Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Rio sees her, it’s through the trees as Rio walks on the outskirts of the village. People are leaving the small Puritan church, all praising the service and the reverend, all except one. 

The strange girl trails at the back of the crowd, her boots peeking out from under her skirt, scuffing and kicking the ground. Long dark hair cloaks her and conceals her face as she watches her foot bully a rock stuck in the dirt underneath, that is, until an older woman comes to her side and grabs her arm harshly. Rio stalks along the tree line, watching the interaction as hushed words are exchanged between the two of them, unnoticed by the rest of the congregation, although the minister watches on silently. But, as quickly as they start, they finish, and the older woman storms off, leaving the girl by herself. 

That's when Rio really sees her.

And despite Rio being partially shielded behind a tree trunk, the girl’s eyes immediately land on her as she looks up. Under her scrutiny, Rio hides completely, pressing her back against the harsh bark of the tree, attempting to catch the breath she hadn’t realised she lost. She hadn't meant to be lurking, only trying to grasp whether this village was one she could blend into, but now she had been caught, there was little chance of doing that, knowing she would need to explain herself to the beautiful girl. 

The key was not to let anyone take much notice of her. 

She peeks back around the trunk to see the girl, no more than 25 years of age, with thick, wild hair that seems untamable, if the rumpled coif in her hand is anything to go by, still looking in her direction. Even in the heavy woollen dress, which did its best to maintain her modesty, Rio could see the curves and the sway of her hips as she walked with a purpose towards her.

It has been 20 years since she left her homeland, since she last spoke Spanish, but her brain returns to her mother tongue to find the right words to describe her. 

The sound of the girl’s steps grows louder as dirt turns to fallen leaves, but Rio stands fixed to the spot, frozen like a rabbit before the wolf lunges at it with its sharp teeth. When the girl is close enough for Rio to see the sharp, bright blue eyes she possesses, the older woman calls her and breaks the spell.

“Agatha.” The name is hissed across the open, clipped and tense. 

The girl, Agatha, quickly stops in her tracks, a fear creeping over her face before she turns around and returns to the crowd, throwing a look over her shoulder in Rio’s direction once more.

That's when Rio runs. Takes the opportunity to flee back into the forest and search for another settlement for her to stay in for another 5 years before the locals discover she doesn’t age. 

—

It's cold. 

Too cold. 

When she could lie upon her cloak and stare up at the stars, it had been fine; she had even considered holding off on finding another place to stay for a while. But now summer creeps into fall slowly. It's unnoticeable during the day, the sun is still high and beating down, until Rio finds herself covered in a thin sheen of sweat. At night, however, the air has a bite to it; it nips at her exposed skin, and soon it will get to the point where wrapping her cloak around her will do little to help.

She needs to find another place to stay. 

It's nights like this that make her miss Seville, where the warmth soaked into the ground and hugged you even as the nights drew closer. 

Rio thought she had been lucky when she came across Salem Village; there had been enough people for her to go unnoticed, some small cottages on the outskirts that she could commandeer and live in until suspicions grew. There were rumblings of witch hunts, and tensions were rising as fighting continued between the colonies. However, this tension lingered across all of Massachusetts, if not all the northern states. And with winter approaching, Rio was not lucky enough to have the time to find a ‘safe’ state. If that even existed.

While there wasn’t much for her to worry about, she did not possess the powers that were seen as unholy; She had fallen victim to such powers. Rio didn’t doubt that anything the village folk saw as untoward would be classified as witchcraft.

Not that she had to worry about this for a little while now that the girl had seen her. 

She imagined that lurking at the perimeter of a church would only raise suspicions.  

The cold gets too much, and for the first time this year, she lights a fire. The warmth is pleasant, and after eating the handful of berries, Rio finds herself drifting off into a light sleep with the plan to continue south and find another village soon.

A twig cracking startles her from her dreams, dreams of the witch she had encountered at the turn of the century. The fire has burned down to embers, and combined with the light from the moon filtering through the trees, it casts a slight illumination on her surroundings. It's not enough for her to see the cause of the noise, that is, until movement catches her eye and her ears prickle at the rustling of leaves. 

Her hand automatically lands on the dagger she keeps by her side as she whips around in the direction of the noise, a figure appearing between the trees. Rio strains her eyes, the figure becoming clearer.

“It's you,” Rio says, her hand letting go of the dagger, even if she isn't sure whether that was a good idea or not, as she looks at the same girl from that morning. No longer dressed in thick church-appropriate garments but in a more casual dress and bodice.

“It’s not very nice to learn that someone has been watching you from the trees, is it?” Agatha, if Rio remembers correctly, asks with a smirk, tilting her head to the side like a curious dog.

“I wasn’t just watching you.” She attempts to clarify.

“That’s a shame, I would have liked it if you were,” Agatha responds boldly, stepping into the small clearing to squat down in front of the dying fire and start to feed it with leaves and branches until it rekindles and begins to provide warmth for the two of them. “Who was your subject then? If not me.”

Agatha’s face up close and under the soft light from the fire is enchanting; her skin is kissed from the summer sun, a light splattering of freckles decorates her nose and cheeks, and Rio suspects once winter comes, they will fade for the season. Her eyes, still a bright, sparkling blue, look softer, even if there is a touch of disappointment in them,

“I was just trying to observe whether your village would be a good fit for me.” She picks up a twig and pokes the fire with it until it catches, and the flames swallow it. “I just so happened to be distracted by you.” 

She adds the final words nervously, hoping she hadn’t overstepped, but when she watches a smile spreading across the younger girl’s face, Rio feels emboldened for a moment and dares to meet her eyes. 

“Well, let’s see. Do you believe in God?”

Rio laughs dryly, shocked at the blunt question that seemingly comes out of nowhere. “No.” 

She had not believed in God since she first crossed paths with the witch, despite her parents having raised her as a devout Catholic, as was everyone else in the village. She had attended mass, she prayed in the evening, the bible she had received for her eighteenth birthday and the rosary from her grandmother had a constant place by the side of her bed, had even imagined devoting herself to God and living in a convent to avoid marrying a man. But once she found herself frozen in time, Rio realised that it was a godless world.

“Well, this village is not for you,” Agatha laughs, but it does not hold much humour behind it. “My father is the reverend. He takes religion very seriously. You would not be good for the village if you are not willing to change that.”

“Ah.”  

“But,” she adds with a smile, “You might be good for me if you are not willing to change that.”

Rio feels a blush spread on her cheeks at the words.

“My name is Agatha,” she unnecessarily introduces herself.

“I know.” Rio makes the mistake of saying and internally cringes when she realises, but rather than pull her up on this, Agatha just eyes her curiously for a moment.

“That was when you were meant to tell me your name.” 

“Rio.”

“And tell me, Rio, how old are you?”

“Um, 28.” She somehow manages to lie and tell the truth at the same time. She appeared to be 28 and had been doing so for the past 65 years. If she had been smart enough, she would have knocked a few years off her age, given her time to grow, and maybe allowed another year or two before she moved on. She decides to remember to do so next time. 

“You should come see my father tomorrow.” Agatha says with finality, standing up and dusting off her overskirt, “Old Lady Baker died last week, her house is empty, he shall gift it to you.”

“O-okay.”

“You should say thank you, Agatha, for not making me spend another night in the trees. But I will accept ‘okay’ for the moment.” The girl walks away, stopping after a few steps, before she disappears completely into the trees as if she suddenly remembers something, “If I am not there, insist on speaking to Reverend John, do not speak to Evanora.” 

It’s lonely once Agatha leaves, and Rio finds herself unable to return to sleep for hours after their encounter. 

—

Rio counts herself fortunate that she does not encounter Evanora the following day, but she also counts herself unfortunate that she does not see Agatha either.

Old Lady Baker’s cottage, now Rio Vidal’s cottage, is very modest. There's a large hearth and chimney at its centre, a single bed at the opposite side, a table and a singular chair, as well as a rocking chair. She had only been in the house a few hours, the reverend had been eager for her to move in once she had told him the lie that she had been left homeless after the death of her husband, but it was enough for her to clean the house and review the garden. She had even picked a few shrivelled-up vegetables, which were too far past saving, for dinner.

