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Chapter Text

Y/N's POV

Present

The bus jolted as it wound through the uneven mountain road, tires crunching against gravel and stray twigs. I sat in the very back, corner seat. My forehead rested against the cool glass of the window, eyes half-lidded as the world outside blurred into streaks of pine green and misty blue. Clouds clung low to the forested slopes, and the early morning sun tried in vain to pierce through.

My breath fogged up the glass for a moment before fading, like the resolve I thought I had.

From the front, there was a sudden screech of feedback. Everyone winced.

"Uh—does this work? Mic check one, two... tree?" Howard's voice cracked through the old microphone, followed by a dry laugh from someone in the middle row.

He cleared his throat dramatically, standing at the front like an overenthusiastic cruise director, "Okay! Good morning, rising stars!"

Some groaned. A few clapped. Most blinked slowly, clutching their thermoses like lifelines.

"Welcome, welcome to Agatha Harkness' First Ever Opera Bootcamp for Young Actors and Actresses!" Howard beamed like this was Broadway and he was hosting the Tonys.

I could almost hear the silent eye roll from half the bus.

Opera Bootcamp. What a cursed phrase.

Let me remind you: we're talking about Agatha Harkness. The Agatha Harkness. She was the icon who dragged opera from the dying arms of tradition and breathed raw, defiant fire into it.

And now... she's mentoring us—a group of half-trained, caffeine-addicted twenty-somethings with dreams bigger than their résumés.

Kate Bishop elbowed me from the seat next to mine, her brow raised beneath messy brown bangs. "You alive in there?" she asked, voice laced with concern, though her tone was light.

I blinked and turned to her, giving the smallest of nods.

Cassie, two seats ahead, twisted around with a grin. "You look like you pulled an all-nighter, Y/N! Did you spend all night trying to memorize librettos, or were you just spiraling?"

Tommy, slouched diagonally behind her, barely glanced up from his phone. "Probably because of Agatha," he muttered, thumb still scrolling.

"Hey!" I snapped, sitting up.

They all laughed. Kate leaned in with a small smirk. "Looks like someone didn't want to come to boot camp."

I sighed and slumped back again, crossing my arms. "...Well, maybe."

Cassie gasped, scandalized. "Wait—why? This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be mentored by freaking Agatha Harkness. Not to mention Jennifer Kale, the queen of alto arias, and Lilia Calderu, the OG soprano legend!"

Yeah, yeah. I know. It's a stacked lineup.

Jennifer Kale—Agatha's mysterious colleague who speaks five languages and sings in six. And Ms. Calderu... she taught me opera history during my theater degree, the kind of professor who could silence a class with just a raised eyebrow.

But this? This bootcamp? Held in a secluded villa nestled atop a mist-drenched mountain, where the only way in or out was through twisting, foggy roads and a rickety old bus that smelled faintly of mildew?

Tommy piped up again, half-laughing. "Again, maybe it's because of Aga—"

"Tommy," I growled, eyes flashing. "Say her name again and I swear I'll slit your throat with my vocal score."

--- --- --- --- ---

Before
Two weeks earlier

"I'm not going," I said flatly, folding my arms across my chest.

Agatha looked up from her untouched salmon steak, the candlelight casting a golden glow across her sharp cheekbones. She was dressed to kill—a floor-length black velvet gown that clung to her curves like ink in water, its plunging neckline softened by sheer mesh embroidered with delicate silver threads that shimmered with every breath she took.

Across the table, I sat in a sharp, tailored suit—charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, the kind that cinched just right at the waist and widened slightly at the shoulders. Beneath it, a dark silk shirt with the top buttons undone, no tie.

Agatha's sapphire eyes narrowed, disappointment flickering behind her lashes as she slowly lowered her fork to the edge of her plate.

"What? Why not?" she asked, voice calm but edged.

"You know why," I snapped, jaw tight.

The tension between us pulsed like a dissonant chord.

The wine in my glass rippled as I clenched the stem a little too hard. My food remained untouched, the aroma of truffle oil and lemon butter going unappreciated.

Agatha exhaled slowly, and her expression softened into something... persuasive. Dangerous. She leaned forward, propping her chin delicately on her interlocked fingers.

"This would be good for you, hon. For your training. Your growth."

"I know." My voice rose despite myself, earning a few sideways glances from the adjacent tables. I dropped my voice back down. "Don't you think I know? But if I show up there—everyone will think I'm there because of you. Not because I earned it."

Agatha chuckled. "Sweetheart, everyone already knows we're together. What's the point in pretending?"

I looked away, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

She leaned closer now, lowering her voice to a sultry whisper. "Or is it because you're worried I'll stare at you too much? Think about you too much?" Her lips curled. "Maybe pull you into some private room between rehearsals?"

My face flushed. Damn her.

"You would, wouldn't you?" I muttered. "And that's exactly why I feel... unsettled."

"Oh?" she teased, blue eyes glittering with mischief. "What's so dangerous about a little attention, darling?"

I stared into her gaze, defiant. "Because if I look back at you—if I let myself fall into you—my head will stop being mine. And that scares the hell out of me."

A silence.

And then her smirk deepened. "Mmm. So... what thoughts exactly are you falling into, love?"

Damn. She was good. Too good.

I leaned in slightly, voice low and devilish, "Maybe the ones where I've got you pinned to the bed, squirming under me."

Her expression cracked—just a flicker. She scoffed and tried to brush it off, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

"I will never let you top me again," she muttered, looking away.

I laughed. "Oh please. You loved it."

"My pride," she said, dramatically placing a hand on her chest, "was shattered. You were an amateur."

"One time. And you still begged, remember?"

She fixed me with a look—those icy blue eyes sharp as cut glass. "Don't you dare," she said, her voice low and velvety, dangerous in its calm.

I grinned as I finally lifted my fork. "Still not going."

She let out a slow, long-suffering sigh. "Alright. Fine. What would it take to change your mind?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you seriously bargaining with me right now?"

"I'm serious, Y/N."

I leaned back, arms crossed, lips twitching. "Huh. So this is Agatha Harkness... begging?"

"I'm not begging," she snapped.

"Sure sounds like it."

Her fingers twitched like she wanted to hex me on the spot. "Name your price."

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Let me top. For a whole week."

Her eyes widened. "Absolutely—"

I raised a finger.

"—not."

She glared.

I smiled.

She glared harder.

--- --- --- --- ---

Present

The bus jerked slightly as we turned a sharp bend. I stared at the front now.

Agatha sat like a queen on her throne—poised, elegant, terrifying. Jennifer Kale lounged beside her in a loose white blouse, already humming something operatic under her breath. Ms. Lilia Calderu, regal as ever in her gray shawl, sat across from them sipping something that definitely wasn't tea.

I watched Agatha's profile. Her cheekbones. The way her hand moved when she gestured to Jennifer about something.

God help me, I could already feel it—that ache in my chest. The pull. The danger.

"...This is fine," I muttered to myself. "It's only three days. What could possibly go wrong?"

The fog outside grew thicker.

And the mountain road kept climbing.

--- --- --- --- ---

After what felt like hours, the bus finally screeched to a halt. A hush of awe and confusion washed over the passengers as one by one, students leaned toward the windows. I blinked awake just as Kate nudged me with the back of her hand.

"Y/N, wake up," she said, her voice low but insistent. "We're here."

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and slowly sat up, my cheek still creased from the sweater I'd been using as a pillow. I turned my head toward the window—and stopped breathing for a second.

Outside, the world was swallowed in mist.

The bus had climbed its way into the mountains, and now we were surrounded by towering pine trees that clawed at the sky like black fingers. The sky was overcast, and the air outside looked cold and sharp. Nestled in the heart of this woodland—was it.

Not a cabin. Not a lodge. But a villa. Or rather, a mansion.

It stood proudly, carved from ancient gray stone, moss climbing its foundations like veins. Thick vines coiled along its walls. It was beautiful in a tragic kind of way—like something pulled straight out of an old gothic novel.

And it had that vibe. That uncanny, eerie silence. Like the house itself was watching us.

As we stepped off the bus, the crunch of gravel beneath our boots echoed a bit too loudly. Cassie spun in a circle, her jaw dropping. "No freaking way. I thought we were staying in, like, a cozy cabin or something. This looks like Dracula's summer house."

Tommy hoisted his duffel bag over one shoulder and gave her a crooked grin. "Please. You think Agatha Harkness does 'cozy'?" He glanced at me knowingly. "My brother said she only chooses places that feel... theatrical."

"I don't know anything about this bootcamp, okay?" I huffed, dragging my own bag down and letting it thud onto the gravel.

Kate looped an arm around my shoulder and gently steered me toward the stone steps. "Come on. Everyone's heading inside to the main hall. Let's not be the last ones."

She turned back and called over her shoulder, "You coming, America? Riri?"

"Already on your six," America replied as she caught up with her hands shoved in her bomber jacket.

We entered the building, and the temperature dropped noticeably. The front doors opened with a groaning creak that echoed across a vast, dimly-lit main hall. A grand chandelier dangled above, thick with dust, but the crystals still sparkled faintly. Antique portraits lined the walls—stern, dead-eyed faces that seemed to follow our every step.

The floors creaked beneath our feet as we walked past ancient carpets and marble busts. I couldn't stop looking around. Everything here felt frozen in time.

Who owned this place? And why did it feel... familiar?

