An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The door explodes. “Honey, I’m home,” Rio calls out as she stalks inside, a huntress, a predator scanning the room for her prey. A few centuries ago, Rio never would have described herself as vengeful. Death isn’t angry, doesn’t hold grudges, isn’t kind or unkind – Death simply is. Flowers bloom and wilt, leaves turn brown and fall into soil to rot, and humans live until they die. It’s the natural order of things, and Rio’s job is simply to keep the cycle turning. There was never any spite to it, no bitterness or hostility. And then she met Agatha Harkness.
Rio just wants one conversation with Agatha. One.
And if she has to trap them both in a time loop to make it happen, so be it.