It is in no way lavish, the house or her meal, but as Rio kneels in front of the fire, stirring the makeshift dinner, she is grateful it is not a handful of berries and a cold forest floor. 

A knock on the door pulls her from her job, and after removing the pot from the heat, and another, harsher knock, Rio answers to reveal Agatha standing on the other side, a self-satisfied smile on her face and a basket in her hand. Her hair is more contained this evening, two braids at the side keep it from her face and off her shoulders. It’s when Rio notices this that she also notices how Agatha has also forgone a collar or shawl; her exposed skin presents a purple locket with three white figures, in an unlikely way for a Puritan reverend's daughter. 

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Agatha interrupts her thoughts.

“I-I-um, yes, come in, please, come in.” Rio stumbles and answers nervously, stepping to the side as the brazen girl strolls in like she owns the place. 

“I brought you a loaf to accompany the-” She peers into the pot and pulls a face, “Stew?”

“There wasn’t much else,” Rio sighs, heat spreading across her cheeks as Agatha takes the spoon and prods at the measly mixture of potatoes, carrots and cabbage.

“It will do, I suppose.” Agatha looks around the room, her brow furrowing as she looks at the table. “You only have one chair.”

“I do.” Rio realises the girl was inviting herself for dinner, and feels an extra level of shame as she realises she had to serve the disaster in the pot. Agatha, however, either doesn't notice or doesn’t care, and takes off the cloak around her shoulders, laying it on the floor in front of the fire. She continues to potter around the house, as if she were the one living here, grabbing two dishes that were stacked on one of the shelves, along with some cutlery and sitting down on top of her cloak, dragging the basket to her side. 

“We shall eat like I did as a child in the summer, then,” Agatha smiles up at Rio and pats the cloak-covered floor next to her, “Come, sit.”

Rio does, her skirt puffing out as she crosses her legs next to Agatha. It was far from comfy, and she tried not to look longingly at the chair a few feet away as Agatha spoons out the stew between the two of them and tears the loaf into chunks from the basket, offering it to Rio. 

“Did you make the bread?” She enquires as she takes a chunk and bites into the fluffy insides, moaning at the taste. It had been weeks since she had eaten bread or anything baked.

“I did,” Agatha responds proudly, before taking a large mouthful of bread herself, tearing it with her teeth and mumbling, “Do not expect it often.”

“You did this for me?”

She had expected to see Agatha again, had assumed they would cross paths at some point, and hoped to become friends. She did not anticipate anything further, for surely the reverend's daughter would not possess the same perversion as herself. But Agatha had made her bread, kneaded it with her own hands and watched as it grew and browned on the fire. This knowledge sets something warm and fuzzy growing in the back of her mind, that Agatha had done something so caring, purely for her. 

“It is a welcome gift. Mother makes me do it for any newcomer to the village.” Agatha takes a mouthful of food, and Rio ignores the pang in her chest when she finds out she is not special, until Agatha adds a sheepish, “I don’t normally share it with them, however.”

The pang in her chest doubles, a strange clenching that she doesn’t recognise.

“So I am lucky only to receive half of my welcome present?” She teases, a deflection from the feeling brewing inside, and the smile that appears on the girl’s face at the joke doesn’t help the feeling. 

“I am taking it as a thank-you in return for helping you to get this house.”

“You are eager,” Rio raises a brow, “I was planning on making something much nicer as a thank you meal.”

“You were?” 

“Yes, I would have caught a rabbit or-” 

Agatha gasps, cutting Rio’s words off, and a solemn expression crosses her face.

“No! They are far too cute!” Agatha turns to look at Rio, eyes boring into hers, “Promise me you will never capture or eat another rabbit.”

Rio thinks of the trap currently set up in her garden, which she must quickly dismantle, lest Agatha find out, before answering, “I promise.”

“Good.” She nods and returns to her food. Agatha is silent for a moment, mulling something over, and Rio nearly asks her what is on her mind as she watches Agatha picking at the vegetables in her dish before sighing, “Rio, this is awful. You must cook something better for me next time.” 

Rio puts her bowl on the floor and groans, running her hands over her face. “I was not expecting company! I am a much better cook.”

Agatha shoots her a look out of the corner of her eye, “Hmmm, we will see.”

The girl stays for another hour or two, leaving just before the sun drops completely below the horizon. They talk of their favourite pastimes and habits as they share a handful of berries Agatha had picked from her garden, and Rio watches as the dark juice stains the girl’s lips. She tells Agatha about her favourite book and the orange cake her mother baked for her as a child. In return, Agatha tells her of the rabbit burrow at the bottom of the garden and how the kits have grown to trust her over the season.

They exchange farewells, and Rio watches as Agatha’s figure disappears into the distance, leaving her alone in the house once again. Her muscles are stiff from sitting on the floor for so long, and after stacking their used dishes to one side to deal with in the morning, she climbs between the woollen covers of her bed. It had been weeks since she last experienced the comfort of a bed, spending her nights on the forest floor instead. Her body thanks her for the straw mattress, even if it was not as soft as the woollen one she slept on in her previous village. 

For the first time since she fled her previous home in the dark of night, she thinks about it. Rio allows herself to miss the dried flowers that she had tied up with twine and hung as decoration, as well as the trinkets and other collectables that littered the surfaces, and her books. But she had heard the whispers from the villagers, whispers about how she looked the same age as when she first arrived, almost 5 winters previous. And despite her best efforts to age herself, she knew there was only so much time before the whispers turned to rumours and rumours to mass hysteria that she was playing with unnatural forces.

She had been lucky that she was able to wait until the nights grew warmer before she packed up the essentials and set off into the night, leaving behind her life. 

At some point, while remembering the honeysuckle that crept up the walls, she drifts into a deep sleep; a thick, dreamless sleep, perhaps for the first time in years. 

A knock on the door wakes her, startles her from her slumber, and she realises as the light spills in through the small window that she has slept in way past her usual waking hour. Another softer knock follows, and Rio panics. Looking at her dishevelled appearance, with her nightgown almost sheer, her tanned skin visible through the fabric, she grabs the blanket from her bed and wraps it around her shoulders, hoping it will be enough to maintain her modesty. 

She stumbles across the floor, reaching the door in a few steps and opening it a crack to peer through it. On the other side, for the second time in less than 24 hours, is Agatha. 

The girl’s hair is loose, kinked in places from what Rio assumes were braids, and she is dressed in a thick, dark dress, but again, the collar has been removed, leaving her neck open. She opens the door the rest of the way and watches as the girl’s face brightens slightly, and Rio watches her lip twitch as she tries to suppress a smile.

“It was far too upsetting here yesterday,” is all Agatha says in place of a greeting.

“I told you, I was not expecting company, nor was I prepared for it,” Rio repeats her words from the night before, almost ready to plead for forgiveness at the abysmal dinner she made Agatha suffer through.

“I can take these gifts back then.” Agatha bumps the basket on her arm with her hip, and Rio holds back from inviting her in immediately, unable to remember the last time she received a gift of any kind.

“Well, I didn’t say that…” Rio hugs the blanket around her closer, trying to play it cool, then remembers the mess of the cottage and feels shame again, a feeling she would much like not to experience whenever she sees the other girl. “I would invite you in, but I have nothing to offer, and I’m afraid you woke me up, so the place is quite unkept.”

“So much like yesterday, then,” Agatha smirks, stepping forward into the house without an invite, and Rio lets her, lets her barge into the house and her life again, “I brought nettles, if you bring me some water, I shall make tea while you dress yourself.” 

The final words are paired with Agatha’s gaze slowly drifting down Rio’s body, and despite the thick blanket around her shoulders, she feels naked and exposed. 

“What else do you have in that basket of yours?” She asks with a grin, but doesn't miss the gravel in her voice as she puts the question to the other girl.

“Get dressed and you will find out.” Agatha bosses, tossing her hair over her shoulder and settling in front of the fire, adding kindling before lighting it and looking expectantly at Rio, who hurriedly brings her over the remainder of the water she had collected the night before. It was most likely stale and would be better for washing the previous night’s sleep from her, but she was far too afraid to make Agatha wait a moment longer. 