We gathered at the back of the hall, standing in uneven rows—four total. We ended up in the last row. I was still scanning the details—ornate molding, candle sconces, strange Latin inscriptions on the archways—when my eyes landed on her.

Agatha.

She stood at the front with her arms crossed over a long black cloak-coat that clung to her like ink. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek updo, silver strands glowing faintly under the chandelier light. 

Her sapphire eyes met mine. And just for a second, she smiled.

That damn smile.

The one that always made my stomach do that stupid little backflip.

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch in return. Then I looked away quickly, hoping no one noticed.

A short man—Howard—stepped forward holding a tiny portable speaker and a mic that cracked with feedback before he spoke.

"Alright, everyone! Gather up," he said, his voice amplified in the echoey space. "We'll start with the rules of this intensive bootcamp."

I sighed quietly. Here we go.

"First off," he continued, "all electronic devices will be turned in. That means phones, smartwatches, earbuds, everything. We don't want distractions. You're here to focus."

Groans erupted immediately from the front rows. Someone even muttered, "You've got to be kidding."

"Second—attendance is mandatory. That means no skipping sessions, no showing up late. If you're not five minutes early, you're already late. Consequences will be strict."

Typical. I tuned out the rest. Something about wake-up bells, assigned seats at meals, rehearsal schedules...

Instead, I let my gaze wander again, this time tracing the velvet-draped windows, the cracked marble pillars, the ceiling with painted angels that looked far too sorrowful.

I leaned over and whispered to Kate, "What do you think of this place?"

She glanced around with a grimace. "Honestly? It's giving... haunted orphanage. Old, cold, and smells like the inside of a vampire's closet. Not my vibe."

"I think it's cool," Tommy piped in with a grin. "Somebody could die here at any second. My kind of bootcamp."

Cassie whimpered. "Stop it, Tommy! What if this place is haunted? What if there are ghosts?"

"Cas," Kate said flatly, "there are no ghosts—"

I wasn't sure which was scarier—ghosts or witches, especially with Agatha, Jennifer, and Lilia standing there like they owned the shadows themselves.

Howard clapped his hands sharply. "You there in the back—less chit chat! I'm about to call out the room pairings."

We all snapped to attention. Even Cassie zipped her mouth shut.

Agatha was smirking, and now Jennifer Kale beside her was raising an eyebrow, clearly amused. Lilia, however, just stared through us all like she was scanning souls.

I exhaled slowly, muttering under my breath, "Yep. This is gonna be a long day."

Chapter Text

Y/N's POV

Present

By the time we arrived, the sun had already started to sink behind the jagged outline of the mountains, bleeding its last light through layers of heavy fog. The journey had taken all day, and exhaustion hung in the air like a second skin.

Most of the participants had already disappeared into their assigned rooms. I push open the wooden door to ours, the hinges letting out a groan that sounds far too much like a warning.

The room is... bigger than I expected. The floors are dark, creaky wood, and the stone walls are lined with sconces that flicker dimly light. A large canopy bed dominates one side, its frame carved with curling roses and twisted vines, like something out of an old Gothic novel. There's a smaller pull-out bed tucked underneath it, a tall armoire that looks older than all of us combined, and thick, burgundy curtains framing a set of French doors that lead out to a balcony.

"It's official," Cassie says, clutching her duffel bag like a life vest. "This place is definitely haunted." Her voice shakes, and she's only half-joking.

Kate tosses her bag on the large bed with a thud and rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, Cas. It's just old, not haunted." Then she turns to me. "Right, Y/N?"

I glance around the room once more, noting the peeling wallpaper and the massive oil painting above the fireplace—a woman with her eyes scratched out. Charming. "Ghosts? Nah," I say, setting my bag down by the window. "I'm more worried about wolves from the forests, honestly."

"Wolves?!" Cassie yelps, and in the blink of an eye, she's behind Kate, gripping her shoulders like a terrified child.

Kate shoots me a glare sharp enough to slice through stone. I smirk.

"Relax," I say, holding up both hands. "I'm kidding. Sort of. But hey—if anything does happen, I'll protect you both. Scout's honor." I give them a mock salute.

Kate mutters, "You were never a scout."

I shrug. "Details."

There's a brief silence as we each take in the room again. I glance at the beds. "Alright, I'll take the gremlin bed under. You two can have the big one."

The glass is fogged up, but I crack the balcony doors open and step outside. Cold mountain air rushes in, curling around my face and arms. The view's cloaked in mist. No stars, no moon, just a heavy silence. The trees below rustle like they're whispering to each other.

Somewhere far off, something howls. Not human. Not near. But enough to make my skin crawl.

I close the balcony doors with a soft click and turn back toward them.

"Alright," Kate says, tugging her coat tighter. "Let's get ready for dinner before Howard screams at us again."

Cassie shudders. "Let's hope the dining hall doesn't look like a horror movie set."

I sling my jacket over one shoulder. "If it does, dibs on the seat closest to the exit."

--- --- --- --- ---

The dining hall—if you could even call it that—looked more like a medieval banquet hall straight out of a dark fairytale. The kind where someone gets poisoned before dessert.

Massive chandeliers glowed with floating candles, and stained-glass windows stretched along the walls, casting eerie hues of red and blue onto the polished black floors. A single, ridiculously long mahogany table ran down the center of the hall, covered in silver candelabras and an absurd spread of food.

Cassie's jaw dropped. "Okay... are we royalty now or did we accidentally enter a vampire castle?"

"I mean," I murmured, eyes scanning the room, "banquet hall and atmospheric lighting? Feels like someone's about to break into a waltz with a ghost."

My gaze shifted—and then I saw her.

Agatha.

Standing near the head of the room, deep in conversation with Jennifer and Lilia. Her posture was graceful, deliberate. Her dark dress hugged her form like it had been sewn onto her by shadows themselves.

Before she even looked up, I knew she sensed me. Of course she did. Our magic—our connection—was always the first to react.

My pendant pulsed warmly against my skin. As if it, too, was drawn to her. Or warning me.

Then she turned, eyes locking on mine across the room. Agatha didn't smile—not at first. Just a subtle arch of her brow. Then, like a cat who'd spotted a mouse with a death wish, her lips curled upward in a faint, knowing smile before she returned to her conversation.

I swallowed hard.

Cassie tugged at my sleeve. "Y/N? You okay?"

"Fine," I said too fast. "Let's... sit."

We slid into the long benches, surrounded by the rest of the opera bootcamp students. Plates clinked and forks danced as laughter filled the hall. Dinner was peaceful—for exactly eight minutes.

Cassie, predictably, was still on about ghosts. "I swear I heard footsteps in our room earlier. And the mirror was fogged up, and I didn't even shower yet."

"That's probably your paranoia fogging the mirror," Kate muttered, spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate.

Tommy leaned over. "Or it's the ghost of a soprano who never made it to her debut performance."

Cassie let out a yelp and smacked his arm with her napkin. Kate sighed. I chuckled mid-bite, just as I picked up a buttered roll.

Then it happened.

A blur of white fur tore across the table.

CRASH!

Dishes went flying. Pasta soared through the air like a war scene in an Italian kitchen.

"Was that—?" Kate started.

"No," I whispered.

But yes. It was.

A second blur followed. Smaller. Faster. More destructive.

Pies were flung like grenades. Forks spun. Someone screamed. A poor soul's risotto was now a carpet ornament.

From the entrance, a voice shouted in sheer panic, "Y/N!"

I turned just in time to see Billy—Billy Maximoff—storming into the hall, looking like he'd just run from a burning circus. His hair was a mess. His tie was askew. His eyes were wild.

"What the hell is he doing here?" I muttered.

Billy pointed furiously at the chaos. "Señor Scratchy and Madam Scratchy have escaped!"

Oh no.

My stomach sank. The pendant on my chest grew cold.

I spotted the culprits darting between students—one, my old nemesis Señor Scratchy, leaping over a bread basket; the other, Madam Scratchy, the smug little white-furred demon I'd begged Agatha to let me keep. She had cute black paws and the soul of a chaos god.

The rabbits were playing tag on the table.

Absolute chaos erupted. Screaming. Plates dropping. Someone shrieked, "It's possessed!" as a glass was launched at their face.

And then—

I felt her.

Like a sudden drop in temperature. Like thunder rolling just beneath my skin.

I turned.

Agatha.

Still at the head of the room, but no longer smiling.

Her expression was a portrait of calm fury. Controlled—barely. Her hands were clasped, but her knuckles were white. Her jaw, tight. Her magic simmered around her like heat waves off asphalt. She was seconds away from snapping someone's soul in half—and it was probably mine.

Her gaze cut across the room and landed directly on me.

I froze. I may have stopped breathing.

"Okay—Billy," I said quickly, "you get Madam Scratchy—I'll grab Señor!"

We scrambled.

I lunged across the table, knocking over a plate of chicken wings as I dove for Señor Scratchy, who squealed and made a break for the desserts.

"Oh no you don't," I hissed, chasing him past the soufflé and under the chocolate fountain. "Come here, you little bastard—"

I pounced.

"Gotcha!" I held him close as he squirmed, fur soft, heart racing. "You are in so much trouble."

Billy appeared seconds later, holding a very smug Madam Scratchy upside down by her paws. "I got her!"

The dining hall was a war zone. Spilled drinks. Smeared cakes. Dozens of stunned onlookers. A pudding-drenched soprano sobbed quietly near the bread rolls.

I cleared my throat. "Uhh... sorry, everyone. We'll just... clean this up."

