Work Text:
… I would rather not go
Back to the old house
There's too many bad memories
Too many memories
Back to the Old House - The Smiths
___
Death does not consider herself to be a nostalgic entity. Still, she finds herself on a yearly basis making her pilgrimage back to the inconspicuous little cottage in the woods. Nature should have reclaimed it centuries ago; however, a protection charm allowed it to remain.
249 times she traveled back to this place where they once lived together. In the beginning, it was in the hope of getting a glimpse of him. Then, in hopes of hearing the little songs he sang as he played in the tree line.
Her wife was no fool; she had become acutely aware of her presence and soon after became an expert in avoiding her at any cost. Occasionally, Death would see a flash of purple in the distance while doing her job ferrying souls to the other side. It is true, Death always pursued her. Partially due to the extracurricular activities Agatha participated in, partially due to the ache Death felt resonating in the deep recesses of her soul.
The silly little ceremony they'd performed at the peak of their love kept both acutely aware of each other. Death could still feel the slick of their blood joining at the palms, feel the vines wrapped tightly around their clasped hands, the bitter taste of wine on their tongue - yes they were bonded in a way that could not be unbroken. At a level even Death could not touch. As powerful as she was, Death could not untangle those strings that held them together. She felt the tugs of the strings of fate pulling her to her wife at every turn. Agatha, on many occasions, has made it quite clear she did not want to see her. "Stay away from my son," Agatha's voice wavered, holding the pair of curious brown eyes behind her skirts. "Please. Please!" Her begging was seared into her soul.
Her corporeal form always led her to feel such confusing emotions. This statement sent an unexpected shock of pain through her heart.
Her son.
Only her's?
Death had seen the boy's face. Often, she would come to see him in the veil of darkness. He had Agatha's expressive smile, her musical talents, and even had the same cute little divot in his chin. But his face was a perfect visage of what Death saw when she looked into the reflection of the river of life.
She saw a reflection of herself. He was the truest creation of green craft. He is so beautiful.
Was. Was…
When his time came after her sixth visit to the cottage, Death was meticulous. She wanted his trip to be peaceful. It was the perfect evening with her one and only son. Tightly clasped hands held them together until they reached their final destination. It was a trip she wished could have lasted a long, long time. But all things end. It was the nature of green magic. A part of the cycle needed to end. And it was his time.
But goddess, that did not make it hurt any less.
At dawn, halfway across the continent, she felt it. Wails of grief resonated in her ears. A sound she had never heard before and never wanted to hear again from her wife. Never before had she felt these feelings before. For the first time in her entire existence, Death wholly understood grief.
Yet, even after all of this heartbreak and centuries of trying to move on, the strings of fate always tugged on her heartstrings, bringing her back to the cottage. It was no longer in the hope of seeing what had been lost to the scars of time. Now, it was to honor the memory of that innocent soul. Never meant for this world. And so Death continued her tradition - every year on the anniversary of his birth, she returned. She had to. On that same day, Death would feel the same painful tugs in her heartstrings like clockwork. The cries of a grieving mother resonated in the depths of their entwined souls.
Though the physical ending of a life was not something Death herself was supposed to feel pain toward, she found herself with this persistent hurt. And the only way to dull that ache was to continue her ritual, regardless of how illogical it may seem.
On some other days, they would still see each other while they did their work. Agatha draining the power from other witches, Death collecting the bodies. Agatha caved from time to time, usually after experiencing the magical high of draining the powers of a few dozen witches. They would occasionally get in a physical fight, occasionally fuck, but they then always ended with resentment. Death could not deny, though, her black heart still beat for Agatha.
Nearing the 250th visit, something had changed, however. Those tugs no longer resonated in Death's soul. The occasional crossing of paths she had with Agatha had ceased. The number of witches falling at The Witch Killer's hands dropped to zero.
Agatha was gone. Not dead; she would most definitely have known if Agatha was dead. Just gone. Maybe Agatha had traveled to another realm or another timeline in the complex web of the multiverse.
It's fine. Agatha would come back. She always came back. As it is for every mortal, all roads lead to Death.
It was now well into the year 2000. The foolish humans have finally come to terms that the world would not be ending. Thank goodness - she could not take another barrage of questions about technology destroying the world. This planet is so primitive.
It was once again time for Death to take her yearly trip to their cabin in the woods. Once she arrived, however, something was wrong. Plants were crushed. Trees split; a part of one of those trees had crashed through the roof of the previously perfectly preserved cabin. Nature was weeping from a grievous attack.