Agatha busies herself with making the tea while Rio dresses quickly in the corner. If she feels Agatha’s eyes on her, watching her stretch to remove her nightwear and replace it with a simple outfit, there’s no one else there to confirm that happens. And Rio is not going to ask. But there’s a blush on Agatha’s face when Rio kneels next to her in front of the hearth, and she decides it's due to the warmth of the fire, ignoring the matching blush spread across her cheeks.

“Can I know now?” 

“You are too eager,” Agatha rolls her eyes, lightly berating her as she copies her words from the day before, “But yes, you may look.”

Rio dives in then, as eager as Agatha deems her to be and looks through the basket, feeling like a child again. The first thing she notices is another loaf.

“You baked me bread again?” She asks, a bright grin on her face, as Agatha nods proudly and Rio fights the urge to sink her teeth in, instead placing it to one side as she continues to rifle through to discover preserves, of sweet and savoury, eggs, which Agatha notes are from her chickens, as well as better selection of vegetables to the ones Rio picked the day before. 

“I would have made you something sweet, but I did not have time. You can smother the bread in jam if you are desperate.”

“This is too much, Agatha, thank you,” Rio says, reaching out to place a hand on her arm in an earnest gesture. In doing so, she touches her for the first time, not by accident or in a brushing. But a purposeful, solid touch. 

Agatha must notice this too, her eyes dropping to look at Rio’s hand, her mouth opening slightly, before it closes, and she clears her throat, breaking the spell. Rio withdraws, and Agatha pours out the brewed tea into two mugs. 

“There are flowers and other plants in there for you to make tea and add to your food as well. I can show you where I picked them.”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Rio smiles. 

“Or you can dry them. I hang them in my room to make it look prettier.” Rio’s eyebrows shoot up, a funny feeling in her chest at the similarity between the two, she decides to dry these flowers, to keep a reminder of the gift from Agatha. But the girl in front of her looks serious, a frown on her face as she raises the mug to her lips, muttering, “Even if my mother hates it.”

Rio takes a sip of her tea as well, the liquid too hot and scalding her tongue, she tries to stop the wince as the other girl looks unaffected by the temperature, and she wonders why she is trying to play it cool. 

“Was it your mother I saw with you the other day after church?” She asks tentatively. 

“It was, you should count yourself lucky not to have met her, but I am sure she will introduce herself to you at church tomorrow.” Agatha grimaces and then pauses, adding a hopeful, “You will be coming?” 

“I will be there,” Rio answers. She would not want to be there, however, she knew the rules, and by choosing this village, she needed to blend in. As a result, Rio would have to attend the services to avoid raising suspicions. She had made that mistake before.

“Good,” Agatha drains the rest of her drink and stands.”You missed today’s service, but I will explain to my father that you slept in and will be there tomorrow.” 

Rio feels a sorrow clamping in her chest as the girl moves towards the door after such a short visit, wishing she could stay longer. But she doesn't say anything, just watches as Agatha moves towards the door.

“Your basket?” 

“You can bring it tomorrow, it will ensure your attendance,” Agatha says with a smile, before it turns into something more wicked, “Do not sleep in again.” 

Agatha waves before letting the door close behind her, and Rio wonders how she is meant to proceed with the rest of the day, knowing the best part is already gone. She starts by drinking the rest of her tea; the idea that Agatha’s lips will taste like the warm liquid sits in the back of her mind. 

—

Waking early the next morning, Rio dons her most appropriate dress from what she brought with her and walks through the meadow at the back of her house. The birdsong accompanies her as the day’s warmth takes hold, even as the sun only just makes its appearance. She tries to kill time the best she can, something she is becoming more used to as the years go on.

She makes a stop at her house to collect Agatha’s basket before she heads towards the church for that morning’s service, wondering whether she should have found something to give her as a thank you. That thought plagues her as she walks to church, and when she finds Agatha is already sitting in the pews with her mother at her side, the worry only continues. She sits at the back of the church, her hand clutching the basket at her side as a lifeline as the service goes on in the cold of the stone walls, grateful for the warmth of her dress after spending so much of the morning out in the sun. 

The service drags on, and Rio lets her mind wander, thinking about the stack of books that had been left in the cottage and whether she could trade the ones she had already read with someone else in the village, and how she should go about that. She stores the thought in her head that she should ask Agatha. As if she senses her name is in Rio’s mind, the girl turns around. 

In a recurring trick, Agatha’s eyes find her immediately amongst the crowd, a smile crossing both their faces as they share their secret glance, which turns out to be not so secret as Agatha’s mother nips at her arms and pulls the chestnut-haired girl’s attention back to the sermon. And it stays there until the end. No matter how much Rio stares at the back of her head and wills to see her face again, Agatha’s attention stays firmly fixed at the front of the church. Maybe it was the slight respite she had found in Agatha’s face, and the distraction of the game on whether she would look again, but the rest of the service goes much quicker, and the reverend is saying the final prayer and dismissing them before she realises. 

Hanging around the outside of the church nervously, she shares polite smiles with other villagers as they look in her direction. The back of her mind tells her she should speak with them, make them feel comfortable about her sudden intrusion on their village, but her mind can only focus on the basket in her hands and the upcoming interaction with Agatha. Seconds turn into minutes, and the anxiety churns in her stomach doubles while she waits for the girl, the crowd thinning out, leaving only a few stragglers inside. 

She doesn’t see Agatha at first, just a flash of chestnut hair as she jumps in front of her, more lively than she has seen the girl so far. More lively than she would expect someone to be after hours of church and sermons. 

“You did not sleep in this morning!” Agatha teases with a grin, and Rio finds herself rolling her eyes affectionately at the joke. 

“I had a reason to wake on time today,” she shakes the basket in her head.

“Do not let my mother hear that,” Agatha whispers, hiding a laugh, “It is blasphemous that a basket is more important than God.”

“But it is Agatha Harkness’s basket!” She giggles, a childish wonder taking over for the time in years. Agatha joins in, leaning close conspiratorially, as if laughing this close to a church is an insult to God.

“It is not Agatha Harkness’s basket.” The voice booms through their laughter, drawing them apart and popping the bubble they had created.

She watches as Agatha’s face blanches, the joy that had been there moments before disappears, replaced by fear as Evanora steps into their conversation. The woman is similar to Agatha in height, but Evanora’s presence makes her tower over her daughter, who shrinks away into her shadow.

“She did not have any right to leave in your presence,” Evanora continues, ignoring the way she has soured any atmosphere. 

“I am sorry, mother,” Agatha mumbles, head down, and Rio can’t stand to see the girl like this, a shell of the person she has quickly grown to know over the past few days.

“It is no worry now,” Rio chimes in cheerfully, “It is now returned.” 

She extends her arm, holding the basket towards Evanora, who looks at it with disgust, eyes bulging out of her head, before she shoots a dirty look at Agatha.

“Take the basket, child.” Agatha swiftly obeys her mother, taking the basket from Rio’s grasp, bowing her head in politeness. This obedient child is so foreign to the one Rio has seen. “And I have told you about letting your hair down so quickly after service. I do not want to see that again.”

And as if she realises that Rio is there, Evanora turns her attention to her, much to her dismay, leaving her no longer the basket stealer, and instead her new victim. 

“You are the widow who moved into Old Lady Baker’s cottage,” she doesn’t phrase it like a question, and Rio doesn’t know whether to answer her or not, but now, under her icy gaze, she finds herself frozen. She has Agatha’s eyes, or rather, that Agatha has Evanora’s eyes. But despite the similarity of the bright blue, they lack the gleam of a challenge like the girl’s; instead, they are devoid of emotion, cold and harsh like the ice on a lake in the middle of winter. “My husband has always held such a soft spot for those in need…”

Rio dons a tight-lipped, hard smile as she waits for the kick in the teeth. Rio has encountered many women like this along the years she has wandered the earth; the horse has drawn her leg back, now she waits for the impact.

“You are still of childbearing age, are you not? And you do not have any children of your own?” She does not pause for an answer, “You are foregoing your god given duty as a woman by letting your womb become barren. Should you not find another husband to provide an heir? No one must know here that you are tainted goods.” 

