The sob finally breached the surface, forcing Rio to the ground, but the sob wasn’t from a woman scorned. The sob was from a woman who had lost everything she cared about. She had lost everything, from her love to her own kin— she felt the choking pressure in her chest as thoughts spiraled, unable to stop themselves.
Did I push Nicky here? her eyes flickered to the other throne for a moment. I told her it would be safe. What did I do?
She clutched her arms around herself as her mind swarmed and guilt continuously crashed into her, drowning her. Rio allowed the wave to take her, sweeping her out the sea as she pulled her knees to her chest now.
Oh, why? Why? Did I have to give you life, mijo? she sniffed again, lifting her head up to the thrones.
There was no way out. The thrones sat there, mocking her– dangling the future in her face that she wished she could have had. She had dreamed of this life with her wife– this peaceful, powerful existence. Her home would have been filled with laughter with their son, love encircling them, but now it felt like nothing but cruel irony. It was her personal hell unfolding before her, mocking her dreams with a cheshire grin. The Afterlife had promised peace, but instead, it had given her a place where every wrong choice, every shadow of regret, was presented before her on a golden platter.
“I’m so sorry, my loves,” she whispered softly into the eerie silence.
I know, a voice seemed to whisper back.
She ignored it. Rio couldn’t stay here any longer. It was too much. Shepushed herself off the stone, her eyebrows painfully knitted together as she made her way back into the foyer. The lights were still dim, but a warmth wrapped around her, drying her tears as she made her way between the stairs and into a family room. She smiled softly, catching a green velvet couch stretched on the outskirts of the room, facing another television that sat above a fireplace. The fire was going slowly, a few logs to the side for more feed. It should have been her haven with how the room screamed ‘Rio’ again– the pots of plants, the walls lined with even more books, and the faint smell of pine, but lavender blankets dug a knife into her. They were draped carelessly across the couch and across sat a familiar rocking chair– the thing that twisted the blade. A basket of yarn and needles sat beside it. She didn’t knit, but she knew who did. The memory of the cottage flooded her senses. She could practically feel the quiet memories washing around her, the hours she spent on the floor by her, the soft murmur of her voice into the night as they got lost in their own world.
Her eyes moved away from the chair, unable to face it, but the pain followed her. Another knife twisted into her and she couldn’t stop it. Her gaze found the black credenza against the wall. A glass platter of half-drunk scotch sat there, but beside it, framed in dark wood, was a picture of Nicholas.
Her heart lurched.
Nicky was everything he was before. He was sitting by a river, his chestnut hair wild in the wind, his bright smile infectious, lighting up his face. It was always the smile that drew her in, whether it was because it mirrored her own, or because she saw the traces of her, she didn’t know. Her eyes grew heavy as she reached out, trembling, picking up the frame. The glass was smooth against her fingertips. He hadn’t changed. He was still her sweet, innocent boy.
Just as she set the frame down, glass shattered behind her. Rio whipped around, and everything froze. Time ceased to exist as the tether wove itself together, stronger and without frays. Rio’s heart beat louder, more pronounced as she felt the pull, drawing her to Agatha. She could feel the hurt, the longing, the love, but underneath it all, there was the unmistakable undertone of anger. But that was just her, wasn’t it? She would always be angry at Rio, wouldn’t she?
Blues met hers, tears making Agatha’s eyes glow. Her wild chestnut locks cascaded past her shoulders, reaching her waist, as she wore a matching purple robe— one that Rio had left for her when she woke her up from the Scarlet Witch’s spell in Westview, before the road that split them apart. Youth surrounded Agatha’s face, a vibrancy Rio hadn’t seen since the Salem days, before Nicky. She was everything in Rio’s gaze, the only thing that mattered. And the tether, now solidified, was undeniable. Agatha’s eyes widened, tears slipping down her cheeks, before she staggered, clutching the pendant around her neck. She straightened, a surge of power crackling in the room, and Rio braced herself just in time as her back slammed into the wall.
Must we always meet like this? Rio thought, as Agatha pinned her against the wall, growling as she found Rio’s dagger.