It was then no surprise to see a person in the cabin. She sensed no presence from this being. Just an intense, pulsating aura. Death was no fool. Who else would be here? The figure kneeled down, scrunched up in the corner. Wild ringlets of hair splayed over a structured leather coat, clothes clearly not fit for the long hike it would have taken to get here. As the figure rose, Death's fears were confirmed. A distinct darkness filled the steel blue eyes she had fallen in love with. "How dare you!" Agatha's words reverberated, amplified by dark magic.
Goddess, even enveloped in such feral darkness, she is so beautiful.
Her typical purple was now infested with tendrils of black, this new power allowed her to levitate above Death, looking down upon her. Those familiar eyes shone a distinct flash of dark magic. Truly, she was overflowing with it. Death smirked, "If this is you trying to intimate me my love, it isn't working."
Suddenly, Death was pushed back with force by just a flick of Agatha's hands. Her back met the cabin wall, causing her to let out a sharp gasp of air. Blackened fingers pressed tightly against Death's windpipe. The tendrils of darkness seemed to bore through her neck straight into her soul like little pinpricks.
Huh. She had forgotten this is what pain felt like.
Death's human form was purely cosmetic, though rough, there was never anything Agatha could do to cause damage. In essence, the action was nothing but a display of physical prowess. And damn if that prowess was not fucking intoxicating. If Agatha wasn't so... whatever was going on with her, she might have taken her right here and now. Death raised her hand to lightly grip around Agatha's wrist, first to loosen her grip but then to ground herself in Agatha's fast, pounding heartbeat. "As much as I miss our little flirtations-"
"Shut up!" Agatha's voice was dripping with hatred. She flicked her wrists, causing Death's arms to affix to the wall. "I don't want to hear your voice, I don't want to see you, I want you out of my house! Never! Especially not on THIS day!"
Death chuckled, almost calm, "Your house?"
Agatha's grip on her throat became tighter. "Yes, my house! The house where I grew my son," she spat, venom dripping from every word.
Death tried to speak but the restriction on her windpipe made it difficult to make a sound. Fine, she wanted to play dirty, they could play dirty. Death teleported herself feet behind where Agatha was floating. The sudden lack of a body sent Agatha off balance. Her whole body rammed into the wall with a loud thud.
At impact, the dark magic subsided. Agatha crumpled under her own weight back to the floor, legs buckling like a deerling learning to walk. Death watched as she attempted to claw at the walls to find purchase. "How do you think this place stayed exactly as it was 250 years ago, Agatha?"
Agatha flicked her wild hair over her shoulder allowing her to look Death directly in the eye. Only now had Death noticed the deep dark circles around her eyes. It was evident that she hadn't been sleeping. Did she want to play this game? The way her eyes were staring confirmed it. She was bold to challenge Death while unable to even stand. "I really don't care. I just want to know why you insist on continuing to torture me!"
Death scoffed, finger reaching up to pluck a leaf from the tree limb that had fallen through the roof. "The reason I am here is my business. You weren't even a thought in my mind," she lied, tracing the veins of the leaf with her pinky finger. "I come here every year. To remember what was."
Agatha aggressively lunged forward from her spot on the floor. It only took a moment for that darkness to flair, fueling her with newfound energy, and spurring Agatha to tackle Death to the floor. "After what YOU did. After YOU took him," she spat, looking down at her wife. "It's not something that I have the privilege to forget. To only remember once a year. And now you are here to rub salt in the wound!"
Death found Agatha's hand once again. The overwhelming essence of dark ancient magic tingled against her skin. "What have you done to yourself?"
Agatha aggressively ripped her hand away, instead pushing Death onto the floor with the back of her arm. “I have taken in a great power. A power so great, I could even elude you!"
Death stared up into her eyes and bore deep into the recesses of her soul. She still saw the scared girl on the cusp of womanhood standing over her first corpses. "Agatha, this isn't going to change what happened."
Agatha scoffed. "Will it?"
Death slowly wiggles out of Agatha's grip. A hand came to grasp a few stray curls, running her fingers through her unkempt hair. The strings that held their souls together may be hidden from Death's senses, but she still knew Agatha, all of the intricacies and complexities about her. "You can't reverse death. No amount of magic can change that."