The horse’s kick comes fast and hard, no matter how prepared she was, Rio is still in shock at the words. Her teeth grind together as she tries to force a smile, but she finds herself unable to meet either Evanora’s or Agatha’s eyes. Scrambling to think of words, an unexpected voice perks up. 

“Mother, Rio is still in mourning. It has not been a season since Edward’s untimely death.”

Rio watches as Evanora bristles, trying not to let it show, and Rio suspects that if Agatha dared to talk back in such a way in private, the reaction would be much different. Her teeth grit, a joyless smile spreading across her mouth, “And tell me, child, since you know so much, how long should one wait before they find themselves a new husband?” 

“I… I-”

“Yes, if you do not know, you should not interfere with others' conversations. Now be quiet, child.”

And it’s the way Evanora dismisses Agatha so easily, with a wave of her hand, like one would a fly in the summertime, that has Rio cursing the woman in her mind. She could take the words and wrath from the woman; she had been alive almost twice the time Evanora had anyway, her skin had grown thick over the years from encounters with similar women she had the misfortune of encountering. And even though the words did not get easier to hear over the years, whether they were spoken in Spanish or English, or even the slight amount of Dutch or French she had picked up, after a few moments to recollect herself, she was able to carry on and sink her teeth in much worse. 

Agatha, however, did not have this calloused skin; she had soft, fair skin. Skin that should not have to put up with Evanora Harkness’s harsh tones and words. But Rio could not do or say anything she wanted to, when all she wanted was to tell Agatha that she didn’t deserve this, or to tell Evanora she was wicked and she should rot in hell. No, there was too much at play; she was too new and could easily be ostracised from the village for a few badly placed words. Instead, she lets a story brew and settle on her tongue, hoping that it will draw enough guilt from Evanora, if that is an emotion she can feel, that the woman will back off. Or at least distract her from the daughter she seemed to disapprove of so much. 

“I believe I should wait a year, out of respect for my husband. He died fighting for the colonies,” the rage-fuelled lies slip out so easily, “And we did have a child, but a harsh winter took him. So I apologise for not bearing as many children as you deem God worthy.” 

Rio’s feet are moving before she even realises; she doesn’t even get a chance to hear the response from Evanora, or even see her face. But she doesn’t regret waiting for a response. She doesn’t care what that woman thinks about her; what she does regret is not dragging Agatha along with her. It would have been so easy to have grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along to safety. The girl deserved to be taken far away from the evil that resides within her mother.

She storms back to the cottage, but doesn’t stop there. The thought of being confined to the four walls sets her skin alight, so she returns to the same meadow she had spent that morning in, crashing into the grass until it engulfs her. 

The grass is dry after such a hot summer, and she tries to focus on the uncomfortable feeling, where the blades of grass sneak past the confines of her dress to prick and scratch at her skin. It’s nicer than feeling the guilt of leaving Agatha alone with that monster. Eventually, once the sun burns her corneas, she lets her eyes close, watching as the imprint of the sun dances over the black canvas of the back of her eyelids. It’s only once it fades to a soft splodge that she begins to feel calm and wonder how she could begin to make it up to the girl. Thinking whether she could steal her away from the village and find a new place with her, far away from the danger of her mother. But the harsh reality sets in, as the years go on, Rio will continue to stay in this form as Agatha ages. 

Where Rio’s hair will stay raven black, Agatha’s will slowly gain flecks of silver. Where Rio’s face will remain smooth, Agatha will gain lines from years of laughter and smiles. 

It was reasons like these that Rio did not grow close to others. Did not dare to get attached. But at some point, Rio had let her guard down. 

A cloud covers the sun, or so Rio assumes; all she knows is the heat of the midday sun no longer burns her face, and the dark behind her closed eyes gets darker. She lies there, waiting for the cloud to disappear, enjoying the slight reprieve, until she hears a quiet giggle. 

Her eyes open immediately, fear barely having a chance to take over before they focus on the image of Agatha standing over her, hair cloaking around them, shielding them from the sun. 

“I thought you dead,” Agatha says with a grin, “But your eyebrows give away when you are deep in thought.” 

Agatha pokes the space between Rio’s brows before pulling back and sitting down cross-legged next to her, hands playing with the grass. She cranes her neck to watch the girl, silently entwining her fingers with the longer blades, seemingly deep in thought. Agatha’s attention on the grass does not waver, so Rio sits up and mirrors her position, the ache in her neck from watching the girl for too long proving too much.

Her mind races; playing with a strand of grass does little to stop her from wondering what she should say and whether ignoring their previous encounter was best. She did not know the girl well enough to know if she would want to talk about it, and if she did, whether she would want to discuss it with Rio. She was still a stranger after all. 

“You should have seen her face when you left, it was quite a picture.” Agatha finally meets Rio’s eyes with a smirk, and Rio feels her inner anguish disperse as the girl decides to talk about with her. 

“I wish I had stayed to see it.” 

“It went something like this,” Agatha twists and contorts her face through several cartoonish emotions from shock to disbelief, and eventually landing on anger as she recreates Evanora’s expressions. Rio can’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all. 

“That is quite the array. I am very sorry not to have stayed.” 

“I’m sure you will see it in the future.”

“Excuse me, are you implying that I will cause more issues?!” Rio gasps and takes pleasure in the smile it brings to Agatha’s face, thinking that she would cause more issues in the future if it just meant that she could see the girl’s joy.

“I just mean, my mother is easily outraged!” Agatha attempts to clarify, but Rio digs her heels in, poking her tongue in the side of her cheek. 

“No, no, I understand. I shall tarnish the entire village with my behaviour!” She teases and watches Agatha blush. 

“I did not mean that, mother finds insult in most things at least twice a day!”

“Three times now that I am here.” Rio grins and stands up, holding a hand out for Agatha to take, “I have decided you can apologise by showing me where you collected the flowers.” 

Agatha takes her hand, soft fingers wrapping around her, and stands up. 

“I don’t believe I owe you an apology, as I never insulted you,” Agatha challenges playfully, “But I will show you if it keeps you quiet.” 

Their hands remain linked for a moment longer, a moment too long for just acquaintances or friends, a moment too long to do in public. They both realise this at the same time, dropping each other’s hands quickly as Agatha leads the way through the field.

Chapter Text

Rio wakes the next morning to a weird screaming sound. 

She jolts up at the noise; the sun is only just warming her cottage, so she knows it to be early. But as much as her body wishes to roll over and go back to sleep, still tired from the afternoon and evening spent walking through the woods with Agatha to collect flowers and plants that neither needed. They had spent hours walking through the trees, chatting occasionally, but what Rio found strange was how she could enjoy the girl’s company, even as they walked in silence side by side. 

But she can not ignore the sound as it starts again. So, she drags her weary body out from under her blanket and makes her way outside towards the source, her muscles sore and aching with each step. She recognises it as an animal of some sort, not a fox or some type of bird; it does not sound like a bear or a larger mammal, so rather than fear, she feels curiosity. 

The cry continues to grow louder as she searches the garden. There's dew on the leaves, a sure sign of the season changing that accompanies the slight bite in the air as she searches amongst the plants. Her feet grow damp and muddy as she reaches the bottom of her small garden, her heart dropping at what she finds. 

The rabbit trap. 

The rabbit trap she forgot to dismantle.

And that rabbit trap has now caught a rabbit. One not much older than a kit sits shaking in fear, its back leg stuck in the wire of the trap. 

She can’t help but pity the thing; its light brown fur, dappled with white specks and a white tail, looks not too dissimilar to any other rabbit she has encountered in the past. Now, with Agatha in mind, she finds herself kneeling on the dirt ground to scoop up the rabbit, wrapping it in the bottom of her shift. She struggles as it squirms in her arms, and she tries not to drop it before she can get it inside. Her teeth worry her bottom lip as she thinks about how she should tell Agatha of her betrayal, the fighting rabbit doing little to ease her stress. 

Inside the house, she kicks the door shut and scans for any other easy exits the rabbit could use to escape while injured.