That's when her voice rang out like thunder disguised in silk.

"Y/N."

I froze again. My spine straightened like a soldier in trouble.

Agatha was now standing. Calm, composed. Smiling—but it was that sharp, dangerous smile. The kind that hides knives behind the teeth.

Billy paled. "Ms. Agatha, I-I can explain—"

"No. Garden. Now."

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.

My soul left my body. "Oh gods. She's going to hex me into a turnip."

--- --- --- --- ---

Billy and I stumble out into the dark, dewy garden behind the mansion, both still holding our now oddly calm rabbits.

The cold air bites at my skin, and the moon hangs high, watching like a silent witness.

"What the hell were you thinking bringing them here?!" I snap, shoving my bangs from my face.

Billy throws up his free hand. "You told me to take care of them!"

"At home! Not at an opera boot camp with Agatha, you know how much she loathes them after that incident!"

"I didn't have a choice! She needed me here, and I couldn't leave them alone!"

"Why'd you let them out of the cage then?!"

"I didn't! I swear I closed it—"

"But did you lock it?"

"...No?"

"Oh my gods—BILLY—"

"They figured out how to open the latch, okay?! They're geniuses!"

I'm about to respond when a chill sweeps across the garden.

We both go dead silent.

She's here.

Agatha Harkness emerges from the shadows like a storm. Her heels don't make a sound. Her coat billows like it's alive. And her magic? Oh, it's everywhere—pressing against the air, crawling over my skin.

"I should've turned you two stupid fuzzy troublemakers into stew," she mutters, glaring at the rabbits.

I hug Señor Scratchy tighter. "You can't. I won't let you."

Then she turns to Billy. "You brought what I asked for?"

He nods, trembling. "Yes, Ms. Agatha. Everything's prepped for tomorrow."

"Good. Go set it up. Now."

Billy hesitates. "What about—"

She waves a hand. "Take the creatures with you."

I reluctantly hand over Señor, and Billy grabs Madam Scratchy too. "I'm sorry," he mouths to me as he bolts away.

Now it's just me. And her.

She stands there in silence for a beat, arms folded, gaze locked on me like I'm an unsolved riddle she's one spell away from destroying.

Then she speaks. Quietly.

"Now, Y/N..." she breathes, voice like velvet over ice. "What exactly have you done to bring me this close... to losing it in front of a room full of normals?"

--- --- --- --- ---

Agatha's POV
Present

She stood before me, arms crossed, pouting like a cat who knocked over the vase and refused to admit it.

"It wasn't my fault," she said sharply, brows furrowed. "I didn't even know Billy was coming here—and how would I have known he'd bring them?"

Her chin jutted out in defiance. "So don't pin this on me, Agatha. It's Billy you should be yelling at."

I narrowed my eyes, folding my arms as the night wind ruffled the hem of my cloak. "But you own them," I cut in, voice low and deliberate.

That made her glance away. There. That flicker of guilt behind the fire. I could see it. The truth. The twenty-year-old girl behind all that stubbornness, all that heat. And gods, was there heat. Her magic was simmering again—I could feel it in the way the air thickened, like a room before a storm.

I took a slow step forward, the gravel crunching under my boots. "I'm willing to let this go... if you apologize."

She turned back to me with a glare. "Apologize? Agatha, didn't you hear me? I didn't know they'd come. If I had known, I would've double-caged them in steel, maybe enchanted it too."

I tilted my head, tapping my fingers against my arm. "But you made me mad," I said coolly. "Isn't that worth a tiny little sorry?"

Her mouth opened—then closed. Classic.

"Come on," I coaxed, my lips curling. "I'll accept any kind of apology, darling. A word. A curtsy. A serenade if you're in the mood."

"You're impossible," she muttered.

Then—without warning—she stepped in close, tiptoed up, and pressed her lips to mine.

Soft. Quick. Warm.

Gods.

Her lips tasted like courage, like defiance barely sweetened with guilt. I didn't hesitate. I kissed her back—this time deeper, possessive, pulling her body flush against mine. She let out the tiniest gasp, and I used it to guide her back, pinning her lightly to the ivy-covered stone wall of the garden.

My hands gripped her waist, sliding upward. Her fingers clutched my shoulder, nails digging in slightly.

"W-Wait," she breathed, trying to speak as my mouth trailed kisses down her jaw. "Agatha, hold on—"

I silenced her with another kiss. Firmer. Hotter. Her magic flared again—sweet Hecate, it felt like lightning dancing on my skin.

Then I pulled back, just enough to see her.

Her golden eyes were glowing faintly, even under the moonlight. Her lips were swollen, smeared slightly with the burgundy shade I had ruined. Her breath was ragged.

And still... still she smirked.

"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

I arched a brow. "I don't like what you're smiling about."

"Aww, Aggie," she cooed, teasing. "In the end... you just wanted to kiss me."

I opened my mouth—but she didn't stop.

"You got all mad in there. Dragged me out here like some bad witch... only to pin me to a wall and eat my face off."

"Watch it," I warned.

She chuckled, pure mischief, eyes sparkling now. "You missed me, didn't you?"

I stared at her. This girl... she shifted like wind. One moment, she was all heat and rebellion; the next, she turned me into putty.

I exhaled. "You humiliated me in front of everyone."

"Unintentional," she said, raising a hand. "The rabbits were to blame."

I leaned in, my voice lowering, eyes darkening. "Then you'll have to make it up to me."

Her smirk faltered when I kissed her again—deeper, longer, until she whimpered against my mouth. My hand traveled up her spine, then around her ribs, fingers tracing her curves.

"Agatha—" she gasped, pulling back slightly, looking around. "We're outside. What if someone sees?"

I growled, nuzzling her neck. "I don't care."

She pushed lightly at my chest. "It's not even been 24 hours!"

I let out a small laugh. "Still too long."

She sighed dramatically. "You're such a witch."

I kissed her cheek, then murmured against her skin, "And you're mine. Every spellbound inch of you."

Her voice softened. "I know, Agatha. I love you, okay?"

That made me pause. I cupped her cheeks in both hands, brushing my thumbs over the high flush on her skin. "I love you too, hon."

I kissed her again. Sweet this time. Unrushed.

Then I stepped back, straightening my coat. "Alright. We'd better head in before Jennifer starts poking her divine nose into things."

She rolled her eyes, walking past me toward the door.

I smirked after her. "Y/N."

She turned, walking backward, her hair tousled and her lips still marked by mine.

"Yeah?"

I winked. "Next time, lock the damn cage."

She groaned, "Ugh! I said I didn't know!"

I laughed as she disappeared back inside, already bracing myself for whatever chaos she'd drag me into next.

Chapter Text

Y/N's POV

Present

A blaring, unholy siren shattered the silence of my dreams.

My eyes flew open. "What in the—?!"

I sat up like I'd been electrocuted. For a solid three seconds, I just stood there beside the bed, legs wobbling, eyes half-closed, brain still buffering like a cursed YouTube ad.

"W-What happened?!" I finally croaked, looking around wildly.

Cassie groaned from the next bed, her face half-smashed into a pillow. "Did we get bombed? Is this a war zone now?"

Kate rubbed her eyes, her voice flat. "Either we're under attack or someone let Howard near caffeine again."

Right on cue, Howard's voice boomed through the hallway like a megaphone possessed by Satan himself.

"RISE AND SHINE, FELLAASSS! Time waits for no artist! Get your little butts OUT OF BED!"

The siren kept going. I swear it got louder. My ears physically hurt. I glanced out the window—it was still dark. The sun hadn't even considered rising yet.

"This should be illegal," I muttered, grabbing my hoodie and dragging my feet to the hallway like a prisoner on death row.

--- --- --- --- ---

We were now lined up on a cold, misty field in rows of four. Dew clung to the grass like the world was sweating in sympathy. My breath fogged in front of me. I yawned so hard my jaw cracked.

Cassie was next to me, dead-eyed. "Why... in God's name... are we awake?"

Kate, standing beside her, sighed like a war veteran. "Because it's a boot camp. And clearly, sleep is the enemy."

I scanned the rows of sleepy faces and furrowed my brow. "Wait. Where's Tommy?"

Cassie blinked, then turned her head. "Oh no."

Kate looked around, too. "You've got to be kidding—he slept through the siren?"

Just then, the poor bastard jogged up, his hair a mess, shirt backward, one shoe untied.

Howard checked his watch theatrically and scowled. "YOU! Tommy-boy!"

Tommy flinched. "...Me?"

"Front and center!" Howard barked.

All heads turned. Tommy's shoulders sank. He dragged himself forward like he was walking to the guillotine.

"You're LATE. You know what that means?" Howard's voice dropped into dramatic villain mode.

Tommy blinked. "...Um..."

"Push-ups. Twenty. Now."

Tommy's eyes widened. "N-Now?"

Howard leaned closer. "Unless you'd prefer fifty, my lad."

Tommy immediately dropped down and started his push-ups, mumbling curses under his breath. By the twelfth one, he was already regretting life. When he returned to the back, he looked like he had aged five years.

I whispered. "How did you not hear that siren?"

"I thought it was a dream," he wheezed. "A really loud dream."

Howard clapped his hands. "Let that be a lesson! Punctuality is sacred!"

Then she appeared.

Agatha.

Walking across the field like she owned the mountain. And maybe she did.