Agatha pulled away from Death's touch and moved so that she could whisper in her ear. So close Death could feel her hot breath. "I think you are lying," she hissed, almost singing the taunt. Unexpectedly, the hot breath became another sensation, Agatha's wet tongue traced a line from the top of her ear down to where her pulse was pounding. "I know you are lying. Your body gives it away."
Agatha tended to have a good read on people, but she was far off the mark. Dead was dead. Period. Besides, there is another reason her black heart pounded.
Agatha’s warm tongue left her neck, causing a deep shiver to run through Death. A pang of arousal shot to the pit of her stomach. Even her smell had been changed by the darkness. Something distinctly earthy and dark pricked her nose; Goddess, it was intoxicating. "There is a sacred bal-"
Teeth sunk into the soft skin of her neck completely stopping her train of thought. A moan ripped through her unintentionally. Without conscious thought, fingers laced back into Agatha's wild mane of hair to pull her closer. Agatha only dug her teeth in harder in response. The delicious pain. She hadn't felt this way in centuries.
Those blackened fingers were nimble, quickly moving down over Death's bare midriff. The darkness was intoxicating, pulsing through her skin under Agatha's touch. Death's back made contact with the branch that had fallen through the roof pulling her out of her daze.
Death gripped Agatha's hands tightly, stopping them on their journey upwards. Agatha groaned in response, desperately trying to wiggle her way out of her grip. Green magic pulsed from Death's fingers. Fresh sprouts formed quickly from the fallen tree, growing around Agatha's arms and pulling her back.
Unfortunately for Death, she was too far gone. This was not what she had planned, but now she wanted her. No, needed her. Needed to feel that darkness around her. Within her. Needed to be enveloped by that scent. Without another thought, Death crashed their lips together.
Agatha surprisingly leaned into the kiss, desperately trying to get closer to Death. Her restraints kept her from moving any closer but didn't stop her teeth from scraping against Death's bottom lip. After all of this time, Agatha still had great power over Death. There is a reason that she was known as a succubus.
Her adept tongue swiped at Death's bottom lip. Death was more than happy to oblige, deepening the kiss. It quickly devolved into something increasingly sloppy, so desperate and needy. She was tainted with darkness through and through; even her taste had the distinct tinge of something she couldn't define.
Hatred. It was hatred.
Long fingers delicately moved under Agatha's jacket, pushing it off her shoulders. Death needed to feel all of her. She carefully massaged down her arms, soothing goosebumps as she went. Though the vines were holding Agatha's hands down, Death was able to push the sleeves down and out of the way to meet her hands.
Darkness began to prick at her skin once more as Death entwined their fingers. She could not stop the obscene moan that fell into their joined mouths.
"You like them?" Agatha asked, squeezing her hand just a little too tight. The darkness from those fingertips spread like mycelium. It dug into the essence of her being. Bore deep into her soul.
"Spirits above, yessssss."
A sadistic smile spread across her lips. "They are just for you."
Just as she finished, a powerful blast of magic emanated from Agatha's hands, breaking apart the vines that restrained her, tearing apart the jacket, and burning both of Death's hands.
The fiery pain throbbed deeply as Death jolted away. It wasn't often she felt pain so intensely. "Admit it, it’s intoxicating." They made direct eye contact, Death noting her pupils were blown out. Clearly, she wasn't the only one turned on by their fight.
Death could not form a coherent sentence. Between the pain bubbling under her skin and the crazed dark aura crawling towards her, she truly did not know what to think. Fingers walked slowly down her pants, grasping onto Death's bare feet. Agatha tugged her legs toward her, the same pain searing through both of the soles of Death's feet in the process.
Death cried out. "Agatha!" Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes. One dripped out and fell slowly down her cheek.
The pain stopped as quickly as it had begun. Those dangerous fingers tapping their way up to somewhere far more sensitive. "I hate you." Legs adorned in dark denim mounted strongly around her thigh. Instinctively, Death tensed her muscle, drawing a deep groan from Agatha.
Ringlets of hair tickled her face as Agatha took what she wanted. Those wicked fingers easily found her pebbled nipples through her sports bra. Pinching through the fabric, she felt a rush of arousal shoot through her body. Teeth drug across her collar bone, eventually ending to sick deep angry splotches into her pulse point. It has been so long since they had fucked and even longer since they did it this rough. How had she waited so long? Alone in this dilapidated cottage, she felt no need to stay quiet. Deep long moans accompanied every nip, every squeeze of her breasts.