Before she lets it free, however, she grabs her dagger and, with a lot of kicks and scratches (from the rabbit), and cursing (from Rio), she manages to free the small creature from the trap and watches it limp off under her bed. At least from under her bed, she has a small amount of respite from the sharp claws. 

She pours a small amount of water into a pot and heats it over the fire until it is warm, and grabs an old rag she found. 

Now the rabbit is no longer constrained by the trap, it moves more freely, despite it’s injury, and Rio finds herself diving and scrambling around the room trying to catch the creature that lets out the occasional scream. 

“I am trying to clean your wound so you do not die of infection!” She tries to reason with the creature, “Please, Agatha will be so upset if she finds out.” 

The rabbit does not seem to care, and when Rio groans in frustration, it sits and watches her with dark, beady eyes, nose twitching mockingly. How it is mocking her, Rio could not say, it just is. 

They play this ‘game’ for a moment longer, until Rio has a sheen of sweat on her brow and gives up, sprawling herself on the floor in defeat. It is then that the tiny creature takes pity on her, hopping over curiously to give her a brief sniff before settling next to her. Rio doesn’t move immediately, waiting until the rabbit seems more comfortable in her presence before she holds her hand in its direction so it can sniff her warily. Time passes slowly as they sit in this tentative state, Rio biding her time before she swiftly snatches the creature, tucking it under her arm and taking it to the gently warmed water. 

She swears she sees fear flash in its eyes. 

The rabbit lets her clean the wound for a moment, until it grows restless, its legs kicking at her as it struggles to get away. Once Rio’s arms are covered in scratches and her skin stings, she relents, setting down the rabbit carefully. She watches it hop off and hide under the bed, a flash of a soggy, white tail being the last thing she sees of it. The occasional thump that comes from under the bed tells her it's still there and unhappy. 

She sighs, looking at her now marred arms, and begins to fetch clean water to tend to her wounds. 

“You are a scratchy creature.” She says to the room, “That shall be your name. If you wanted a nicer one, you should not have been so scratchy, Scratchy.” 

The rest of the morning flows slowly. Rio tends to her arms and dresses. After eating some berries and leftover bread from Agatha, she attempts to lure Scratchy out from under her bed with an array of greenery from the garden. The rabbit does not seem interested, sitting in the far corner, watching carefully after their recent encounter. 

“Scratchy, you must eat,” Rio pleads, “I am trying to help you.” 

As expected, the rabbit does not eat, nor does it move, it just watches her and twitches its nose.

A knock on the door frightens her, she jumps, hitting her head on the underside of the bedframe, with an ‘oof’. She crawls out quickly, smoothing her dress and answers the door. 

She is met with the familiar sight of Agatha on the other side, and she wonders whether anyone else has visited her so far. However, the girl isn’t looking at her; instead, her eyes are searching the room before they finally look at Rio suspiciously. 

“You did not attend church,” Agatha says, the suspicion carrying through to her voice. 

Rio hangs her head, murmuring a curse under her breath. Out of the three services Rio had been in the village for, she had missed two. Her blending into village life was not going well. 

“I-”

“I heard you talking to another,” Agatha interrupts the excuse Rio hadn’t come up with yet, making her life much harder, “Do you have another here?” Agatha asks, and Rio doesn't miss the hurt in her voice as she asks the question, leaving her with two tough choices: lie to Agatha or admit she caught a rabbit. 

“It was a mistake,” She takes the path of truth, unable to stomach the idea of lying to the girl, “I had forgotten-”

Agatha, however, seems less interested in Rio’s explanation, her eyes focusing on something in the room for a moment, before her face lights up and she pushes past Rio, entering without an invitation. 

“He is so dear!” She coos, squatting down to look at the rabbit, who has come out from his hiding spot and chews on a dandelion leaf happily. 

“He is a menace,” Rio corrects, shutting the door behind her to stop the creature from escaping. 

“He is too tiny to cause any trouble,” Agatha shoots over her shoulder before turning her attention back to Scratchy, letting him sniff her hand. “Aren’t you little one?”

The rabbit does not respond. 

It does, however, seem to warm up to Agatha quickly, hopping around her happily, compared to the scared scurry it would do around Rio. 

“It is injured?” Agatha states, unsurely. 

“Yes, there was… I left a trap out by mistake, and he got stuck. I have tried to clean him as best as I can, but he put up a fight. I shall nurse him until he is better, but after he can return to bite and scratch others,” She rubs a painful scratch on her arm subconsciously.

“No! You can not let him free after; he will be too vulnerable in the wild after he lives with you.”

“Are you saying I must keep Scratchy since I have opened my door to him?”

“Scratchy?” Agatha says with a grin, and Rio realises her mistake by letting the name slip out. “Yes, you must keep Scratchy. But I think he deserves a better name.” 

Agatha looks down at the rabbit, feeding him another leaf from the pile Rio had brought in. The rabbit eats it and allows Agatha to stroke between his ears, almost visibly relaxing as she fusses the creature. 

“He deserves a formal name. He might have important business to attend to as well.” Agatha declares out of nowhere, and Rio realises how transfixed she had been watching the girl and rabbit interacting in front of her. Rio, stops herself from laughing at Agatha’s whimsy, before the girl states, “Mr Scratchy will be his name” 

Rio can’t help as her face screws up at the suggestion of the name, how she hated the English titles, and Agatha seems to notice her reaction, the corners of her mouth dropping as she bows her head, avoiding Rio’s face.

“If I keep him, he will not be Mr Scratchy,” Rio says, ignoring how Agatha tilts her head in confusion at her words. “He will be Señor Scratchy.” 

“You speak Spanish?!” Agatha gasps excitedly, whipping around to look at Rio again, a smile on her face at the compromise on their rabbit’s name.

“It is my mother tongue”

“What is Agatha in Spanish?” The girl asks excitedly, almost bouncing on the spot. 

“Um,” Rio scratches her head, not wanting to disappoint her, “It is… Ágata.” She says the girl’s name in Spanish, the only difference being the inflection and tone, which Agatha does not seem to appreciate.

“Oh… And yours? Does yours have an English version?” she asks, unknowingly, and Rio has to bite her tongue, bile rising in her throat.

“Rio means river, Vidal means life. So River of Life…” The words are bitter on her tongue, the irony of her name, and she wonders if her parents knew her fate when they named her. She had thought of changing her name countless times, but she could not bear to give up the connection to the family and life she had left. 

“That is very pretty,” Agatha sighs, “I wish my name were pretty like yours.” 

“No one’s name will be as pretty as Señor Scratchy’s, though.”

It is enough to make Agatha giggle, and the two soon move on from the discussion of names, and Rio feels the weight lifting off her shoulders as she moves away from the topic of her.

From then on, the girl continues to visit daily, but Rio finds herself sometimes fighting the rabbit for Agatha’s attention.

It is early evening when Rio returns from collecting water to find Agatha lying on her bed, humming a soft tune, with Señor Scratchy lying on her chest. Her heart melts at the sight, as the two seem so peaceful.

“He never lies like that with me,” She says in place of a greeting, capturing the girl’s attention. 

“Are you jealous?” Agatha teases, and Rio holds back her answer, that yes, she is jealous, jealous of the rabbit, for being able to cuddle up to Agatha. But that is not what the girl means, because they do not cuddle; in fact, they rarely touch. Sometimes their hands will brush in passing or by accident when stroking Scratchy, or when passing a mug of tea to the other, no matter how much Rio’s hands plead to reach out and touch Agatha. So instead, she rolls her eyes and puts some water to boil. 

“He knew you wanted to eat him,” Agatha continues, unaware of Rio’s inner turmoil. 

“I did not want to eat him!”

“Tell him that, not me.”  

“I did not expect to find you here,” Rio comments on the girl’s surprise visit, not unkindly. It was common for Agatha to drop in unexpectedly, but it was, however, the first time she had returned home to find the girl situated in her house like she belonged there. 

“I was lonely,” Agatha explains quietly, shifting gently to place Señor Scratchy on the side of the bed so she could sit up. “My mother and father are visiting a family further out who are going through some hardship.” 

“You are welcome anytime.” 