She was dressed differently today—a loose white blouse tucked into high-waisted pants, her hair tied back in a simple knot. Minimal makeup, but somehow still looked like she stepped off a Vogue shoot. My eyes involuntarily followed her every step. Her gaze, however, didn't spare me even a glance now.

Howard clapped again. "Now, we start with morning cardio! Nothing like a little blood circulation to warm up those vocal cords!"

Around me, groans rippled like an echo.

A student up front raised a trembling hand. "B-But sir... we're opera singers...?"

Howard narrowed his eyes like he'd just been called a slur. "EXACTLY. You think you can hit a high C without stamina? Breath support? You need lungs of steel, kid!"

He turned dramatically. "Right, Miss Agatha?"

Agatha finally stepped forward. When she spoke, her voice sliced through the fog like a scalpel.

"To those of you who made it here, understand this: you were chosen because you showed potential. But potential is worthless without discipline."

Her voice was calm, but chilling. The kind of cold that didn't raise its voice to kill you—it simply watched as you froze.

"I designed this training myself," she continued. "Not just for your voices. Not just your bodies. But for your willpower."

The silence was absolute.

"No more excuses. No more whining. If you want to perform under pressure, you will train under pressure." She scanned our faces. I swear her eyes lingered on me—just for half a second—but it was enough to send a full-body shiver down my spine.

"Are. We. Clear?" she said, drawing out each syllable like a whip cracking.

"YES, MA'AM!" we chorused, startled into unity.

She nodded once. "Good. Howard, continue."

Then she turned and walked away, just like that. Cold. Untouchable.

I exhaled. "Well. She's in one hell of a mood."

Tommy muttered, "Think she's still mad about the rabbits?"

Cassie whispered, "Think she's mad at you."

I froze. "Me?"

Kate elbowed me gently. "You did kind of humiliate her yesterday."

My face heated. "It wasn't on purpose! I didn't know Billy would—ugh!"

Howard was now holding a clipboard. "GROUPS! You'll be training in TEAMS. I'll be reading the names out now. Once you're grouped, you stick together for the rest of today's course!"

--- --- --- --- ---

Agatha's POV

Present

I sat at the edge of the viewing stands, arms crossed, the morning sun beginning to stretch golden fingers across the vast field. The obstacle course sprawled before me like a battlefield, half-mud, half-chaos. The kids were fidgeting at the starting line, their sneakers digging into the damp grass, eyes wide with nerves and anticipation.

Today was relay training. Five per team. Endurance, agility, coordination.

And attitude.

I had personally inspected every hurdle this morning: zigzag cones, a net crawl half-submerged in muddy water, the balance beams, monkey bars that bit into your palms, and finally—a towering wall with a bell at the top, echoing like judgment.

I muttered under my breath, "Huh. Billy actually outdid himself this time. Didn't think he had it in him."

A shadow slid into the seat beside me.

"You're really going all out with this boot camp," Jennifer said, sitting too close, brushing invisible lint off her lap like she was on camera.

I didn't bother hiding my eye roll. "You tagging along just for the press attention doesn't qualify you to critique anything."

She clutched her chest in mock pain. "Ouch. Savage as ever."

I gave her a sidelong look. "Brutally honest. Try it sometime."

Jennifer leaned forward with a smirk, nodding toward the field. "There she is. Your star girl."

My gaze instinctively followed.

And there she was.

Y/N, standing with her team in a worn-out t-shirt and training shorts, her hair tied up in a loose bun, a few strands falling stubbornly around her face. The sunlight hit her eyes just right—those gold-flecked eyes that always saw too much—and for a moment, she looked... unearthly.

Effortless. Radiant.

I blinked.

Jennifer cleared her throat loudly. "You're staring, Agatha."

I shifted, folding my arms tighter. "One more comment and I'll hex you out of this dimension."

She chuckled, undeterred. "I'm just intrigued. You—an immortal witch with a questionable moral compass—falling for a little witch half your age. Not judging, just fascinated."

"She's twenty. I'm timeless," I shot back. "Besides, you're single and 300. That's more tragic."

"Hey!"

I ignored her. My eyes were already back on Y/N, who was now bouncing on the balls of her feet, laughing with Cassie and Tommy. Her energy crackled like sparks waiting for flame.

Let's see what you'll do with it.

--- --- --- --- ---

"ON YOUR MARK... GET SET... GO!"
Howard's voice boomed through the mic, setting the field into motion.

The first runners bolted into the agility maze—zigzag cones laid out like landmines.

Cassie was up first for Y/N's team. She took off, sugar-fueled and determined, but her feet weren't fast enough. She was lagging behind. I saw her mouth a "damn it" as another team surged ahead.

Second station: the mud crawl. A boy from their team dropped to the ground, slithering under the net like a soaked cat. Mud splashed. The air filled with grunts and yells.

Third: the balance blocks. Wooden beams elevated just enough to bruise pride and bones. Tommy surprised me—graceful and fast, moving like he'd done it a thousand times. They gained ground.

Fourth: monkey bars. The girl after Tommy had confidence but not grip strength. She slipped mid-swing, fell flat, earning a collective "Oooh!" from the sidelines. That cost them precious seconds.

Last leg. The wall climb.

Y/N stepped forward.

My breath hitched. She looked up at the towering structure—hands already chalked, eyes locked on the bell above like it was calling to her. Her fingers dug into the stone ridges, legs pushing off hard.

She climbed fast. Very fast.

Then—on the other side—Kate Bishop, now climbing for a rival team, caught up, her face tight with determination.

The two of them side by side, racing up this sheer wall. Arms shaking.

And then—something shifted.

A flicker. A ripple in the air around Y/N, like heat rising off pavement. For the briefest moment, her aura surged—a glint of gold, sharp and radiant, flaring just beneath her skin.

I saw it. Of course I did.
Because I knew what to look for.

Her muscles coiled, and then—she leapt.
Not jumped. Leapt.
Higher than any human should've been able to. Her body soared, hair catching the sunlight, a golden shimmer trailing in her wake like embers.

CLANG!
Her hand slapped the bell a full second before Kate even reached it.

There was a beat of silence.
A few heads turned.
Furrowed brows.

Kate stumbled to a stop, blinking. She muttered, "Wait... how'd she—?"

Cheers erupted.

Y/N threw her arms into the air, breathless and triumphant. "I did it! I won!"

Her team ran to her, yelling, grabbing her shoulders in celebration. And she turned, golden eyes locking onto mine.

She smiled, wide and bright, and waved eagerly.

I didn't wave back.

I didn't smile.

Instead, I muttered low under my breath, "You're in so much trouble, Y/N."

--- --- --- --- ---

Y/N's POV
Later

The crowd was dispersing. The others had gone inside for a water break, to wash off the sweat and mud. But I stayed.

I spotted Agatha still seated alone at the viewing stands, her expression unreadable, arms tight across her chest. I jogged over, the grass cool under my sneakers.

"Agatha!" I beamed. "Did you see that? I won! Didn't humiliate you, huh?"

She didn't smile.

She didn't even blink.

"Oh, you won all right," she said, voice like a blade in ice. "Congratulations."

I froze. That tone... was not proud.

"Why do you sound like you just caught me stealing?"

She rose slowly, gaze sharp. "Because you cheated, Y/N."

I flinched. "What? I—"

"Don't lie to me," she snapped. "That leap? That wasn't cardio. That was magic."

I grabbed her arm, pulling her close. "No one noticed! It's fine—"

She yanked herself free. "That's not the point. I don't care if the whole damn world was blind. I saw it. And I don't tolerate cheating."

"But I just wanted—!" I choked.

"You wanted to win. At any cost. Typical."

"No!" My voice cracked. "I—I did it for you! I wanted to make you proud!"

Her jaw clenched. She leaned down to meet my eyes, inches from my face. "You can't earn pride with dishonesty. And you sure as hell won't earn mine by pretending to be invincible."

Something inside me twisted. My fingers curled into fists.

"What about you, huh? Don't stand there pretending you're some kind of moral compass when you've spent years weaving spells into your performances—enchanting your audience so they'd worship the ground you walk on! You manipulate minds like it's part of the script, Agatha. Don't talk to me about fairness."

"Silence." Her voice cut through me like a blade.

"You're still a child—arrogant and reckless. You treat magic like a toy, like it's yours to wield without consequence."

Her eyes blazed.

"You flaunt your power in the open, without so much as a concealment spell to hide it from mortal eyes—like I always have. You act as if no one's watching. As if witch hunters no longer exist. You think you're invincible, Y/N? One wrong spark—just one—and they'll come for us both. And when they do, it won't be a duel. It'll be an execution."

The air grew heavy. I felt my pendant sear against my chest. Heat pulsed through me, invisible but real, the world warping slightly around the edges.

She took one last look, her tone lower, dangerous.

"Do it again—and next time, I won't look away."

Then she turned.

Walked away.

Left me standing in the middle of the empty field, breathing like a wildfire.

The pendant pulsed again. My control slipped.

A scream—raw and furious—tore from my throat as a surge of energy burst outward, rattling the air, shaking the grass.

And then nothing. Just my breath. Just her back as she walked away.

"I did it for you, you old witch," I whispered.

Tears stung my eyes.

"I just wanted you to be proud of me."

Chapter Text

Y/N's POV

Present

The dining hall buzzed with morning chatter and clinking cutlery, but none of it reached me.

I sat, staring blankly at a strip of bacon going cold on my plate. My appetite had vanished the moment I stepped into the room.

"Y/N?" Kate's voice was soft but concerned as she leaned closer. "You okay?"