Rio pushed her wife off with ease, trying to direct her magic to shield herself, but Agatha was faster than expected. She slammed into her, both of them sprawling on the floor and the dagger coming down at Rio’s throat with a venomous hiss. Rio blocked it with her arm, careful not to harm Agatha, knowing all too well how easily she could overpower her. But she didn’t want to fight anymore. She was tired. She was so tired. But Agatha’s eyes… those eyes made Rio pause. There was something different in them– something that felt off. It was as if Agatha didn’t see her at all, as if she were looking right through her. The anger radiated, fierce and unrelenting.
“First,” Agatha growled. “You cover this house with her, make it seem like she could be here, set up her fucking throne room–”
“Agatha–” Rio tried, pushing her off of her with ease, but the witch was stubborn nonetheless.
The dagger grazed her shoulder, but it mattered not. Rio sent her magic out, the dagger disappearing from her grasps, but hands were wrapped around her throat, stopping her from speaking.
“Then you dare send a shadow of her in here–”
“Agatha–” she clawed at her hands. “It’s me–”
Her wife loomed over her as they struggled on the floor, “She is Lady Death! You really expect me to believe she died? She can’t be here. She can’t die!”
Her grip tightened around Rio’s neck, not that it was doing much. Rio didn’t need to breathe, but the sound of Agatha’s broken voice made it hard to breathe.
Rio held her wife’s wrist like she did when they kissed, feeling a pulse there, “My love, it’s me. You have–”
Agatha laughed, her grip tightening. The laugh was loud, cruel, boisterous, and so utterly broken, “My wife is Death, the one who takes souls here. You are nothing more than a shadow of her, a reminder of what I lost. You are not her. You can’t be her. She’s not dead!”
Tears dripped down from her cheeks onto Rio’s. She wasn’t going to listen, the place not only brought out her pain, but Agatha’s regrets and what she wanted between them, but somehow Rio came to realize, this place wasn’t a personal hell. It was everything they wanted. Agatha just had to wait for her, and this Agatha wasn’t a shadow as she claimed Rio to be…for Rio could see her soul.
“Haven’t you done enough, you little imps?” Agatha raged down against her. “Telling me she’s fucking coming and that we are meant to fucking rule–”
“What the fuck are you talking about– mi amor, it’s me!” she snarled back, getting tired of this.
Rio pried Agatha’s hands off of her, but something changed within her. Her wife was stronger, her hands slamming Rio’s head down onto the hardwood with a loud crack. She growled as her hands were back around her neck, holding her in place as her patience waned.
“STOP! You’re not her, you’re not her–”
“It’s me! Please, my love!” Rio tried, but the sentence only angered her.
Agatha lifted Rio’s head up, before slamming it back down into the wood with a hard thunk. Before Rio could stop her, she did it again, her skull cracking each time before mending itself. Rio seethed, unsure what to do. She knew every part of Agatha, all the secrets, all of her desires, her pain– everything that made Agatha Harkness, Agatha Harkness— but none of that would be enough and Rio knew that.
Taking a breath, Rio found those blues, “WILLOW!”
Agatha froze, her anger ceasing as Rio laid back, gathering her bearings again. Rio met wide eyes, her mouth open in shock, “What did you just say?”
“Willow,” Rio repeated the word and the memory consumed them both.
***
The Cottage: 1697
Rio smiled to herself, her body filling with warmth as she kissed the plush thigh slowly, tenderly. She smirked, her tongue licking up the skin before placing her mark there, making the woman below her wince. Fingers came down, tangling in her hair and pulling her away harshly as she laughed.
“Behave,” the witch murmured through her haze.
Lady Death couldn’t stifle the chuckle as she kissed her hip bone, her head lying there as her own body relaxed between her legs. Her eyes softened, following the soft glow from candles around the witch’s, highlighting her cheek bones and the freshly carved jawline. Her human had her eyes closed, her naked body coated in a sheen of sweat with unruly locks draped across their pillows. Rio’s eyes followed up her body past the fit stomach, to the swell of her breasts covered in dark blue marks from Rio’s own lips and teeth. Her chest rose and fell, Rio watching with interest at the breath she did not possess. She reached up and cupped a breast. From underneath her palm, she felt the soft and rhythmic beating. She palmed at the pert nipple, not able to help herself.
Blues snapped open, staring down at her, “Rio, my love, what are you doing?”
