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Chapter Text

Purple was the colour of Agatha’s magic, it was the colour of most of her dresses and her favourite colour overall. But most importantly, purple was how her son named her magic. “Use your purple” he would beg whenever he wanted entertainment. The pretty lights always made his eyes shine and so she was delighted to put on a show for him.  He was the only one who did not see her purple as something bad, and those were the only moments in which she used her magic in a non aggressive way.

After Nicky’s passing, her purple was the one thing that kept her grounded and tied together through the centuries. 

Her purple always kept her safe.

And when Wanda so ruthlessly absorbed her magic and kept her locked inside her head, she also took her purple away.

She didn’t wear anything of her colour for all those three years. Agnes was always depressed but she never knew why. She would smile while internally feeling like she was about to cry. She’d keep on being the good and noisy neighbour, sometimes shy, sometimes angry, but definitely always lonely. People in town followed along the scripts in her head, believing it to be a traumatic response to Wanda’s spell. Some of them had vague memories of Agatha waking them up first, and so felt they owed it to her to at least try and take care of her lost self. However whenever they tried to bring it up with the brunette, she’d laugh it off and asume they were the crazy ones. 

To say Agnes was perpetually confused was an understatement. The woman lived in a forever glossy bubble where the only constant was pain on the back of her head and the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. 

There was a room inside her house, one she never dared to go in. She didn’t know why, since Wanda’s curse did not intend for her to have relatives of any kind besides Ralph. No; Wanda’s curse kept her happy and compliant through the day, locked as a cheerful caricature of her former self.

However that was not enough to keep the nightmares away. What Agnes couldn’t remember awake, her mind reminded her at night. While the people under Wanda’s hex had suffered the Scarlet Witch’s pain, her curse for the brunette was different.

She’d be herself in her dreams, but she looked different, with strange clothes through time. And she felt different too, stronger yet constantly afraid, yearning for something. 

All the dreams were different. The only thing that was a constant was the black haired woman who always wore green and the feeling of missing her little boy.

She’d remember her pain each night, sometimes watching as a witness of her own suffering, sometimes reliving it, only to wake up without remembering anything but the ache on her chest.

On a late tuesday, she fell asleep watching a movie, something very common for noisy yet lonely neighbour Agnes.

As she woke up in her dream her mind was clear for the first time in ages. And it scared her for it felt as if it was happening for the first time. Everything felt stronger, real. 

She felt awake. 

And then the pain came.

Never in a million years had she thought she would have a boy as precious as Nicky. How could someone as wicked and twisted as herself produce such a bundle of life? Of course she had not. He was never meant to be. He was good and she was bad and she was sure his demise had been the universe punishing her. Punishing for ever believing she could create something good. 

And since good was not in her plans, she’d be bad. The worst of them all. Each death paying the toll of Nicky’s life.

Maybe a part of her hoped if she killed enough, Rio would bring him back. A new balance would be set and her little boy would be returned to her arms.

Of course that never happened.

Eventually she kept going on a whim, growing thirstier, more desperate, hoping to catch a flicker of Rio’s face as she took her new bodies. Death. How foolish she had been to fall for a cosmic being. Rio had warned her a million times and yet Agatha did not listen, she never did. 

Agatha was a natural law breaker, Rio was the natural order of things. They should have never been together and yet…

Love.

Love strong enough to create a life that should have never been. To make good from evil.

Nicky.

By the time the titanic happened, Agatha had lost herself. 

She did not mean to destroy the entire ship, mind you, she wasn’t an idiot as to want to freeze in the cold sea. All she wanted was to take a little magic, do her scam,  get a glimpse of the lover she had grow to hate.

By the time she realised the ship was sinking, four sunken corpses laid by her feet in a third class suite. Four powerful yet desperate and greedy witches who had thought would live to see the new world. And they might have. Had Agatha not been on the ship. They had all bought first class tickets, while she snuck in on third class, for she found it easier to go unannounced like that. She had been planning on stealing their suite after ending them anyways.

But fate had a funny way of backhanding those who messed with it.