Cassie poked at her fruit salad with a furrowed brow. "Yeah, this isn't your 'I just won' face. You should be smug right now. Grinning. Doing a little victory dance or something."

I forced a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "I'm fine," I muttered, stabbing my eggs like they'd offended me.

The girls exchanged looks, but didn't press. Not yet.

Then—her.

I felt Agatha before I saw her. The air shifted. My spine stiffened instinctively. Her heels clicked lightly against the wood floors as she entered the hall, composed as ever, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand.

My chest tightened. I shoved a mouthful of eggs in, swallowed, and abruptly stood.

"Y/N?" Kate called again, confused. "Where are you going? You haven't even finished—"

"I'm not hungry." My tone was clipped. I didn't look back.

I could feel her eyes on me. Watching. Cold. Detached. As if I were some student she barely knew, instead of the girl she just berated. Instead of the one who—gods help me—tried.

My pace quickened. I needed air. I needed space. I needed her not to look at me like that.

--- --- --- --- ---

The morning dragged on.

Jennifer Kale's session on vocal projection and breathing technique was everything it should've been—useful, practical, and well-structured.

But I wasn't really there.

My body sat in the front row, obediently taking notes. My mind? Still stuck in that cold exchange. The condescension in her voice. The hurt. The look in her eyes said, You disappointed me.

"Y/N?"

I blinked. Jennifer was staring at me expectantly. "It's your turn, sweetheart. Let's hear what you've got."

I nodded numbly, stood, and sang—though it didn't feel like singing. It felt like exhaling regret into the room. I couldn't even recall which aria I chose. All I remembered was stepping down afterward, still feeling hollow.

Lunch came. I didn't eat.

Instead, I wandered.

--- --- --- --- ---

The grounds surrounding the villa were... stunning. Towering trees swayed gently in the mountain breeze, their leaves catching glints of sunlight. A wide garden wrapped around the main building, where wildflowers tangled with well-manicured hedges. In the distance, a glimmer of water caught my eye—a pond, large and still, resting at the edge of a grove.

I followed the cobbled path down to it, letting the quiet swallow me whole.

But then—I stopped.

Voices.

Laughter.

I darted behind the stone pillar of the gazebo entrance and cautiously peeked around it.

There she was.

Agatha Harkness sat in the sun-drenched gazebo that stretched like a floating crown over the lake, its wooden beams wrapped in ivy and gold light. She was the picture of composed elegance—one leg crossed over the other, a porcelain teacup resting effortlessly in her hand. Her blouse—silken and fitted in a deep wine-red hue—hugged her figure with an ease that made her seem both regal and untouchable.

The morning light spilled through the open lattice, kissing the waves of her dark hair and casting soft shadows over the sharp lines of her face. And she was laughing—low, rich, and relaxed—in a way I hadn't seen.

And not just with anyone.

Sitting across from her was Wanda Maximoff.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

Wanda. From the Witches' Ball. The so-called rival.

I narrowed my eyes. They weren't arguing, far from it.

They were close. Laughing easily, like old friends sharing secrets. Every now and then, their fingers brushed over the tabletop—casual, intimate. Familiar.

"What...?" I whispered under my breath, still hidden. "She never said Wanda would be here."

I leaned closer behind the pillar, heart pounding. "Weren't they rivals? Isn't that what she told me?"

Then it hit me.

The architecture. The wards around the villa. The vibe of the whole place—strikingly similar to Wanda's estate. The one I visited once before.

"Don't tell me... This place was Wanda's. She lent it to her?"

The thought felt like a needle under my skin.

And there she was. Agatha. Laughing. Smiling. Touching Wanda's hand like nothing in the world was wrong.

Like she hadn't thrown daggers at me with her words earlier. Like she hadn't scolded me so coldly. Like I was nothing more than an undisciplined child to her.

Yet Wanda gets the soft looks. The laughter. The tea.

I clenched my jaw. My palms curled into fists at my sides.

Why? Why did it hurt so much?

I didn't even realize my magic was starting to rise until the stones beneath my feet vibrated slightly. The pendant at my chest pulsed—once, then twice—with that familiar heat.

I inhaled sharply and forced myself to back away.

And I ran.

Down the path, away from the pond, away from them. From her.

"I hate you, Agatha," I hissed under my breath. "I hate that you made me feel like this. I hate that you get to smile like nothing happened. I hate that I care."

I didn't know if the wind heard me.

But my heart did.

And it ached.

--- --- --- --- ---

Agatha's POV

Present

The gazebo stood like a crown over the glittering lake, the late morning sun spilling through the carved wooden arches. Light shimmered across the water, casting gold onto the marble floor beneath our feet. The air was warm and crisp, perfumed by the rose gardens just a breeze away. Wanda sat across from me, legs elegantly crossed, her garnet-hued robe catching the light like spun wine.

She looked far too relaxed for someone who once tried to fry me alive.

"So here we are," she said, setting her porcelain teacup down with a soft clink. "Finally sitting down like civilized witches. What's it been, fifty years since we shared a proper conversation that didn't end with someone nearly combusting?"

I smirked, leaning back into my seat, one hand lazily cradling my own cup. "If you mean the last time I won, then yes, darling. It's been a while."

Wanda scoffed, "Please. You were half-dead and bleeding out on the forest floor. If I hadn't let you crawl away, you'd be mulch by now."

I raised an eyebrow, "Still not dead, am I? Which means I beat you in the end."

She shook her head with a wry smile. "Let's call it a tie, shall we? Until our next duel, Agatha."

We both laughed — not because it was funny, but because that's the sort of thing witches like us did. Laughed instead of admitting we almost died.

Wanda and I... we had history. Tangled, vicious, occasionally tender. She'd been the prodigy once — the witch whose spells came from sheer force of will, without word or wand. She was covenless and wild when I found her, and I was starving for power.

Naturally, I tried to take hers, and naturally, I failed.

I didn't see the runes. Who would've thought the girl could outfox me?

I should've died that day. I remember kneeling in the dirt, bloodied and empty, waiting for her to finish me. Instead, she offered me her hand and said, "You're interesting. Next time, try asking."

And that's how it started — our strange, magnetic orbit.

She invited me to her endless parties in her ridiculous castle, year after year. Grand, glittering affairs that most witches only dreamed of attending. I ignored most of them. I wasn't one for sequins and sentiment.

Yet here I was now, sipping her tea, sitting in her borrowed lake villa — which she so generously offered for my opera boot camp.

"You know," Wanda said now, tilting her head, "you owe me for this."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Don't play innocent. I gave you an enchanted mountain villa with wards strong enough to keep even demons out — just so you could train a bunch of opera kids and flirt with your little girlfriend without being seen."

I laughed dryly. "You mean when I asked, Hey, do you have a place big enough for twenty melodramatic brats, and you said Sure, want the one with the view or the portal cellar?"

Wanda gave me that sly, closed-lipped smile. The one that said she was playing chess, and I hadn't seen the board yet.

I sighed and leaned back again. "Fine. What is it you want, Maximoff? A soul? A blood pact? My eternal gratitude? Because that's not on the menu."

She chuckled. "No, nothing so grim. Just... curiosity."

I narrowed my eyes. "About?"

"That little witch of yours."

My grip on the cup tightened. "Tread lightly."

"I'm serious," Wanda said, her voice low, almost reverent — but edged with something sharper. "The girl you brought that night to the Witches' Ball — she isn't just any witch, is she? Her magic didn't just flicker, Agatha. It roared. Ancient. Untamed. The kind of power that feels like it's been locked away for a millennium, and now it's remembering how to burn."

I said nothing.

She leaned forward, eyes glinting like garnets in the sun. "The Silent Witch. The myth. The ghost from those forbidden texts... She's real, isn't she? And she's with you."

I clenched my jaw.

Wanda tilted her head, studying me like a hawk studies a trembling mouse. "Last I checked, you were hunting her — obsessed with tracing the remnants of her power, trying to dissect her. And now?" She smirked. "You fell for her."

She didn't say it like an accusation. She said it like an unveiling.

"She was cloaked in darkness before," Wanda continued. "But now? Her aura is splintered obsidian — shot through with gold. And her temper..." A chuckle escaped her lips. "It's delicious. She looks at you like she'd set the world on fire for you — or burn you with it if you dared to hurt her."

"She's chaos incarnate," I muttered, almost to myself.

Wanda smiled slyly. "Exactly. And you're addicted to it."

"I'm aware, Wanda."

She grinned. "You can't tame that. Not fully."

"I don't intend to tame her," I said, tone darkening. "But I will protect her. From anything. Anyone."

Wanda raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No probing. Though... she is very cute when she's glaring."

I shot her a look.

"And speaking of glaring," Wanda continued, eyes glinting with amusement, "you might want to tell her to be less obvious when spying. She's behind that column."

I blinked. Then I felt it — the crackle of magic in the air, subtle but wild. The temperature rose. The sunlight sharpened.

I slammed my palm against the table. "Oh, for the love of—Y/N."

Wanda laughed delightedly. "She really doesn't like me, does she?"

"She shouldn't. Not with the way you're sniffing around."

"I'm not sniffing," she said innocently. "I'm admiring. That's allowed, isn't it? Come on, Agatha. Let me talk to her—"

"No."

"Oh? Are we... being possessive now?" she asked, voice honeyed, eyes gleaming. "Agatha Harkness, jealous? Never thought I'd see the day."