“My mother says you are a bad influence,” she blurts out, seemingly out of nowhere, but Rio can tell the words have been stewing in her brain for hours. “She says you will lead me astray. Away from God and a woman’s purpose.” 

Rio’s stomach turns at the words, anger flooding through her body, but that would not solve anything; it would not solve the sadness on Agatha’s face, or heal the wounds from her Mother’s words and actions. So instead, she cracks a smile as she pours water between two mugs,

“Good. Let her think that.” Rio says with a wicked smile, handing one of the mugs to Agatha, “I shall lead you down the path to evil. Señor Scratchy is my accomplice, he has been helping to lure you in until my deal with the devil is complete.”

“Shh! You should not joke about those things!” Agatha scolds her, looking around as if the devil were listening to their conversation.

“I do not joke,” Rio adopts a solemn face, “Scratchy takes his job very seriously.” 

“You are a fool,” Agatha sighs, fighting a smile. 

“I am, but I am a fool that made you smile nonetheless.”

-

Rio comes to find Agatha spending more time in her presence as the week goes on. The girl blames it on Señor Scratchy needing attention, and that she dislikes her parents’ home when she is left alone. But Rio has a suspicion that perhaps the girl just likes spending time with her. 

This suspicion is confirmed on a late September day, when Agatha is lounging peacefully with Señor Scratchy after a particularly long church service. Rio finds herself pottering around the cottage and makes her way to the door with an armful of dresses and linens.

“I am going down to the river to wash these while the sun is high,” she informs Agatha, letting the girl know of her whereabouts more than anything else. So it comes as a surprise when Agatha sits up, disturbing the rabbit from its slumber, and begins to lace up her boots. 

She raises a questioning brow at Agatha, but she doesn’t respond, just brushes past Rio in the doorway and trails off to the river, leaving her in a state of confusion at why Agatha would care to join her when she complains about washing her own linens. 

Rio reasons that it is due to their location; whereas Agatha collects water from the well to wash her house’s linens, it is easier to travel down to the river on this side of the village. To the spot where the bank has worn away, creating a dip, almost a miniature shoreline with rocks and pebbles. The trees provide gentle shade, but the sun still manages to filter through, warming the water. And most importantly, it's buzzing with creatures, great and small. Birds inhabit the trees, and Rio watches them occasionally dive and capture flies that hover and skirt over the water. Larger damselflies fly past quickly, while butterflies take their time, letting the light breeze guide them. 

The occasional fish, perhaps a minnow, but Rio isn't too sure, rises to the surface, but doesn’t break the water’s tension before it darts back into the depths. She envies it, wishing she could change into a fish and submerge herself; instead, the only relief from the heat comes in water up to her wrists as she scrubs her clothes.

“It is unseasonably warm,” Rio says as she gingerly passes one of her shifts towards Agatha, who hangs it over a branch to dry. The action of Agatha handling the fabric that Rio wears on her bare skin makes blood rush to her cheeks, and she hopes she doesn’t remember this moment next time she dons it. 

“I have not known a September this hot since I was at least eight years of age.” The girl responds, and a sheen of sweat across her upper lip is wiped away.

“My plants are suffering.”

“Never mind the plants, Rio!” Exclaims Agatha. There's a pull in her stomach when she hears her name spoken by the other girl. Agatha rarely called her by her name, so each time the word is spoken by her, it is a blessing, as she did not hate her name when it was spoken by Agatha. “I am suffering! And I am more important than the plants,” she whines, and Rio feels a smile spreading across her face at Agatha’s petulance as she wrings out the water from her final shift and stands to hang it over a high branch. 

“So tell me,” Rio glances over to Agatha, standing with her arms crossed, before returning to her task at hand, “What would you do as a child to cool down in the late summer sun?” 

There’s no response, only a brief pause of silence, and when Rio turns back to face the girl, she is unlacing the bodice of her dress. 

“Agatha? What are you doing?” 

“I am going for a swim,” she declares proudly, freeing her body from the confines of her dress until she remains only in her shift. She reaches around her neck, unfastens the locket and hangs it on a branch, throwing a wink to Rio, who wills the blush on her cheeks to fade. Then Agatha plods through the shallow water at the riverbank before submerging her body in the deeper water with a shriek. “It is much colder than I thought!” 

“You are mad,” Rio calls over to the girl. 

“You are just as mad for not joining me,” Agatha responds cheekily, dunking herself under the water for a moment before reappearing, wet hair plastered over her face. She grins before a serious expression crosses her face when she realises Rio is standing still, “I shall stay here until you join me, until the river washes away my wrinkled body.”

With a roll of her eyes at how tenacious the girl can be, Rio strips down to her shift and joins her in the water. The coldness is a shock from the heavy, humid air, and she admits it is a relief. 

A welcome relief, that is, until Agatha pushes water towards her and splashes her front. She screams as the freezing water attacks her, seeping into the fabric covering her and making it cling to her skin. All while Agatha giggles from a few feet away. 

“You little demon!” Rio sinks into the water, ignoring the bite of the cold and instead focusing on reaping her revenge as she splashes water back in Agatha’s direction. 

Chaos seems to unravel from that moment, the two girls shrieking and doing their best to splash each other, until they are both drenched, water droplets clinging to eyelashes and hair tangled and matted. 

“I think I won that,” Agatha boasts eventually, plodding through the water towards her.

“I decided to surrender before we drained the river of its water!” Rio attempts to defend herself, despite knowing she had been caught by Agatha more times. 

“Those are words of a loser,” she says with a smirk, shaking out water from her hair and catching Rio in the process of doing so, which she expects was on purpose. 

Up close, Rio can see the flush of Agatha’s cheeks from the overexertion of their play fight, how water clings to her skin, leaving trails as it runs, and how the blue of her eyes seems to sparkle more than usual as the water reflects in them. Her tongue darts out to catch the water collected on her lip, and Rio can’t stop her eyes from dropping to watch the action, her lips parted as she breathes, short, shallow breaths, her entire being begging her to close the distance between them.

Her feet barely touch the riverbed, and she can see that Agatha treads water, the movement bringing her closer to Rio, their shifts ballooning and dancing together in the river's flow. Agatha is looking at her just as hard, and Rio wonders if this is the moment they make an irreversible mistake. 

It’s short-lived, however, as a cruel grin appears on Agatha’s face. 

She only sees a flash of it before hands press on her shoulders and push her head under the water. Rio manages to gasp in half a lungful of oxygen before she is held underneath. She squirms out of Agatha’s hold, wrapping her hands around the girl’s arms so she can come back to the surface with a desperate breath. From then on, the two wrestle, hands reach out and grab or push, dragging the other under the water at every possible chance. 

They both come up from the water at the same time, breaking the surface and causing waves that crash against each other and travel to the small shore, and Rio realises how close they are. She feels Agatha’s breath on her face as she gasps oxygen into her starving lungs after being submerged for so long, and it would be so simple for her to act on earlier instincts and close the distance to transfer the air from her lungs into Agatha’s. 

Without the sound of their laughter and splashes, Rio notices how silent their surroundings are and how the sun has started to drop. 

“It is getting late,” She whispers, a fear that they might get caught if Agatha is gone for too long. “When are your parents returning?” 

She wishes she did not have to ask that question, that they did not need to end this moment, and hopes that the answer means they can spend late into the evening together. Even if it just meant Rio being able to watch as Agatha played with the rabbit.

“I do not know. They did not return until just before sunrise this morning. But mother said they will try to return earlier this time…” Agatha trails off, a soft, curious smile on her face that Rio tries not to read into, lest she be disappointed. 

But fingers trail down Rio’s arm, a soft, silky touch that feels unfamiliar to their previous touches. It lacks innocence. Damp fingertips dance over wet skin, gliding down, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps and hairs standing on end, until they capture Rio’s hand, entwining it. It had been so long since she had shared company with another that she found her eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

“You are cold!” Agatha exclaims, looking at her goosebumped skin with worry, unaware that she was the cause of the condition. “We shall get you warming in the sun.”

Rio lets herself be dragged through the water by Agatha, who looks over her shoulder and flashes a smile, unaware of the feelings she has stirred inside Rio. She tries to avert her eyes as Agatha steps out of the river, her white shift clinging to her curves as water drips down.