She felt the cold before she saw it, people screaming, pushing, throwing others under in hopes of getting to a boat. She had no time to gather her belongings, rather running among the flock, using her purple to push men, women and children aside. Freezing water reached her ankles and for the first time in centuries she was afraid. 

She could fight many opponents, magic and non magical ones, but what could she do against the freezing water and no ground in miles on end? Even through flying, she’d freeze or starve before she found land. No. She had to get on the boats.

The top floor was so crowded one could barely walk, time was of essence as she looked around for a safe boat.

“No!” She screamed as the one she was aiming for got dropped on the ocean. “Fuck!”

Frantically, she looked around, the closest boat was on the other side of the deck. And it was almost full. 

But that had never stopped her before. 

Her purple opened the way for her, cutting through women and children until a cry of “witch!” Reached her ears. 

A woman, no older than 20, was holding a little boy close to her. He couldn’t have been more than six. They were both wearing third class clothes, clearly having been mended more than once, yet still decent enough to pull a soft look. Something Agatha and Nicky might have worn centuries ago. A stark contrast to her now elegant, form fitting dress and hat, tailored to the last killing fashion.

“Take him!” The woman begged, grabbing her hand. “I won’t make it, but you might, please save him!”

She could not explain what possessed her in that moment, but against her better judgement, Agatha did. Maybe it was the certainty that they’d both die, or maybe the way the boy’s brown eyes reminded her of her own son.

“Mamma!” The boy screamed as she picked him up in her arms and rushed towards the boat. “Mamma! No! My mother needs me!”

“Your mother needs you to live.” She told him as they reached the boat and she used her purple to make the men inside it jump off. The boy looked terrified as she sat him between her and an old lady and held his hand.

“It’s okay, you are okay” she whispered both to him and herself.

“That’s a good boy you have there.” The old lady said gently.

“Oh no, he’s not mine.” Agatha muttered through chittering teeth.

“He’s not? Then what are you going to do with him?”

“I’m…” Agatha looked at the kid, he was around Nicky’s age, he had no one… would it be insane to think she could take care of him? This whole thing was insane.

The kid didn’t say anything, trembling as he was freezing in his cheap clothes.

“I’m looking after him.” She settled on saying, at least until I can drop him at an orphanage, she thought.

The boy coughed and against her better judgement she hugged him close, sharing her jacket with him and using her purple for warming up until he stopped coughing. The old lady smiled at them and said something she couldn’t really hear as the boat got lowered into the sea.

They were going to be okay. 

And then the wave came. There was nothing they could have done as the unforgiving waters twisted the little boat and dragged their ocupants into the icy water.

Agatha screamed as water filled her lungs and she struggled to swim back to the surface. A hand pulled her up, guiding her towards a floating wood.

“The boy!” She screamed and panted. “Where’s the boy?”

“Sweetheart…” Rio’s voice cut through the sharp ocean and froze Agatha’s already cold heart.

“No… not you… not now…” She despised how broken her voice sounded. “You were supposed to come before… the witches…”

“Agatha.” Rio said calmly, still helping Agatha float. Once the brunette witch was on the floating wood, Rio hugged her close, giving her body warmth. Ironic, considering she was Death.

“She entrusted me, she gave me her son.” 

“I know”

“Have you seen him?”

“You know why I’m here, Agatha”

“No”

“It is the natural oder of things.”

“No. You saved me, save him.”

“I cannot.”

“Rio…”

“It is not your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s yours”

“I’ll keep you company, until another boat comes by.”

“Why? Why him?”

“At least now, he can be with his mother.”

“I hate you.”

But she melted into Rio’s embrace nonetheless.

The next morning a boat appeared, rescuing her as the sole surviver from that tiny ship, and Rio, true to her word stayed until they did.

Agnes woke up with a gasp, her entire body hurt from the awkward position she had fainted in, specially her left knee. She felt cold, as if she’d never be warm again. Her head hurt terribly and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was forgetting something important; yet the more she tried to grab it, the more it slipped from her.

Shivering, she sat up and turned the tv off, the Titanic’s credits running in the background soon to fade along with her memory.