I crossed my arms, glaring. "She's not some relic you can study. And you are not going near her."

"She's fascinating."

"She's mine."

Wanda blinked at that. Just once. Then smiled, lips curling in amusement.

"Oh, darling," she purred. "You really are turning into a protective mother hen. Or should I say, lover with claws."

"Call me that again," I said through clenched teeth, "and we duel. Right here. Right now."

Wanda's laughter echoed through the gazebo like bells in a storm.

And somewhere behind the column, I felt Y/N flee. Her magic retreated, brittle with hurt, leaving behind a flicker of heat.

Damn it.

She saw us laughing. She saw me smile. And I hadn't smiled at her since... well, this morning.

I exhaled, long and slow, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

Wanda raised her cup again. "You're in trouble now."

"I know."

"And you're not going after her?" Wanda asked, swirling her tea like it held prophecies.

I exhaled, long and tired, and took another sip. "No. Not yet. I'm still—" I paused, searching for a word that didn't sound pathetic. "Still... simmering."

"Ah." Her grin widened, amused and all too knowing. "So you are mad at her."

I said nothing. Which, of course, was as good as a confession.

Wanda rested her chin in her palm, eyes dancing. "Who would've thought? The infamous Agatha Harkness, brooding over a spat with her twenty-year-old lover. This is rich."

I narrowed my eyes. "Careful. Keep talking, and I'll enchant your wine to taste like wet barn goat for the next ten years."

She laughed — full, delighted, and irritatingly charming. "Ooh, the domestic rage. I live for this."

I stood, brushing off my blouse. I didn't need this today. I had enough chaos to deal with.

Wanda lifted her cup in a mock toast, that infuriating sparkle in her eye. "Good luck, Mommy."

I vanished with a snap and a crackle of violet smoke — but not before turning her tea bitter as swampwater.

Let her enjoy that.

Chapter Text

Y/N's POV

Present

"Damn it," I muttered, patting my jacket, my jeans, every damn pocket I could find. "Where the hell is it?"

I flipped my hoodie down and dug through my bag, half-panicked now. Then it hit me.

"Oh no... oh gods, no."

I groaned aloud as the memory returned in painful clarity.

It was the next day after what happened between me and Agatha.

Today is Lilia Calderu's history lesson, which felt less like a class and more like being trapped in a museum hosted by a guilt-tripping banshee. She had told us, quite theatrically, to "list every opera and assign personality archetypes to each character you feel drawn to, like how you read fate in tea leaves."

Kate, of course, was practically vibrating with joy—opera nerd that she was. Cassie looked like she was about to cry. Tommy muttered something about writing a punk rock version of Carmen just to spite the woman.

And me? I was too busy doodling death rays beside the name Agatha Harkness in my notebook.

--- --- --- --- ---

Later. Dusk.

The sun had started to slip behind the hills, staining the sky in pinks and bruised oranges. I snuck away from dinner and wandered down the stone path toward the edge of the villa grounds, heart pounding. The air near the pond was cool and still, the surface like polished glass.

I spotted it immediately—my notebook, half-tucked into a patch of overgrown ivy beside the wall where I'd been eavesdropping yesterday.

Relief flooded me. "Thank god."

But just as I reached for it—

A pale hand snatched it up.

"H-hey!" I gasped, stumbling back.

The figure stepped out of the shadows, graceful as a ghost. Crimson leather. Loose curls. A smirk that had launched a thousand magical disasters.

"Y/N," said Wanda Maximoff, like she already knew everything about me. She turned the notebook over in her hands. "What a coincidence... or perhaps fate. Hm. What's this little thing?"

"Don't—" I reached for it.

Too late.

She opened it with casual, almost amused curiosity, flipping to the first page. Her eyes sparkled. Then she read aloud:

"How to Deal With Agatha Harkness."

My stomach plummeted.

"Give it back!" I lunged forward.

She chuckled and, with a flick of her fingers, sent me flying back against the low stone wall with a cushion of red magic. My boots scuffed the mossy stone. "Oh, don't be shy. I think it's adorable," she said, flipping more pages. "Diagrams, lists, emotionally charged side notes... oh, look! A chart on how she handles jealousy!"

"Wanda!" I snarled. "I'm warning you."

She laughed. "Yes, yes—so much fire. I see why she likes you."

She turned a page again and read aloud with a giggle:

"Wanda Maximoff – possibly dangerous, mysterious rival of Agatha. Has a spooky castle and an unconfirmed number of demonic creatures in the basement. No clue what her powers are, but I don't trust her."

She looked up, eyes twinkling. "Suspicious, am I?"

I crossed my arms, trying to look composed despite the heat rising in my cheeks. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I'm flattered." She stepped closer, slowly, like a predator that already knew the prey wasn't running. "You know... there's something fascinating about you. You're wild. Untamed."

She was inches from me now, her voice dropping. "And yet... Agatha Harkness has you tethered. Or so she thinks."

I stared her down. "What do you want from me?"

Wanda didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped forward with the eerie stillness of a shadow crossing candlelight. Her red eyes began to glow brighter—not burning, but smoldering like coals under velvet.

"I want to understand you," she whispered, voice smooth as silk soaked in poison. Her fingers brushed against my wrist—a feather-light touch, but it buzzed through me like a warning bell. "Not take. Just... know."

And then it happened.

A pulse. A whisper.

Like the air around us warped. Reality shivered.

I felt her magic enter me—not in a physical way, but in a psychic way. Deep. It wasn't warmth anymore. It was seduction.

Soft, insidious threads curled around the edges of my thoughts, slipping between cracks in my mental defenses like smoke through a keyhole.

Wanda Maximoff wasn't reading my mind.
She was coaxing it open.

Like a siren pulling a ship toward the rocks with a lullaby.

I gasped, stumbling back against the stone wall. "Y-you're—"

"Shh..." she purred, her hand now cupping my cheek. Her crimson magic glowed between her fingertips. "Let me see you."

And then she dove.

It was like falling inward.

Just as my knees started to buckle under the weight of it—

"Enough."

The voice cracked across the space like a whip.

A violent surge of violet magic blasted between us, knocking Wanda back a few steps. She deflected it effortlessly, but the glow in her eyes dimmed.

And then—there she was.

Agatha.

Coat flaring in the breeze. Power rolling off her like a thunderstorm cloaked in silk.

"Touch her mind again and I'll rip yours apart strand by strand," Agatha said coldly, arms crossed, magic thrumming at her fingertips.

Wanda raised her hands in mock surrender, amused. "My, my. Possessive, aren't we?"

"Don't push me, Wanda."

Wanda let out a soft laugh and stepped back. "I was only playing."

"A Silent Witch..." Wanda began, her voice low, almost reverent. "She was killed centuries ago by her own kind—greedy witches who feared what they couldn't control."

She stepped closer, eyes locked on mine. "But her soul didn't rest. It was taken—reborn again and again by covens who wanted her power for themselves. Each time, they failed. Each time, she slipped away."

"And each time," she added, her tone darkening, "you came back... with no memory of who you were."

She glanced at Agatha briefly. "She hunted you once. So did others. Even Death itself seemed curious—why a soul like yours couldn't stay dead."

Wanda turned her gaze back to me. "But now? Now, something's different. You're remembering. Your magic isn't quiet anymore. It's starting to burn."

Her eyes flickered with red light. "That's why your eyes turned gold, isn't it? A fragment of the first Silent Witch... waking up."

My mouth parted, stunned, the truth hanging heavy in the air.

Agatha stepped forward and finished dryly, "Yes, yes. That's the gist. Now get your nosy little hands off her or I'll teleport you into a cave full of banshees with a taste for gossip."

Wanda sighed dramatically and backed off. "Fine. But admit it—she's your type and mine."

"Out," Agatha snapped.

Wanda grinned and, with a flick of her hand, tossed my notebook back. I caught it midair, heart still pounding.

As she turned to leave, she added over her shoulder, "You really should bring her to my next ball. I think the audience would love her. That kind of wild power on stage? Mmm. Iconic."

She gave me a wink. "See you soon, little silent witch."

With a snap, she vanished in a shimmer of red.

The air went still again.

Agatha and I stood in silence. The wind rustled the ivy. The sky burned gold behind her silhouette.

--- --- --- --- ---

Agatha's POV

Present

And now—it was just the two of us.

The sun had just set, casting the last of its crimson farewell across the sky, leaving behind a blanket of indigo that crept slowly over the world. The night air hung still—so still it felt like even the moonlight was holding its breath. The tension between us was sharp, suffocating, a silence so thick I could almost slice it with magic. We stood there, facing each other, but it felt like a canyon had split open in the space between us.

I took a breath and dared to speak. "Y/N—"

But she didn't let me finish.

"Don't 'Y/N' me," she snapped, her voice low but edged with fury. Her eyes, glinting faintly gold in the shadows, locked on mine like daggers. She was trembling, her fists clenched so tightly I saw the faint shimmer of magic pulsing beneath her skin. There were tears in her eyes—held back, unshed—but I could feel the storm brewing behind them.

"I have nothing to say to you," she muttered, her voice flat and final. She turned on her heel, already half a step away.

But I moved faster, reaching out and catching her arm—not roughly, but firmly enough that she tried to yank away. I didn't let go.

"Wait," I said, more desperate than I wanted to sound.

She struggled once more, her breath sharp, but I held her. "Y/N, please. Just listen to me."

She froze. Her golden eyes lifted to mine, wide with pain and defiance. I swallowed hard and spoke before I lost the chance.