Her human form really did have many perks. Masquerading as a human is one thing, feeling like a human is another. And by the goddess, embodying a human led her to experience the most wonderful physical sensations. Pain mixed with pleasure. It made her make such obscene sounds. It was euphoric.
Agatha was being edged on by these sounds, moving her hips more aggressively against her. She continued sucking and biting until she tasted blood. Death cursed that she had chosen such loose clothes. The excess of fabric in her pants made the friction between Death's thigh and her core sloppy. It was evident that Agatha agreed, purple and black magic enveloped Death. The cloudy magic seeped into the layers of her clothes. The fabric began to fall away, leaving Death completely bare before her.
The magic did nothing to slow Agatha's movements. She was still taking what she needed so intensely. Her core against Death's bare leg brings back such vivid memories. So needy.
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..." Almost like an incantation, Agatha chanted.
Agatha moved down to take a darkened nipple into her mouth. The sharp bite of her teeth digging into the sensitive skin was almost too much to bear. Goddess, she needs more. Death's hands mounted firmly at her pelvis, slipping under the decorative chains of the jeans that barely covered her to grip her ass firmly and assist her movements. She needed to feel that heartbeat of hers, digging her thumbs into the revealed skin of her hips tightly until she was able to feel that heartbeat. Originally, she had thought the low-rise trend was stupid, but now she was eternally grateful. All that bare skin to hold on to. She would not let her go, not now that Agatha was beginning to moan with her. No more holding back.
The increased intensity was all Agatha really needed, moving her hips now frantically against her. "I... fuck... I-I... huuuuuuu... hate... Ahhhhh Rio!"
Rio... Now that took her back. When was the last time someone had called her-
The wail that fell from Agatha’s lips stopped her train of thought. She kept her grip strong, however, working Agatha through her climax. Agatha’s movements began to slow and get lazy, but Rio had other plans. She gripped her hips even tighter, never slowing. Her groans once again began to increase in intensity. Fingernails broke through Agatha’s skin, blood slowly flowing onto her fingertips. This only egged Agatha along; the mixture of pain and pleasure had always been an integral part of their encounters. Hips began to meet again, and Agatha pushed to meet Rio’s every move. “So fucking beautiful,” Rio moaned into her ears
They continued at this frantic pace, crashing toward another more intense orgasm flooded through Agatha. “OH! Yes- YES!” She called. A new more feral moan, shockingly feminine, rolled through her as she rode the wave of pleasure. Wetness seeped through the fabric of her jeans. That oh-so-familiar feeling of her slick on her bare thighs. Just like the good ol’ days.
Clearly, Rio was not done with her yet, continuing the frantic pace. She was oh so close, this friction not being quite enough for her. Quickly, though, it became too much and Agatha ripped herself away from her strong grip.
The loss of contact left Rio whimpering. "Pathetic..." Agatha snarled between breaths. "After all these centuries, you are still so needy, so helpless under me.”
“You started it,” Rio sighed. She moved her own hand down between her legs, putting the pressure back onto her clit where she needed it most. She began a sloppy rhythm, rubbing imperfect circles. Agatha finally had a chance to look at her body, eyes quickly transfixed on her core. "I'm fine on my own," Rio mumbled unconvincingly.
Before he had time to finish her thought, Agatha slid behind her. She ran those enchanting fingers down Rio’s arm to meet her hands. Rio breathed in deeply, hoping for those fingers to go where they were needed most. Instead, Agatha grasped her hands and began pulling her arms behind her back. She created a powerful binding, holding Rio’s hands behind her back. “So desperate,” she tisked into Rio’s ear.
The darkness radiating from her fingers felt almost alive, snaking from behind her. Rio couldn’t help but melt into the touch. So what if she was desperate? Who wouldn't be? Eyes flicked to the mirror they had hung by the door all those years ago and she could see them clear as day. She was there, leaning back between Agatha’s thighs, small streams of blood still dripping down her hip where Rio had gripped earlier. Agatha’s hair had become frizzy from her ride, some pieces laying over Rio’s body. Other than those tendrils, she was completely bare, angry bruises clear as day on her neck, skin red from greedy hands around her breasts and décolletage, and lower found her arousal glistening where her legs flipped open. The darkness of Agatha’s fingertips stood out against her tanned skin, splayed on her lower stomach.
Rio flicked her eyes to Agatha’s reflection. She was smug, pulling Rio even closer to her body. Her hands continued the descent, dancing around where she knew it was needed. “Please…” she whispered.