Rio smirked, “Just admiring the view. Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are? Even in post-orgam glow.”
A red entered Agatha’s cheeks as she closed her eyes, shaking her head at her, “Do you have a way to extinguish that flame inside you? Or does it only rekindle?”
Rio hummed her laughter, knowing her love was referring to the few times her skeleton form came out and it was her way of resetting. Rio could make love for days, if not months on end, but no one was up to her speed, not even her purple witch.
“Mmm, let me think,” Rio feigned a pondering gaze. “No, that’s why you have a safe word and I don’t.”
A smirk pulled at Agatha lips as her fingers ran through her hair, gentle now, “And if you were like me–”
“What? A screamer?” Rio teased, earning a soft flick of fingers to her forehead.
Agatha huffed, “That was one time–”
“That was a couple times, don’t lie,” Rio sat up now.
Her eyes darkened, “I am loud, sure, but you like it.”
Rio hummed, “Yes, I do, but being loud and screaming are different, mi amor.”
Agatha rolled her eyes as Rio kissed her way up her body, her tongue rolling over a hard nipple. She kept her sucks soft, knowing her witch was still coming down.
“I’m saying, if you had human stamina and your skin actually could get overstimulated and sore– hey, no teeth, love– what would be your safe word?”
Rio pulled her witch’s breast out with a plop of her lips, staring curiously at her. She thought for a moment as Agatha leaned forward, her own lips ghosting along Rio’s jaw, “Probably, ‘willow.’”
“Willow?” she questioned as Rio grunted, Agatha pining her on her back now.
Rio stared down at her witch, watching her tongue move down her own body, “Well, willow tree can be associated with flexibility, yielding— something close to giving up power. So, I would be asking you to give up power over me.”
Agatha huffed, kissing her hip, “Always with the language of flowers, my love.”
“Only for you,” Rio replied, melting into the sheets as Agatha moved her lips lower.
***
The Afterlife
“Rio?” the sob tore from Agatha’s throat.
“Sí, mi corazón, soy yo,” Rio breathed as her wife pulled her up, crying hard into the side of her neck.
Her wife’s sobs wracked her body, everything heaving into Rio as her arms were a death-grip. Rio’s own tears dampened Agatha’s hair as she took in the sweet herb scent of her wife. She pulled her impossibly closer as all the tension left Rio, a tidal wave of relief washing over as her heart pounded for the woman in her arms. She didn’t know what the feeling was as she cried with her, kissing her neck softly as Agatha’s muffled sobs echoed in the silence of the place.
“Shh, my love, I’m here. It’s me,” Rio whispered to her over and over like a chant, in her own way grounding herself into the moment.
She finally had her, after centuries of chasing after her, it only took a little death for them to be together again. Rio pressed her kisses to her wife’s warm skin, each a reminder they were both there, on the floor, together in the Afterlife. Neither of them knew how long they were sitting there, clinging together like two shipwreck survivors from the storm they had faced. Agatha had gradually clung tighter, her nails digging into Rio as if to hold her from fading away.
Only when Agatha calmed down, Rio pulled her away, finding her face red with tears, her eyes taking Rio in. With gentle thumbs, Rio wiped the tears away while Agatha cupped her face with all the tenderness in the world.
“I can’t fucking believe you safe worded,” Agatha whispered, causing both of them to laugh.
Rio tried hiding her smile, “Yeah, well you weren’t listening. How did you not feel our tether?”
Agatha held her closer, “I did, my love, but I just couldn’t believe it to be real. Rio, you’re dead? Or, you’re still Death? Am I dead–”
“Breathe, mi amor, but yes, we are both very dead,” she laughed.
Agatha relaxed further into her hands, “Is it cruel that I am so happy you are dead?”
Rio laughed at that, “No, mi amor. Now, please, it’s been too long. I want a proper kiss.”
Agatha leaned forward, their lips meeting in a soft, intense plea. The wave swallowed Rio again, but this time she was cradled in warmth. It wrapped around her, relaxing every part of her as their magic intertwined, casting a low glow of purple and green around them. The plants in the room bloomed, showcasing the strength of their love as Rio pulled her closer, partially scared she might disappear. She didn’t, and Rio couldn’t keep her soft lips off of hers. Her wife smiled against her lips, hands threading through her wife’s dark hair as she leaned further, as if the closeness could somehow undo the centuries they spent loving each other from afar and hating each other up close. The glow of their magic pulsed with each kiss, soft and rhythmic like a heartbeat, filling the room with an ethereal hum.