Wanda’s curse didn’t originally include Nicky’s room, but as she went upstairs she headed directly to the closed door, and opened it to reveal what she now saw as a boy’s room. She paused on the doorframe, fighting the new tears in her eyes, welcoming the pain that had been denied to her for so long. At last, she entered and curled on her son’s bed for unsettled sleep. 

Chapter Text

Agnes O’Connor led a dull life. She kept a happy face for all her neighbors of course, asking them about their day and being way too nosy; but it was all fake. Whenever she was alone at home she couldn’t help the intrusive thoughts that entered her mind and gave her the worst migraines.

For a year, she had suffered in silence, and she hid it well too, but that morning when she woke up in her dead son’s bed with the doorbell ringing nonstop, she could not hide the pain and exhaustion in her eyes.

“Agnes dear, I’m just passing by to…” Mrs Hart voice cut abruptly as she took in Agnes’s haggard look.

It was not uncommon to see her wearing the same outfit for three days in a row, or sometimes even a week when she locked herself in. But she always had a smile in her eyes whenever she opened the door, playing the perfect, happy, little neighbor in front of everyone else.

“…leave your groceries. Are you okay?”

Agnes wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking exhausted for a second before the usual smile went back into her lips.

“Why hello Mrs Hart, of course I am! Lovely day isn’t it. I was thinking of coming by and having some tea.”

Mrs Hart grimaced a little and sighed deeply. “It’s Sharon, honey, I know you have trouble remembering it but please try?”

“Of course, Mrs Hart.”

Mrs Hart sighed deeply and Agnes blinked, trying to focus on what she was saying instead of the new pain blooming in her head.

“Well, I’d love to have you for tea, sweetie.” Sharon said kindly. To her and everyone in the town Agnes had lost her mind while confronting Wanda. For them the nightmare was over, but they knew it was not the case for her. In fact, they believed they owed her their freedom, and so they took care in her time of need. Or did so as much as she let them.  “I’ll have those cookies you like so much.”

Agnes grinned, the nosy neighbor persona on full display. “I’ll be there. And I’ll bring the cake you all love so much.”

“Oh no, hon, you don’t have to.” Sharon said quickly, for even if before Agnes had managed to cook edible meals, now her desserts looked more like dangerous, failed scientific experiments. It was a wonder she hadn’t given herself food poisoning, but she guessed that was thanks to them bringing her food all the time. 

To Sharon’s eyes, whatever Wanda had done to Agnes, had absolutely messed up her mind.

Agnes winked and flipped her hair, which was still long and wavy, but had lost the neatness and shine that used to characterize each hairdo.  Sharon made up her mind to buy Agnes a nice shampoo, something to revitalize at least that part of her.

“If you say so.” Agnes was still smiling, too wide, too bright, and not reaching her eyes.

Sharon held a sigh and smiled back, kindly reaching to squeeze Agnes hands before leaving. Once she had had perfectly manicured fingers, always short and in beautiful colours. Now her nails were still short, but bare and uneven.

Agnes took the groceries and entered back into her home. She never questioned why everyone gave her groceries, or the way they would just be on her doorstep if no one had the time to wait for her to open the door.

The Agnes personality that Wanda had left behind was a social butterfly; she loved neighbor dinner and lawn parties. She always wanted to be included, to help and know everyone’s business. It was a sitcom character and one that did not have a true spot nor purpose in real life. Whenever she tried to be friendly, the neighbors got scared, they remembered Wanda and so looked at her with fear in their eyes and Agnes simply did not understand.

It had become an unspoken agreement that Sharon was the one who had to most social activities with Agnes, for everyone else had too much at stake. What if Wanda decided to come back for her discarded little project?

The second Agnes was alone, she felt the world crashing over her. She dropped the groceries on the floor, barely managing to drag herself to the couch before crashing over.

“Nicky.” Her son’s name left her mouth before she was even aware of doing so. It hurt so much, as if she had lost him yesterday. But that was wrong, he had been dead for years and she had mourned and moved on... Hadn’t she?

Then why did it hurt so much?