Her hands dove down past where Rio needed them most to caress her thigh muscles, squeezing tenderly. “I didn't catch that. Say it again.”
Rio groaned, leaning her whole weight back into Agatha. She felt that pulsing of darkness on her fingertips on her legs. Dancing to her inner thigh. With her back against Agatha's chest, she couldn't help but notice that her heartbeat matched with the pulsing of darkness from her fingers. A rush of arousal flooded from her with the simple thought of that feeling within her.
“I need you please.”
Rio watched their reflection as Agatha took her left pointer finger and slowly dragged it to her core, only to be disappointed as it brushed against her core. Rio’s head fell back in frustration. This woman was infuriating.
“Is this not good enough for you?” Agatha teased, whispering directly into her ear. A grown fell from Rio's mouth. Fuck, even the heat from her breath was affecting her now. Rio had never known that a breath on the neck could turn a person in like this. “I could watch you squirm all day.”
Another featherlight swipe to her clit had Rio finally forming the words Agatha needed to hear. “Inside!” she whined.
Agatha predictably took her time. Rio was able to open her eyes to catch in the mirror as one single darkened digit slowly disappeared inside of her core.
It was almost too much, the feeling of dark magic in such a pure form deep inside. It was too much and yet not enough at the same time - she needed more. Agatha began a slow rhythm, pumping that single finger in and out. “Such a bad girl, so wet for me,” she continued to whisper into her ear.
She saw the pink of Agatha’s tongue slowly reach out and lick that sensitive spot behind her ear. Such a tease. Rio can only whimper in response. “More…”
Surprisingly, Agatha obliged, quickly adding a second finger. Soon after, a third finger. That delicious stretch, it had been such a long time since she had felt that fire so deep inside. With that darkness radiating from her fingers, the sensations were almost too much to stand. Rio’s hands were still bound behind her. She flexed her fingers, tearing at the magical restraints. She needed something to hold onto something, but it was no use.
Frustrated, Rio pulled her eyes away from her own reflection to look up to Agatha. She was almost feral, a sadistic sneer on her face. It was clear she was enjoying watching her writhe under her power. Agatha’s eyes flicked up to meet Rio’s in the mirror. When their eyes met again, Agatha gave her a smirk.
Then, she changed the angle of her fingers.
Oh! These fingertips were magical in more ways than one.
Rio could not help her eyes snapping right back to where they were joined. They were slamming in and out of her, curling up to hit her G-Spot so perfectly. Agatha’s darkened fingers glistened brightly as they pumped in and out, Rio’s slick coating them and catching in the sunlight. Watching that dark gradient appear and dive back into her core with such force it was so overwhelming.
In her defense, it had been so long, but she knew what was coming. They had danced this dance before so many times. In this same place, she thought to their younger, more innocent touches. Filled with such love and devotion to each other. Now, those emotions were nowhere to be seen. Agatha’s relentless movements filled with hate and vitriol curling where she knew RIo was most sensitive.
The darkness from her fingers was spreading up through the core of her body, mixing with Rio’s arousal, that fire within began to change. It became something different. Rio’s moans jumped up an octave. And Agatha knew what that meant. With no warning, she brought her thumb to Rio’s clit.
With that, it was over.
Rio could barely keep her eyes open as she watched in the mirror. Arousal sprayed from her with such force. Agatha did not let up her assault on her core until Rio tensed around her fingers with such a vice grip. “FUUUUUCK!” The curse fell from her lips as her orgasm took her with such intensity that she thought she may have lost consciousness for a moment.
She was almost delirious; her human form now satiated sexually begged her for a moment of rest. “That was quite the show you put on there, you can stop acting now,” Agatha mumbled, slowly removing her fingers from Rio’s core. Those darkened fingers glistened with her arousal. Agatha looked at them with almost disgust. She wiped her fingers onto Rio’s bare skin before quickly getting up.
As Agatha walked away, the charm holding her hands together was released. It didn't matter though. Rio's body was still craving rest, sat still on the floor in the place they had been. “Never acting with those magical fingers.”
Agatha looked down on her from above with a scowl. “I am sure you say that to every woman you have a love child with.”
Rio shook her head, fighting to stay awake. “Only you my love.”
Agatha scoffed, kneeling down next to Rio’s still-weak body. Both hands gripped the side of her face, once again causing that darkness to seep into her skin. Did she crave this feeling of darkness? Or was it just her lust for the woman she loves? “Then why would you throw him away so easily?”
