"a deity of your own." ~ a.h & r.v
pairing — agatha harkness/rio vidal„ agatha harkness/jennifer kale (slightly)
summary — agatha harkness is no stranger to death, but it seems death may be a stranger to her. for her entire life, she's been haunted by this deity, this divine presence that she cannot shake. finally, she can see her. she knows the face of her ghost, of her deity.
content warnings — angst, slowburn, yearning, violence, death.
word/chapter count — 2.5k & (1/5)
It was twenty-eighteen, a year that lacked in interest. Nothing was more than it seemed; the world was stuck in an endless system of depression. There was nothing grand, nothing titillating. There was just lack. No spark. No solitude. No movement. The world was caught. Standing still. Dead in its tracks.
She stood firm with it.. or rather in this case, sat.
She was sitting on a mahogany stool. Her eyes were shut and her face was held up by the open palm of her hand, which extended to an elbow planted atop a marble bar. A white shirt, with buttons that trailed down the middle. Black slacks that would've been dragging as she walked if she hadn't worn her dark red heels. Some people say your shoes should match your outfit.. she had red earrings on. Did that count?
A man behind the bar slid a piece of paper next to the seemingly asleep woman. It was the ticket for the drinks she had consumed. The tender thought about waking her up, unsure if she would ever open her eyes again.
His attention was caught by a loud voice, and he walked away.
The woman at the bar did not move.
Her brown hair was curled, tangled at the ends. She looked like the world had chewed her up and spit her out. The bags under her eyes added to this, and the cracked skin of her lips worked against her favor.
For what felt like forever, she was still as she sat atop the mahogany stool. She was at peace. Tranquil.
But nothing lasts forever.
The hair on the back of her neck began to stand up. Her eyes flushed open.
Her glaze shot straight to the doors of the bar. A woman was there, staring at her. She had brown hair.
In the woman's hand was a cigarette, which she now took a puff off of. Her lips curved into a smirk, one directed clearly to the dark haired woman on the mahogany barstool.
She stood. Her eyes closed again. And then they opened.
The mysterious woman was gone.
Agatha pushed a sole piece of hair behind her ear and her eyes darted around, trying to find the smoking brunette. She could feel that she was gone, but she wanted to be sure.
Her relief was imminent when the woman was no where to be found.
She sighed, grabbing onto the strap of her purse and throwing it over her shoulder. The bartender opened his mouth to remind her of her ticket, and her fingers drew in. Purple shot from them, it seemed like no one else noticed. The bartender had been instantly busy with other customers, and it was like Agatha Harkness had never even sat at that bar. Like she had never been completely still atop the mahogany stool.
Days later the witch found herself stuck in traffic. She was aggravated at the stupidity of non-magical beings. She thought it was moronic for the color of a light to determine when someone should drive, and she found it even more bizarre that those without magic just accepted this way of life. Though, of course, she recognized it must be hard to challenge an idea or construct that had been in place for so long.
Thinking of the modernist ways of the world now made her reminisce upon the ancient times. Oh how the world had changed, and oh how it had still remained.
Agatha's eyes searched for the light, checking again to see if it had changed. She was manning the second car in the line of automobiles. To her dismay, the light seemed to be tranced in its red.
She figured she must've been stuck at that red light for at least 10 minutes. It was unusual to be caught for that long. . maybe there had been a crash? Agatha thought it was possible, but her logic reminded her that the lights don't change schedule per collisions.
When it had finally turned green, she smirked and clicked her tongue to her teeth. Her hands found their positions on the wheel again, and her foot met the accelerator. Just as she applied pressure to the control, something in her peripheral view caught her eye. As her car took off, her head jerked to the left, followed by many blinks, just to confirm that she wasn't seeing things. It was the same woman from the bar.
This time she stood with her arms crossed and her eyes fixated on Agatha. This sent chills to the brunette driving the car, and she shook her head, turning back to face the road. Whoever this woman was, she was relentless. Agatha thought it was a vengeance seeker from a coven she may have killed off, but she couldn't be sure.