"I'm sorry," I said, the words raw in my throat. "I didn't mean to hurt you yesterday. That wasn't what I wanted—not even close."

And then I let go.

I expected her to walk away again, or curse me under her breath, or worse, look at me with those eyes that used to love me and now only saw betrayal.

But she didn't.

Instead, she moved—suddenly, without warning—stepping forward and throwing herself into my arms. She clung to me like she'd been holding herself together with string and had just finally allowed it to snap.

I held her. Of course I did. My arms wrapped around her instinctively and protectively, and I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in as if it could steady me.

"I'm sorry, Agatha," she whispered against my chest, her voice muffled and choked with emotion. "I—I didn't mean to, I just—"

I shushed her gently, my lips brushing her temple. "Shhh. Come now. It's alright. I'm not mad, sweetheart. Not anymore."

We stayed there, wrapped up in each other beneath the moonlight and the weight of everything unsaid. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were shimmering with leftover tears.

"I hated you," she said quietly, almost ashamed. "For a moment. When I saw you laughing with Wanda, like... like none of it mattered."

I lifted both hands and cradled her face, my thumbs brushing her cheeks.

"Oh, hon. You could never really hate me, could you?" I asked, trying for a small smile. "Not when I know how your heart beats when I hold you like this."

She let out a quiet, breathy laugh—shaky and real.

"How can I hate you," she whispered, "when you always come back for me? Like I'm some helpless girl... even when I have all this power."

"You are not helpless," I murmured. "But you are mine. Mine to protect. Mine to keep. Mine to love."

And I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers, our noses brushing gently.

"I'm sorry I made you feel alone," I whispered, my voice breaking a little. "I wasn't laughing because I didn't care."

She exhaled shakily and gave me a tired smile. "I was reckless too, I know that. My friends keep asking how I managed to leap that high, and I just shrugged it off. 'Adrenaline,' I said." She chuckled softly.

"You need more training," I replied, feigning sternness. "Both magical and theatrical. You can't keep relying on instinct and chaos."

She groaned dramatically. "Gods, Agatha, I swear. Opera training, magic training—it's like my entire life has become one endless syllabus. I didn't ask to become a magical honors student."

I smirked. "Then perhaps you shouldn't have fallen in love with a centuries-old witch with unreasonably high standards."

"I hate your standards," she muttered.

"And yet you still try to meet them," I teased.

Then I frowned. "That Wanda... she didn't hurt you, did she?"

Y/N shook her head quickly. "No. She... she said some things. But she didn't touch me."

I narrowed my eyes and grumbled, "Next time, I'm turning every guest at her cursed little gala into goats."

She laughed, full and bright this time, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. "Please do. But wait until after I perform again at her ball—I want to sing, Agatha."

"No," I replied flatly. "Not if she's there."

"But I was going to bring Señor Scratchy and Madam Scratchy and have them wear little masks," she said innocently.

I paused.

I raised an eyebrow. "You planned costumes for the familiars?"

She nodded with a grin. "Full masquerade regalia."

I sighed with exaggerated defeat. "Well then... in that case, we must attend. I can't let the rabbits outdress me."

We both laughed then, wrapped in that rare moment where everything felt light again.

And then—softly, unexpectedly—she whispered, "I love you, Agatha."

She leaned in and kissed me—gently, tenderly, with all the warmth she hadn't been able to show earlier.

I looked at her in awe, this girl who once refused to admit it, now leaning into me like I was the only safe place in the world.

"Oh, love," I murmured back, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "I love you more."

I kissed her again, deeper this time, with her arms twining around my neck and mine circling her waist.

Gods help me—she really is irresistible.

The stone wall behind her was cool against her back, but everything else burned—her skin, her breath, her eyes locked on mine as I leaned in closer, tasting the heat that danced between us.

And the kiss continued, slow at first, but quickly deepening. Her hands were clinging to the front of my coat, pulling me closer as if she couldn't get enough. I let out a shaky breath as our bodies pressed together, the space between us nonexistent now.

The sun had long since vanished, and the dusky twilight had folded into full night. Shadows curled around the courtyard like whispering specters, and the scent of jasmine hung thick in the air. The marble floor beneath us reflected the faint glow of lanterns that swayed above, casting flickers of gold against her flushed skin.

"I want you, Y/N," I murmured, voice low and ragged against her lips. "Gods, I want you."

Her eyes fluttered half-closed, her breath catching. "A-Agatha..."

I kissed her again—then deeper still, trailing down to the delicate curve of her neck. She let out a sound, soft and helpless, trying in vain to stifle it as my mouth found her pulse point. I kissed, I sucked, I bit—gently, possessively. Her magic hummed under my fingertips where I gripped her waist, and I could feel her trembling.

My hand began to trail up her side, slipping beneath the edge of her blouse, fingertips brushing the bare warmth of her skin—

"Señor Scratchy?! What are you—"

Y/N froze.

We both turned sharply.

And there, in the shadowed archway of the courtyard, stood Billy.

Wide-eyed. Holding a rabbit cage. Mouth agape.

And in that exact moment, Señor Scratchy scampered toward Y/N and leapt into her arms like a little ball of fluff entirely unaware of the tension he had just annihilated.

Silence.

A long, painful, suffocating silence.

And Billy—sweet, flustered, unfortunate Billy—looked like he'd just walked in on a horror film... or a soap opera.

"B-Billy?!" Y/N blurted, her voice cracking with embarrassment.

"I—I—" he stammered, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson. "I didn't mean to! I swear—I just—I was trying to catch Señor Scratchy before he destroyed something!"

I stepped away from Y/N quickly, straightening my jacket and brushing nonexistent dust off my sleeves as I narrowed my eyes. "Billy," I said, my tone dangerously calm. "Have you ever heard of a little thing called privacy?"

He paled. "I—it was an accident! Honest! I only opened the cage so he could go out and do his... business—but he vanished like a bullet!"

Y/N groaned, her arms still wrapped around the rabbit, who blinked innocently. "You're terrible at watching over pets."

Billy's jaw dropped. "I volunteered, okay?! You were the one who begged me to help while you went to your opera lessons! If you don't appreciate me, then I'll just quit!"

Y/N gave him a wicked grin. "Oh? So if you're quitting, I guess I can tell Agatha about—"

"Ooofh!" Billy clamped a hand over her mouth before she could finish. She yanked herself away with a sharp glare.

I arched an eyebrow. "Tell me what, exactly?"

Y/N, ever the chaos incarnate, smiled sweetly. "Billy's been sneaking sips of your 200-year-old wine, Agatha."

My eyes widened. "What?!"

Billy took a panicked step backward, then another, eyes darting for an escape route. "I-I only had a sip! Or two! It was just for...research!"

"You little—!" I lunged forward, but he was already sprinting down the courtyard like a bat out of Hell, nearly dropping the cage.

Behind me, Y/N laughed—full, bright, and slightly breathless. "That could've gone way worse."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to her, adjusting her rumpled collar with a smirk. "We're finishing this at home."

She raised a teasing brow. "You sure you can hold out that long... mommy?"

My gaze snapped to hers, sharp. "Y/N..."

She burst into giggles and danced away before I could catch her, skipping down the lantern-lit path with Señor Scratchy still cradled in her arms.

"Come on!" she called over her shoulder. "Last one back to the villa has to clean rabbit poop!"

I sighed deeply, half-exasperated, half-in love.

Gods help me—I really am doomed.

Chapter Text

Y/N's POV
Present Day
Final Day of Bootcamp

The third sunrise in this secluded mountain villa looked the same—but it felt different. This was it. The last day. The final curtain call for our opera bootcamp.

From the moment we arrived, we'd been told: on the last day, each of us would perform a solo piece in front of everyone—one act to show how much we'd grown, how far we'd come. Now, that day was here. No more rehearsals. No more second takes.

We were given one last hour to warm up. Most of us scattered across the villa like ghosts in costume—whispering lines under our breath, humming scales, gripping sheet music with white knuckles.

I didn't sing. I just sat alone at the back of the main hall, eyes tracing the wooden floorboards leading up to the stage, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape before the spotlight found me.

The golden hour light spilled in from the high arched windows, casting long shadows over the rows of seats. That stage had never looked more intimidating.

Then the doors creaked open and in came the panel—Lilia, Jennifer, and... Agatha.

They walked in slowly, deliberately. Like judges in a divine trial. Lilia wore her usual soft smile, like a proud mother hen. Jennifer sat stiffly, pen ready. But Agatha... oh gods, Agatha.

She didn't say a word.

She wore black today—her opera director's coat swishing with every step, high collar framing her face like a crown. She took her seat in the front row, one leg crossed over the other, chin resting on her knuckles.

I shouldn't have looked.

But I did.

Her side profile was sharp as ever—like she was carved from stormclouds and silver. Even from this angle I could almost see her eyes—those icy blues that saw through people. Through me.

The moment she turned her head—just slightly, as if sensing my gaze—I looked away fast, like her eyes could burn.

The lights dimmed slightly as Howard, our camp coordinator, stepped on stage with a mic.

"All right, everyone—settle down," he said, voice clear through the echo of the hall. "Today marks the end of your training. What you show us now is not perfection. It's transformation."

He looked directly at each of us. "Let's begin."

Students started performing one by one. I watched, barely hearing, barely breathing.

When Tommy was called, he shuffled nervously to the stage. From the wings, Billy gave him a bright thumbs-up and a cheer.