In the beginning, she had done her job without feeling, going through the motions and keeping order in the universe. At this moment, though, she was back on that bridge in her one and only night with her only son. His cold hands clasped in hers. And for the first time in hundreds of years, she let genuine grief bubble to the surface. “He… I miss him every single day. So much it hurts.”
Purple flashed in Agatha’s eyes. “You could have let him live. But you didn’t. You prioritized your job over your own child.” Agatha raised on hand to Rio’s forehead. A few stray hairs had fallen in front of her eyes, Agatha gently swiping them away. “After all this time, I still can hardly look at you. You look too much like him.”
A familiar pain from earlier rippled through her body as Agatha’s hand pressed hard into Rio’s forehead. A magical force pushed her back with enough force to fly into the wall across the room. The impact caused the mirror she was staring so intensely into only moments ago to fall and shatter. Shards slid across the floor, shining in the sunlight that still poured through the broken roof.
Looking down into one of those shards, Rio noticed the faint outline of a rune. It was burned into the skin of her forehead. She raised a hand to feel the outline of the run, noticing now a similar rune on her hand. Then her other hand. And both of her feet. “What is this?”
Agatha was slipping her arms back into her leather jacket. Only briefly did she acknowledge RIo’s presence again while running her fingers through her hair. “A protection charm of sorts. Only reversed.” In her reflection, Rio quickly identified the runes, each clearly upside down. And applied with such precision. “It’s a punishment, your greedy hands seem to need me so much, I have taken that away. You will never be able to touch me again. I can’t be needing you in this way, not anymore.”
Agatha opened the door, leaving a naked Rio still on the floor. “Agatha!” She called out. But Agatha was gone.
Desperate, she tried to scramble after her. Forces beyond her pushed her back unable to move. Dropping her human form, Death tried again, but to no avail. These runes were not just on her physical form but affected her in some way deeper. What darkness was this? Instinctively, she shifted back into her human form, but Agatha’s words echoed in her mind, “You look too much like him.”
Agatha was right.
As quickly as she had become human, she returned to her true form again.
Death conjured a new outfit for herself, black hood draping to obscure her eyes from view and hide her true form. She saw her reflection again in the shards of mirror on the floor, the ivory of her skeleton catching the light. Was this really how they would end?
At sundown, the small cabin had been preserved once again. The roof was repaired, fallen trees rerooted, and a small fresh garden of small purple hyacinth flowers by the window.
Twenty-five more anniversaries of his death passed, and she failed to return to this cabin of theirs. On this anniversary, she was in a monastery, a massacre of young magical minds slaughtered. So much talent. It's such a waste. Large-scale events like this took time to clean up, but Death could not help but notice the oh-so-familiar feeling of her return. It was cloudy and dull, something was off, but unmistakable.
It was easy to track her down, with no guard up to protect her magical signature. Death had thought it strange at first; Agatha was known to magically mask her presence from others. Guard her mind. No, something was clearly wrong. Agatha was standing out in front of an unfamiliar house with a digital camera snapping pictures of her overgrown flower garden. Agatha raised her hands to stop Death from approaching. “Stop! Step away from the crime scene!”
Peering through her mind, Agatha’s mind was a mess, tangled webs of storyline obscuring the true memories buried beneath.
A police procedural?
Fine. She would play along.
Carefully, she raised her hand for Agatha to shake. “Detective O’Connor?”
Agatha looked at her hand, inspecting it inquisitively before joining their hands in a firm handshake. “Well if it isn't Agent Rio Vidal. It’s been a long time.”
Half expecting to be thrown back a few hundred feet, she was pleasantly surprised when the handshake ended. It was true, the Darkhold had been destroyed. Not before it was used to corrupt her mind. It was almost like no time had passed at all; a new pang of arousal spread through her body just at her smirk.
Agatha’s unguarded mind was like a treasure trove. It turns out she was in this concocted story.
She felt almost guilty as Agatha, still as Agnes, crashed their lips together. Her fingertips weaving through Rio’s now shorter hair. Even without that twinge of darkness on her fingertips, their hunger for each other had not changed. It was so hard then to pull away and leave. Not like this, not while Agatha was not herself.
That is how Rio found herself back at the cabin. Once again ignoring her duties for the woman she loved. She would help her break out of this prison of her mind.
And maybe one day she will be able to feel like home with her here again.
Back to the old house that they once shared.