Those eyes, though, they haunted her. Since she saw them in the bar, her dreams had become infected by the curious irises. She was certain she had seen them before, but she couldn't put her finger on where.
It had been a week since the brunette had been to the bar, and Agatha was tired of the constant racing her head did to try to figure out the woman who was haunting her, she wanted to escape it. As much as this stranger made her feel a conflicting sense of comfort, it was torture to know her body and her face but not her name. It just so happens that her friend, Jillian, had a birthday get together in a few hours.
The witch smiled as she looked her outfit over in the mirror. She had on a black pencil skirt and black button down shirt on. It was paired with a grey vest, which matched her grey and red heels. Her hair was loose, wild and untamed. She squinted, trying to determine what to change. Then she flipped her hair over her shoulder, smirking at the end result.
The drive to the city wasn't too long, it took maybe half an hour. As she rounded the corner of a street, she decided she would not think of the woman once. She would focus on the people in front of her.
It truly was a miracle that Agatha Harkness had friends, much less, non-evil friends. Jillian had always seen the good in her. It had been some time since she had taken a life. Maybe it was because of the new people she had become friends with.
Deep down, though, she knew it had little to do with them, and everything to do with her son.
She parked her vehicle. Decidedly, she left her purse in the glove compartment.
As she stepped into the bar, she took in her surroundings. She had never been to this specific bar before. It was very earthy. There were vines everywhere, fake ones of course, the ambience was very natural.. something you'd expect to see in a greenhouse. She didn't like nature, nor the earthy feel. It reminded her of green witches. She hated green witches. That was the only witch she hadn't killed yet.. the only outlier. They were ever so slightly more powerful than her, so it wasn't like she didn't WANT to kill a green witch. That power would be so strong, it would fuel her. Just thinking of that power she could drain, it made her bite her lip and sigh.
She knew though, that she should be making her way to the collection of witches there for Jillian's birthday. Agatha figured there would be some sort of reaction to her being there, especially because she was so renowned for being a witch killer.
As she walked towards the group who was facing Jillian's husband, Micheal, she noticed a certain someone who she was familiar with, a potions witch, to be exact.
She thought of turning around and leaving. The thought struck her, the one that stood on why Jill would invite her former partner.. but she also realized that Jillian had other friends that knew her.
Against her better judgement, Agatha sat down at the table. She huffed, her eyes glancing over the curvy unmistakable figure of her ex girlfriend. Jennifer was looking at her already. Their eyes met in a flash, and Agatha smirked, raising an eyebrow. The woman scoffed and looked away, her face purified with disgust and hatred.
It pleased the older witch to know that she caused annoyance to Jen, but of course, behind that notion, she also just wanted to speak to her.
The night went on with not much else, there was music, presents, and speeches. Everyone loved Jillian, she was a natural beauty to any audience she had. People worshipped her.
Jillian was Agatha Harkness' opposite. People cowered within even miles of Harkness. She was known to most of witchkind for her succubus powers, those that drained other witches of their power; and eventually their lives. The brunette enjoyed being feared, but it came at the price of being loved. You couldn't have everything, after all.
Or maybe you could, and maybe Agatha just needed something to make her feel as though she was just another victim of an unfortunate saying.
When everyone else at the table had given their toast to the birthday girl, heads turned to Agatha. Some of the people that knew her just from her face seemed to quiver, and the others that didn't know exactly whom she was looked in her direction with a hint of curiosity. Jen rolled her eyes and a sharp comment was thrown at Agatha.
"She doesn't give toasts. You all might as well hold on to your witch hats and get back to your martinis and memories."
The purple witch's eyes locked themselves onto Jennifer's face.
"Actually, I happen to have a little something up my sleeve."
Jen scoffed, and the brunette smirked, clicking her tongue to her teeth. She leaned back into the chair she sat in, a smile now creeping onto her lips.
"Jillian," she said, shaking her head within the midst of her pause, "poor Jillian."