She laid on the sofa for hours, until her stomach growled furiously and she forced herself to get up from the squished cushions. She padded barefoot towards the discarded grocery bag and carried it with both arms, numbly going towards the kitchen.

The spell made sure she never died of hunger of thirst, but it held no control over her overall health. Agatha had gone days without a proper meal, barely getting scraps and tiny bites here and there, not due to lack of food, but due to her distorted perception of reality. In her mind she was having her usual delicious meals, with dessert included, while truly she was barely having some bread with butter, or granola bars.

When neighbors had noticed she couldn’t prep meals they started leaving her containers with meals, or energy bars that were foolproof to eat.

Agnes pulled out the first container, it was still warm, and she smiled thinking it meant Mrs Hart had just cooked it. The contents were simple enough, some boneless chicken, mashed potatoes and veggies for nutrition.

She ate alone in her dining table. The spell often pushed her to setting the table for two, as if waiting for someone who never came. Whether it was Wanda or Ralph, she could never tell. Her mind got too fuzzy if she tried to think deeper into it and so she simply followed along, like a doll guided by invisible strings.

After lunch she washed everything like the perfect little housewife the spell made her be and left the plates to dry. The spell was merciful this time and allowed her enough self-perception as to take a proper bath, relaxing her sore and tense muscles.

She was so tired she closed her eyes for just a second… and that’s when the memories hit again.

Agatha woke up in her dream with a sharp gasp. She could hear a river nearby, the soft stream seemed to be singing to her. The wind was cold but not too freezing, and some birds sang nearby. It was the most beautiful sound she had heard in a long time. Before she could get up and explore this new place she felt a small body stirring next to her, the source of warmth.

“Mama?”

Her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

“Hi baby.” She heard herself say. “Slept well?”

“I’m a bit cold. Can we stay at the inn tonight?” His voice was soft, yet clear as the day and bright as the sun. He was her whole world.

“I’ll think about it, alright? But maybe you should wear my shawls tonight…”

“And what will you wear?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m not cold.” Agatha kissed the top of Nicky’s head and stretched out. All her muscles were sore from sleeping on the cold ground and giving Nicky her cloak to lay on, but she didn’t mind. Keeping her little boy safe was all that mattered.

“Come on, you have the ballad to sing today. It is the next step of our con.”

Today was the day they would sing the ballad of the witches road at the pub. Everyone already adored Nicky and they were bound to get some coins from his performance. He was adorable, after all, and captivated people in a way Agatha didn’t think herself capable of.

The day went on, and Agatha worried over how pale Nicky looked. They needed to kill witches soon, to keep Rio at bay.

A pang pierced her heart at the memory of her love, her wife, from whom they now had to run.

“Come along, boy, win them over with your voice, I’ll make sure they give you coins and with some luck we will get a room at the inn and some witches as dessert.”

Nicky smiled at the idea of the warm room, but frowned a little at the mention of witches. “Alright, mama.” He agreed nonetheless.

They got to the pub together, but Agatha prompted him to go in first, while she attracted people in and made a small show to present him. She noticed possible witches in the audience and winked at Nicky, signaling he could start with his show.

The moment her son began singing, Agatha felt the proudest she had ever been. He may not be a powerful wizard yet, but he had no doubt surpassed her in showmanship. He had everyone entranced, delighted, dancing and clapping along his words, and she clapped the loudest of them all.

“Everyone give a coin to this boy!” She proclaimed loudly, her heart blooming as she neared her kid and smiled, silently saying well done.

She was lost in her happiness and pride when suddenly Nicky was rejecting the clear offer from the coven of witches and the words “My mother needs me home” left his lips.

He ran away and she run behind him, fear replacing pride as she dreaded to think the moment they had been running from had finally arrived.

Agnes woke up with a violent gasp, she had slipped under the water and nearly drowned. She coughed and panted heavily, both in physical and mental pain.

“Crap.” She cursed, the kind of soft curse nosy neighbor Agnes would say, instead of the sailor mouth Agatha would have had.

She got up from the tub and slipped a robe without looking as she went into her room. The one she had stolen from Ralph in the first hex.