But she finds her eyes drifting towards the figure and the gentle sway of Agatha’s hips. Dressed in only the soaked fabric, Rio sees Agatha as she has never seen her before. Where before she had worn thick, heavy garments at the expectation of society, now her curves are on show, and the glance that Agatha throws back in her direction tells Rio that she has been the naive one all this time. 

She had tried to push those feelings aside, not to muddy the already dirty water that is their relationship, and she had done well, until this afternoon. It was too dangerous to act on those feelings, never mind with the reverend’s daughter. Gossip across the village was insidious, where even the slightest rumour would catch like wildfire in the driest of summers. They had become too close as it was; she is sure whispers will start soon if they are not careful. 

Rio had watched two girls who had been caught in her previous village, accused of witchcraft simply for loving each other.

So she tells herself to end this, to distance herself from the girl; they did not have the luxury to share secret glances or touches, it was too dangerous. Rio had to protect her, even if it meant sending her away in the arms of her mother. It is safer than the alternative if they were caught. 

Dropping Agatha’s hand once they reach the bank, Rio busies herself by gathering the clothing draped over various branches, despite the look of confusion from the girl, who eventually copies her. And when Rio begins the short walk back to her house, Agatha is diligently at her heels, but doesn't fall into step with her like she usually would.

When they return to Rio’s cottage with an armful of clothes each, Rio tries to avoid looking at Agatha, who looks like she belongs there as much as any of the furniture, and she realises how much she wants that life. The life where she could be Agatha’s safe space, a life where they could swim each morning, and find company in the closeness of each other at night. A life they could not have. Not now, not ever. The walls seem to close in on Rio, and she realises this was her doing, that she let the girl take root in her home and, in doing so, she was setting her up for heartbreak.

Because Rio doesn’t stay, she leaves. 

And maybe it was better to end this sooner rather than later. 

“Should you not go home?” Rio asks, not unkindly, but she doesn't miss the coldness in her voice and flinches when she sees how Agatha freezes on the spot at the tone of the question.

“My parents will not be home for hours,” She begins with caution in her voice. 

Rio hates to think of sending Agatha away to fall asleep by herself in the house reserved for the reverend and his family. Hates that before she had arrived at the village, Agatha had spent most of her time alone, and the rest of it with the cruel words of her mother. Even though Agatha now has Rio in place of solace, that is just as, if not more, evil as Evanora, for this is only temporary, and Rio will eventually leave, leaving Agatha alone again.

“Unless you want me to go home?” Agatha adds, a sadness in her voice.

And Rio wants to scream no, wants to beg the girl to stay with her, to move into the cottage like she has moved into her heart, but she knows that it cannot be. That they cannot be any more than friends, that Rio cannot stay here for long, and that eventually Agatha would age while Rio remained frozen in time. 

“I think it may be for the best,” Rio answers instead, focusing on the skirt in her hand and folding it roughly just to get some of her frustration out on their situation before she forces it into a drawer too small for it.

“Oh, I am sorry. I shall leave. I hope I did not intrude too much today.”  

“No… I… I am just tired, I think,” she lies, not knowing what else she could say in the moment that wouldn’t cause damage to either of them in the future, but she knew deep down it was too late.

“I shall see you tomorrow,” Agatha smiles sadly, only bearing Rio another concerned glance before she leaves through the door, letting it shut softly behind her. 

Rio does, in fact, not see her for several days.

-

The sermon that day had been too much for Rio.

Whereas she usually found peace in watching Agatha sitting in the pews in front of her, that did little to offer relief today as Reverend Harkness spoke of how evil they were, how the devil had seeped into their blood, and they would be damned for eternity as sinners. She had begged and prayed that the girl would turn around and relieve some of the pain she felt at the words, but it did not happen. It had been over a week since they last saw each other outside of church, and even in those brief encounters, Agatha did not look at her. Rio felt that she had been damned for eternity a second time whenever Agatha refused to meet her eye. 

She lies on top of her bed that night, staring at the wooden slats above her, where wild flowers hang like a mobile above a crib, unwilling to succumb to sleep, her mind replaying the words spoken that day, punishing herself. She believes those words were designed for her, that the Reverend had learnt of her past and spoke only to Rio on a pew in the back of the church. Her mind drifts towards Agatha, how the girl had sat straight and unmoving through the words, and Rio wonders what she had been thinking of during the surface, and what she is doing now, whether she was dreaming or, like Rio, ruminating on the words. 

A gentle knock on the door rouses her from her thoughts. At first, she is unsure whether she had imagined it or if the noise was simply the cottage or even Señor Scratchy, because there is no one she could imagine who would knock on her door this late at night, not anymore, at least. But curiosity gets the better of her, so she makes her way over cautiously, grateful for the break from her thoughts, and grateful she is still dressed. 

Opening the door reveals no one standing on her doorstep; however, before disappointment sets in, the light from her cottage illuminates the path to reveal Agatha walking away, head down and feet traipsing as she swings a bottle at her side. Agatha turns around, looking sheepish and unsure, and Rio wonders if she wishes she hadn’t been caught. 

“I do not wish to intrude-” Agatha starts, fumbling with the bottle in her hands.

“No,” Rio interrupts too suddenly, too awkwardly, too happy to see the girl at her door again, “You are never an intrusion.” 

Agatha lets out a hollow laugh, and Rio cringes at the irony of her words, at how their last meeting ended and how she made Agatha feel exactly like that. 

“I just mean…” Rio fumbles for words, heat rising to her face as she messes up again with the girl. “Agatha, please forgive me. I was a fool… I was- I am sorry, I-”

“Perhaps you could invite me in?” Agatha smiles softly, taking pity on her, and Rio nods, stepping to the side to let her in. 

“I was wondering,” Agatha says, hovering in the room awkwardly, looking less comfortable than she had a week ago, “Whether my father’s words today hurt you as much as they did me?”

“They were particularly cruel,” Rio answers without having to confess the heaviness in her chest that had lingered on since they were first spoken that morning.

“They were my mother’s,” she adds quickly with a scoff.

“Are they away tonight?”

“No,” Agatha shakes her head, and Rio raises her eyebrows at the girl in front of her, shocked that she would dare risk being caught. “I snuck out this eve. I thought we could share this to make us feel better about the sermon we suffered through today. A peace offering?” Agatha presents a bottle filled with a dark liquid, “Blackberry wine I made last autumn. It should be ready to taste now.”

“This is my favourite,” she gasps softly, looking up at Agatha in confusion, reaching out for the bottle, “How did you know?” 

“I did not,” Agatha says with a smirk, pulling the bottle back and out of her grasp. “It is simply my favourite too.” 

And with that small, playful act, the tension breaks. Rio no longer focuses on the pain she caused Agatha in an attempt to protect her, or the pain of the words she heard that morning. Instead, she focuses on the lightness she feels with the girl's presence and the bottle of wine they are going to share.

“Shall we drink from cups or the bottle like naughty children?” Rio asks, but Agatha does not say anything, simply grins and sits on the floor, legs crossed, with her back against the side of her bed, then unscrews the bottle and takes a gulp; a silent answer. Rio giggles and moves to sit next to her; their knees bump against each other as she fidgets to get comfortable. When her dress is tucked under her, Agatha passes the bottle to Rio, who swigs from it and wipes the deep plum liquid from the corner of her mouth. 

She groans at the taste, rich and sweet on her tongue and greedily takes another sip before passing it back to Agatha. 

“It has been an age since I have drunk this,” she admits, not caring to explain that ‘an age’ means since she was in Spain, when her cousin travelled across from Huelva with bottles of it to store in the family’s cellar.

“I do not think it is as good as the batch we tasted last year.” 

“It is delicious,” she disagrees, snatching the bottle from Agatha and taking another mouthful, savouring the taste, watching from the corner of her eye as the girl blushes at the compliment. “Señor Scratchy has missed you.”

“He will be happier now his favourite has returned,” Agatha teases in response.