The divination witch's smile fell, and she tilted her head at Agatha's words. Agatha's body leaned back up, and she stood, picking up a glass of champagne in her hand. She chuckled, stepping up onto the chair. Now the entirety of the restaurant's guests looked to her.
"You are no witch." She sipped her champagne down and dropped the empty glass down to the floor. People gasped, but Jennifer had a smug look on her face, biting her lip at the entertainment.
"You're no one. You waste away your life, your power, for love. What a fool." Another pause occurred, and Jillian's face turned from curiosity to anger.
"My mother, Jill," she chuckled, "my mother was a bitch. She wanted me to be 'normal.' She knew I harbored great power.. and she tried to execute me because of that. She wanted me to be like you. She wanted me to be infatuated with non-magical aspects of life, like love, or children, or even a home! And I was never that witch. I was never basic, and pitiful." Agatha cackled, especially at the hands which were now glaring a yellow glow. "You're pathetic. You care not for the glory, for the power you could give to yourself. If you hadn't been so selfless, you could've made a name for yourself, Jillian. Even now, we sit at this bar, celebrating something that does not matter. You are worthless, well, as far as magic goes. Your magic is dull, you've wasted away.."
The purple witch's lips fell into a pout, and she cackled again.
"Poor little.. Jill."
Jillian's hands pulled back, and yellow shot from them. Bystanders retracted from the scene, mouths open. They watched as Jillian blasted Agatha with her magic, as she attempted to kill her.
Agatha laughed, amused. Her smile grew, and she began to drain the air witch's power. Her life began to diminish, her body began to shrivel.
Jennifer looked away, shaking her head at the sight. There was nothing anyone could do.
Within minutes, Jillian had been drained. She was dead. Her body fell to the wooden floor of the bar, and many of the watchers were in tears. Agatha chuckled, as the final bits of yellow turned purple in her palm.
She flipped her hair over her shoulders, biting her lip. She glanced at Jen, who was still facing the other way. She knew the potions witch would be coming to insult her that night, so she stepped down from the chair and pursed her lips together.
The other woman turned slightly, staring at Agatha in dismay. Agatha winked, before making her retreat. The witches and non-witches around her were squirming with fear, and Agatha felt pride in that.
She opened the door to the bar, stepping out of the establishment. A long sigh escaped her body, and she looked back at the building. Her feet set in motion, bringing her towards her car. When she reached the handle of the door, she dropped the keys.
There she was.. on the other side of the car, even with her body.
Agatha's eyes locked onto the eyes of the stalker. The eye contact did not falter once. She received a small tilt of the head by the brunette, and the purple witch had opened her mouth to speak.
She was interrupted as the woman began to change, her face became bones, her figure was now hooded. The presence of this woman now made all else cold. Agatha felt a shiver run down her spine, and she looked the haunting woman up and down. Their gaze was still connected.
The purple witch bit her lip, and her breathing became erratic. She felt her heart start to race, and her chest was overwhelmed with a painful sensation.
The woman in front of her had lifted her hand, which was skeletal. In it, there was a small heart shaped bundle of roots. She squeezed the heart, and as she did, Agatha's chest got tighter.
She yelped in pain, grabbing and clawing at her upper torso.
The woman began to crush the heart, and Agatha fell to her knees, scratching at her chest, where her heart was. She whimpered, her eyes finally shutting tight. As they closed, the pain retreated. She could breathe again, and she was doing so heavily. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she groaned at the soreness of her chest.
Jennifer yelled her name, rushing up to the sight of Agatha on her knees, panting, and in pain.
Jen drove her home, cradled her, and used a potion to help her to sleep.
Agatha felt at peace, felt safe, with Jennifer by her side. She wrapped her arm around the witch, who lay asleep in her bed. The two women were together, asleep, and seemingly peacefully so.
Yet, in the dreams, or maybe the nightmares of Agatha Harkness' mind.. that strange woman.. that.. deity, well, she remained.