When they finally pulled back, just enough to look at each other, Agatha’s cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes shimmering.
“You’re still as insatiable as ever,” she teased, though her voice was thick with emotion.
Rio smirked, her fingers tracing the curve of Agatha’s jaw.
“And you’re still as impossible to resist as ever, mi vida,” she replied, her tone soft but laced with the weight of everything unsaid.
Agatha laughed lightly, the sound blending with the rustle of the now-blooming plants, before it turned to something solemn, “Rio, my love, I am so sorry, for everything. I don’t even know–”
Rio cut her off with a harsh kiss, “I know, I know, my love–”
“But after everything I have said–”
“Agatha,” Death’s voice came out to silence her. “We have hurt each other so much, both of us, not just one of us. We have said our pieces to each other so many times over the centuries. I am tired of talking, my love. Please, please, let us just be together.”
Agatha searched her eyes, “Rio, I need you to know I understand everything, though. I understand the sacred cycle now and I am so happy you could be there for Nicky when it was his time—”
“Agatha,” Death repeated. “I know, I felt it when you kissed me, I feel it in our tether, and I feel it with you now. Please, my love, I forgive you. I love you, and I just want to be here with you.”
Her wife smiled, placing a soft kiss to her lips again and her voice grew soft, “I forgive you. I love you, and I want that more than anything.”
The witch pulled away, wiping her tears before standing up, guiding Rio up with her. They fell again into each other’s arms, not able to stand the sense of being apart after all they have been through. The pair clung to each other, their embrace a quiet declaration of love and forgiveness. Agatha’s hand settled on Rio’s waist, her fingers brushing against familiar curves she had missed for so long as Rio buried her face into Agatha’s neck. She inhaled the scent again of herbs, of her comfort, and of her soul mate.
“I never thought I would see you again,” Agatha whispered, her voice muffled by Rio’s shoulder. “How are you here? How did you die?”
Rio moved her head, placing a kiss against her wife’s temple, “I choose to die after three days of your death. I just couldn’t do it and I kept allowing the balance to slip. I was by your grave when that teenager appeared. I used him in Purgatory, showed him my memories as my prize, until a new Death formed and I became human. I took Death’s hand and walked through the veil, but I didn’t think I would actually find you, my love.”
Agatha froze, her breath hitching as Rio’s words sank in.
She pulled back just enough to see her wife’s face, her blue eyes wide and searching, “You… you gave it all up? For me?”
Rio’s lips quirked into a soft, bittersweet smile, “Of course I did. You think I could exist without you, mi corazón?”
Her hand came up to cup Agatha’s cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear.
“The sacred cycle, the balance– it means nothing if you’re not in it with me.”
Agatha shook her head slowly, disbelief and love warring in her expression. “But to abandon everything, to give up being Death itself—”
Rio chuckled, frowning slightly, “Oh my love, I am still very much Death. I don’t know what it means here–”
It was Agatha’s turn to interrupt, “I think I do, but can we talk about that later? I just want to be here with you.”
Rio pressed her lips to her forehead, “Yes, my love. We have eternity now.”
The glow of their magic pulsed around them once more, the plants blooming even brighter, their colors rich and vibrant as lips met again. This time it was deeper, desperate almost as Rio pulled her closer by her hips. Agatha moaned silently into her mouth, their tongues meeting in an old familiar dance. Agatha tasted like honey and everything sweet, but most importantly, she still tasted like power. She smirked as she bit lightly on her wife’s bottom lip, pulling slightly.
“I see you’re still a tease,” her wife murmured before continuing the kiss.
She chuckled, falling deeper into the consuming kiss as her wife cupped her cheek, a heat scorching inside Rio. Her wife pulled away after a moment, their foreheads back to resting against each other’s as she breathed heavily, her lips swollen. She felt the tether hum, a need and love building stronger between them. Before Rio could lean forward again, she heard the soft padding of feet.
“Mama?” a soft voice sounded behind Agatha. “Who is here?”