Her brain was all fuzzy and weird, it hurt too much to think and so for once she allowed herself to be swallowed by the fantasy.

She opened the closet; in reality her own stash of clothes was quickly being diminished after a year of living under Wanda’s hex. Most of her outfits had been magically produced and so she only had a handful left of her own personal things. In her mind, she still had her usual, stylish wardrobe. And she wanted to dress nice for her tea time with Mrs Hart.

She studied her options, a cocktail black dress with a little bow around the waist and a purple blouse with a flowy black skirt. Something about the purple caught her eyes and warmed her heart even if she didn’t understand why, and so she chose the second one. She did her hair and makeup as best as she could, the spell seemed to decide a makeup routine was Agnes like behavior and let her work through most of it. In her mind she put on red lipstick, but in reality it was some soft gloss.

Agnes stepped out of her room and saw Nicky’s door ajar. She walked to it, seeing the award for singing, and felt both a pang of pride and pain in her chest.

“You were the best.” She whispered as she closed the door. “And I miss you everyday.”

She wanted to say more, to remember, to curl up in bed and cry, but the spell didn’t let her. Instead, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes set on her lips as she grabbed her purse and headed to Mrs Heart house.

Sharon opened the door with a smile, yet her face immediately fell when she took in Agnes’s look. She was wearing a purple sweater and a black skirt that didn’t quite match, nor were they enough for the cold weather. Her makeup was nice, but it was too tame, unlike how she used to be. And what broke her heart a little bit was when she looked at her feet and saw she was only wearing socks.

“Oh sweetie, what happened to your shoes?” She asked kindly as she let her in.

“Oh, these heels can be so uncomfortable at times, but they’re pretty aren’t they?” Agnes replied, deep inside the spell.

Sharon was slow at hiding her grimace and Agnes noticed.

“Don’t you like them?” Her voice sounded unsure for a moment, as if she shouldn’t have asked that, but she quickly recovered and smiled again. “What have you prepared? I’m famished!”

“There’s cookies and tea, hon, do you want to sit down?”

“I want to talk about what’s been going on in this street! Have you seen the look Sarah has been having these past few days? It does not do good to her complexion…” And Agnes went on a full random tirade of things she thought she had seen, while Sharon poured tea, nodded and played along.

It went well until Agnes suddenly fell quiet and asked. “Do you think she’ll be back?” Her voice quiet and airy.

“Who, sweetie?” Sharon asked despite knowing the answer.

“Wanda.” Agnes sounded lost for a moment, as if very, very, far away. She didn’t notice the way Sharon shuddered and looked ready to be sick.

“I certainly hope not. Let’s change topics. What about Sarah’s hair…” But Agnes didn’t seem to register her words.

“She said she’d be back. She promised.” Agnes frowned. “Why would she lie?”

“Agnes…”

“She’s my friend.”

“Agnes…”

“Even if she’s married to that silly man.”

“Agnes.”

“And the twins, I miss the twins. Billy usually…”

“Agnes!” Sharon cried out, deeply triggered by all the hex mentions.

“I’m sorry.” Agnes frowned and tilted her head. “Did I say something wrong? I just want my Toots back.”

They stayed in silence for a moment, both staring at each other and seeing something different.

“Let me lend you some winter clothes.” Sharon broke the silence first. Standing up with a heavy sigh. “Any colour preference?”

Agnes stared at her for a long time, not saying anything, as if another conversation was playing inside her head.

“Purple.” She said after a while. “I… like purple, I think.”

She looked away, lost in thought, trying to connect with memories that were not there.

“I should head home, My head hurts and Ralph might be back today.” The fake smile was back on her lips.

“Oh, sweetie he’s been gone for a year now.” Sharon could not keep the pity from her voice.

“Maybe tonight.” Agnes replied, way too cheerfully for having understood her.

Sharon sighed and gave up for the night. “Alright sweetie, go home and get some rest, I’ll bring over the winter clothes tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hart.” Agnes said gratefully and didn’t understand why the other woman shuddered in fear.

“Remember to wear some shoes.” Sharon tried to tell her as a goodbye, but Agnes was already out into the street, heading to her lonely house.