They sit and pass the bottle between them, as Rio recounts tales of the rabbit from the past week, and Agatha tells her of gossip in the village until they eventually slip into a comfortable silence. Rio feels herself sink into a hazy state as they reach the bottom of the bottle. Agatha has chosen to lie on the floor at some point, hair splayed on the rug-covered floor, which can't be comfortable, but Rio joins her nonetheless, sliding from her upright position to lie beside her in silence. She considers breaking it, but she can’t think of anything to say, so instead lets her eyes fall shut. 

“Do you think we are as wicked as my father says we are?” Agatha asks in a barely audible whisper, hoarse and full of emotion. She opens her eyes at the question, finding Agatha watching her, sorrow etched on her face.

“I do not,” Rio responds, in a half lie, taking the bottle to drain the dregs of wine, placing the empty bottle behind her. Because Rio did not believe Agatha to be wicked, but she did not extend that belief to herself. 

“My mother tells me I am evil.” She reveals, her words breaking Rio’s heart.

“Your mother is wrong.” Rio rolls onto her side to face the girl, watching her face as she studies the ceiling like she had done earlier, searching for answers to impossible questions.

“I have wicked thoughts,” Agatha counters, ashamed, copying Rio’s movement by rolling onto her side.

“We all have wicked thoughts.” Rio soothes, reaching a hand to place it on her cheek, letting her thumb stroke over the smooth skin, “You are good, Agatha.”

“My wicked thoughts come often when I am with you…” she confesses quietly, before looking at Rio with a tiny spark of hope, “Tell me I am not the only one?”

She can’t answer; the words stuck in her throat, so instead she tentatively leans forward to capture Agatha’s lips in a tender, cautious kiss. When she withdraws, Agatha’s eyes are open, full of unshed tears that Rio doesn't have a chance to attend to before Agatha lurches forward and captures her in a needy kiss. A soft whimper comes from one of them, and Rio can’t distinguish which mouth it came from, both as desperate as the other. She takes pleasure in Agatha’s lips, the way she lets Rio take the lead, only to reclaim it a moment later with a tilt of her head. And when it proves too much, both desperate for air, like that day in the river, they rest their foreheads together. 

“Rio, I am scared.” The words are whispered into space between them, and she wishes she could consume all the fear that Agatha feels, despite feeling it and more.

“I am here,” she responds, rather than admit she is also scared, in an attempt to provide safety for the girl who has so little. “I will always be here, until our skin starts to rot. I am here.”

The words are thick and heavy, caught in her throat as she whispers them as a vow to the other girl, sacred and binding. Fresh tears bloom in Agatha’s eyes, and she wishes to kiss them away.

“Do you promise?” A shaking hand cups Rio’s cheek, and she places her hand over the top, holding it in place, looking into Agatha’s eyes as she answers.

“I do.” 

She does not think too hard about the promise she just made. Does not think of how she cannot fulfil it, as Agatha expects her to. But when she eventually leaves, she will stay close and watch from the shadows. For to live a portion of her life in the shadows was worth it if it meant Agatha was near.

The promise, even though Agatha was unaware of the conditions, was enough for her, enough to make her pull Rio back into a kiss, this time less gentle as Agatha poured unspoken emotions into the action. Hands cling onto the front of Rio’s top, as if it is a lifeline, and Agatha is tethered to it. She can taste the salt from Agatha’s tears mingled with the sweetness of the blackberry wine, and when her tongue traces across her lower lip, Rio parts them willingly, groaning at the feeling when Agatha licks into her mouth. Her hands find their way into the thick mane of Agatha’s hair, pulling her impossibly closer until she can feel the rise and fall of Agatha’s chest with every breath.

“Can I touch you?” Agatha asks after a moment, sweet and tentative, as if Rio could be scared away.

She nods wordlessly in response, unable to put her desires aside any longer to think logically. Her body craved Agatha. No matter what the future held, even if it just meant they spent this night together, it would be worth it to experience Agatha’s touch. When she finally finds her voice, she is only able to mutter a soft ‘please’ before Agatha closes in on her, hands finding her hips and pushing her onto her back. 

Agatha looks down on her, eyes studying Rio’s face as if she were something sacred, and kisses her briefly, a swift touch of their lips, before she pulls back, and her hands find the ties of Rio’s bodice, pulling them loose and gently stripping her of the article. After discarding the bodice, she repeats this action until Rio is bare, apart from her shift, which Agatha’s fingers twitch at the hem, pausing, and Rio takes the opportunity to sit up and rid Agatha of her clothes. 

“This was not the plan,” Agatha says, raising an eyebrow as Rio removes the heavy material of her skirt.

“I am not having you touch me without being able to look at you, or touch you myself,” She answers, flashing her a grin. As if feeling emboldened from this, Agatha strips her of the shift, her eye darkening at the new sight of Rio naked in front of her. 

And Rio can’t stand the intensity of her gaze, so she combats it by pulling Agatha into her lap and distracting her with a kiss, her hands travelling down her body until they reach where Agatha’s shift has gathered at her hips in their new position and pulls it over her head, tossing it to the side. It’s the final barrier, the final thing holding them back, and it’s obvious in the way Agatha’s lips meet hers, hungrily tasting, so different to the first time their mouths had met. 

Hands find new places to touch, new dips and curves to settle on, new places for fingers to trace and leave trails of goosebumps. Rio’s hand settles between Agatha’s thighs, spreading her arousal through thick curls before entering her, crooking and curling her fingers inside and swallowing all the noises she summons from Agatha like the sweet wine they had drunk that evening.

Agatha’s thighs begin to tremble in their position as she rocks steadily with Rio’s movements, so she slows her actions, settling a hand on Agatha’s back and guiding her to lie back on the floor. Thighs wrap around Rio’s waist, not letting her stray far as she continues to draw out Agatha’s pleasure, all while she kisses words and unspoken vows into her skin. And when Agatha cries out and pulls her up so their lips meet, she remains trapped in her embrace until Agatha’s breathing slows and her body stops twitching. 

They lay like that for a moment, on the hard floor, but she cannot find it in herself to complain about the discomfort when Agatha is wrapped around her. Rio plays with the ends of Agatha’s hair and presses chaste kisses against any part of her skin her lips can touch. Agatha’s lips find hers, turning chaste expressions of emotions into longer, sweeter affections, until Rio is lying on her back, with Agatha between her legs, her tongue and mouth causing Rio to cry out to a god she no longer believes exists. 

The chill of the cottage catches up to them shortly, and rather than dress, Rio starts a fire in the hearth before wrapping them both in the small blanket from her bed, finding any excuse to keep Agatha close for as long as she can. They share a barely warm chamomile tea, made with the flowers grown in Rio’s garden, much like they had shared the wine earlier that evening. 

“Have you lain with another woman before?” Agatha suddenly asks, there's an attempt to remain casual. But Rio detects a sliver of jealousy in her tone, the way she side-eyes Rio, and she can’t suppress the smirk at Agatha’s best effort to remain nonchalant about it.

“I have,” she answers simply, causing Agatha to face her fully and tug the blanket from Rio’s front. She stops the laugh bubbling inside that threatens to escape at Agatha’s reaction, as she stares at her with wide eyes in momentary shock. That is, until the jealousy Agatha had been trying to hide sets in. And the girl, despite not knowing anything about the handful of women she had been with, seems more possessive than Rio would have expected her to be, especially as Rio has a suspicion she is not the only one to have been with a woman before. “Have you?” she asks with a tilt of her head, waiting in excitement to see how she reacts.

“That is not the point.” Agatha snubs her, looking away quickly, and Rio rolls her eyes, dropping the blanket completely to settle on Agatha’s lap, a knee on each side of her.

“That is not an answer.” She sends the retort, catching her chin between her fingers and tilting her head so her blue eyes look at her, but the girl remains stubborn, looking anywhere but at Rio’s face.

“I may have shared company with a friend… once, or twice,” she shrugs, still not meeting Rio’s gaze. 

“I had thought so.” 

“Why is that?” Agatha finally looks at her, her brow furrowed in confusion at how Rio could know.

“Because, my dear,” Rio murmurs, leaning in until her lips hover close to Agatha’s, “That mouth is dangerous.”