"You can do it, Tommy! I believe in you!"

Tommy turned beet red. "I'll, um... I'm singing Nessun Dorma."

Despite his nerves, Tommy nailed it. His baritone voice filled the room like velvet thunder, cracking only once on a high note—but gods, he held it. The applause was loud. Lilia clapped hard. Jennifer took notes. Agatha? She merely blinked... then nodded, once.

Next was Cassie, ever the firecracker. "I'll be singing La Capinera!" she chirped, skipping to center stage.

Her soprano rang bright and playful. Too playful, maybe.

"You have a dazzling range," Agatha said when it ended. "But remember—emotion isn't just energy. It's control." Cassie blushed, nodded.

Then it was Kate's turn. She looked like she might throw up.

"I'll be doing... Sempre Libera, from La Traviata," she said, voice trembling.

My eyes snapped up. Agatha's aria.

She sang with fire in her lungs. And for a second, I saw Agatha's fingers twitch—like the memory of singing it herself flickered through her.

Afterwards, even Agatha smiled faintly. "You held your own," she said. "Brava."

Then—

"Next up... Y/N!" Howard called.

My breath caught.

I stood.

My knees felt like glass. My hands, ice.

Billy mouthed you got this. Kate squeezed my wrist as I passed. I walked—no, floated—toward the stage. The entire hall blurred. But the front row didn't.

Jennifer: stern, curious.

Lilia: glowing, encouraging.

Agatha: unreadable. She smiled—not sweetly. Not coldly. As if... waiting.

I stepped forward and spoke.

"I'm going to perform... The Ballad of the Witches' Road."

A beat.

Then gasps.

Even the students whispered—confused.

I heard Jennifer murmur, "Wait—isn't that...?"

Howard blinked. "Ms. Agatha's original piece?"

I nodded. "Yes. She wrote it. But I... I'm going to sing it."

Agatha's expression didn't change. Not even a twitch. But her hands... they slowly folded across her lap. Her eyes locked onto mine.

"Very well," Howard said quietly. "The stage is yours."

I took a step back, inhaled—

—and let the first line fall from my lips.

Seekest thou the road to all that's foul and fair
Gather sisters fire, water, earth, and air...

The hall held its breath.

I didn't sing it like Agatha. Hers was a haunting, precise lament—icy and exacting.

Mine was lower. Raw. Like I was unearthing the words from my spine.

Darkest hour, wake thy power, earthly and divine
Burn and brew with coven true, and glory shall be thine...

The chorus rang through like an invocation.

Down, down, down the road
Down the witches' road...

I felt it. The pull of the words. The path they carved. Every lyric was a mirror to my past—the hunts, the magic, the silence inside me.

Agatha had written this... but somehow, it belonged to me.

Marching ever forward
'Neath the wooded shrine
I stray not from the path
I hold death's hand in mine...

I could feel Agatha's eyes on me like a spell—studying, dissecting. Searching for something. Truth? Strength? Her past?

Blood and tears and bone
Maiden, Mother, Crone...

The hall remained completely silent.

Not magically. Just utterly.

As the final line fell from my lips—

Follow me, my friend
To glory at the end...

—I raised my eyes and met hers.

I saw it.

That flicker. That gleam.

Her lips parted—not to speak. But to smile.

Not the smug, mysterious kind. Not the teasing smirk she wore like armor.

This one was real.

Pride. Fierce and wild and quiet.

Then—

A single clap echoed through the hall.

From the entrance, Wanda stood in her long red coat, leaning on the doorframe.

She clapped again. And again.

The room broke into applause, a wave of sound crashing around me.

But I didn't look at them.

I looked at her.

Agatha.

And she was still smiling.

Not a word. Just a small nod. Like a torch quietly passed from one soul to another.

"Thank you," I whispered. To her. To myself. To the road.

I'd made it.
And she was proud of me.

--- --- --- --- ---

Y/N's POV
Present

The soft click of the front door echoed through the quiet house as we stepped inside. Night had fallen completely by the time we returned, and a comfortable hush had settled over the neighborhood. Dim lights flickered on as I crossed the threshold with my bags slung over my shoulder, trailing behind me.

I dropped them by the kitchen counter with a soft sigh, rummaging through for my phone and water bottle. My body ached from the exhaustion of the final performance, but something inside me thrummed with adrenaline. The air was heavy. Not tense—more like... expectant.

I barely had a chance to breathe before I felt her.

Two warm arms slipped around my waist from behind, her body molding to mine perfectly. I felt the press of her chest against my back, her cheek grazing my shoulder as her scent wrapped around me—lavender, musk, and something inherently Agatha. Her fingers laced over my stomach, firm, claiming.

"You did so well today, hon," she murmured, voice low, thick with emotion.

A slow smile spread on my lips. "Thank goodness," I replied with a light chuckle. "I wasn't sure how you'd react to me stealing one of your songs."

Her only response was to nuzzle deeper into my shoulder, lips brushing the skin there. "You didn't steal it. You resurrected it." Her voice was velvet. "You gave it life again... and maybe gave it a new meaning."

I turned in her arms. The kitchen faded around us as we faced each other. Only inches of space separated us now. My hands rested on her hips, and hers moved up to my ribcage like a tide claiming the shore. "I love that song, Agatha," I whispered, gaze locking with hers. "It felt enchanted. Sacred."

Her lips curled into a soft, haunted smile. "I wrote it when I was lost. When all I wanted was power. When I thought magic was the only thing that would ever stay." She reached up and brushed my hair behind my ear. "Back then... the witches' road led to ruin. Now, with you... maybe it leads to redemption."

That admission hit me like a spell.

Then she kissed me.

It started slow. Her lips pressed against mine as if memorizing the taste. But it didn't stay gentle for long. Her hand slipped to the small of my back, pulling me closer. Our mouths moved together, hungry, each breath becoming more ragged than the last.

When we pulled apart, both of us panting, I grinned breathlessly. "You really can't hold it in much longer, can you?"

She narrowed her eyes in faux warning, her voice almost a growl. "Shut up."

She crashed her lips against mine again, and this time, there was nothing soft about it. Her fingers tangled in my shirt, yanking me forward as she kissed me like she wanted to consume me. We stumbled backward toward the living room, knocking over a bag along the way. Neither of us cared.

"Wait—Agatha," I gasped, breathless against her mouth. "Can I at least shower first?"

She pulled back, lips red and swollen, her eyes a wildfire of want. "No."

And before I could argue, she pushed me down onto the couch. The cool leather hit my back as she hovered over me, pinning me with her gaze. Her fingers slid under my shirt, trailing along my waist, up my ribs, and I shivered. Her lips descended on my neck, kissing, nipping, claiming.

But I smirked and pushed lightly at her shoulders. "Have you forgotten something?"

She blinked, hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. "What?"

I said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

She groaned dramatically, flopping back. "Ugh. That. You're relentless."

"But you promised me," I said with a pout. "You gave me your word, Aggie."

"I don't consent to being teased, that's what I don't consent to," she muttered, flipping her hair with a flourish worthy of an opera diva. "I want to devour you right here, right now."

"Then be a witch of her word," I teased, crawling over her, fingers brushing her collarbone.

"Fine," she grumbled. "But if I explode from sexual frustration, I'll haunt you for the next three centuries."

"Deal."

But she didn't even wait five seconds.

She flipped us, and suddenly I was beneath her again. Her lips crashed back into mine and my body responded instinctively. My fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Clothes were no longer obstacles, they were targets. She tugged at my shirt, I pulled at hers. Every movement was desperate, burning.

"Gods, you're beautiful," I murmured as I looked up at her—flushed, breathing hard, her eyes lit with magic she couldn't contain.

Her voice dropped into a seductive purr, "If you want to lead, then make me forget my own name, sweetheart."

A smirk tugged at my lips. "That wouldn't be a problem. I am more than capable of doing it."

This time, I took control.

I kissed down her neck slowly, savoring every gasp she gave me. My fingers explored every inch of her—curves, scars, and the heat of her. She arched beneath me, her nails digging into my back as I gave her everything. Whispered praises. Demanding moans. My name on her lips like a spell.

And just for a moment—just one glorious moment—Agatha Harkness, the ancient, untouchable, cunning witch, was under me. Her magic flared from her fingertips, then flickered out again like embers losing to pleasure.

But of course, her dominance didn't disappear for long.

She let me have my moment. Then, with a growl, she grabbed my wrists and flipped us again in a move that would make any succubus proud.

"Enough games," she whispered, straddling me, her breath hot against my jaw. "Now I lead."

I could only moan in response as she trailed kisses down my body like a woman on a mission.

Hours blurred. The night stretched long and lovely, echoing with our laughter, our cries, our names spoken like incantations. We moved from the couch to the carpet to tangled sheets upstairs. Until we were exhausted and sticky with sweat, limbs tangled, breath shared.

My head rested against Agatha's chest. My fingers traced idle patterns on her skin, and she whispered, almost drowsily, "You looked like a goddess up there on that stage today."

She kissed my forehead, and I replied, "Only because I was singing a goddess's song."

She chuckled, sleep creeping into her voice. "You make me proud, Y/N. You really do."

I held her tighter. "I'm glad. Because you make me feel... like I've finally found home."

And in the silence that followed, with the moonlight slanting in through the curtains, I realized something else.

The witches' road didn't just lead to ruin or power.

It led to love.

And she was mine.

--- --- --- THE END --- --- ---