Teeth | Agatha All Along

03

Agatha's world was a blur of smoke and shadows, a hazy fog that distorted everything around her. She didn't know how long she had been trapped inside this illusion, her mind twisted and reshaped by a magic more powerful than her own. Reality itself had bent to Wanda's will, warping everything Agatha saw, everything she felt. The streets, the people, the buildings—all of it existed inside the hex, an artificial creation that played on her consciousness like a cruel game.

In this version of reality, Agatha was no longer a witch. She was something far less dangerous, far more mundane—a detective, working the shadows of a city that never slept. The fog rolled in thick and heavy, swirling in the dim streetlights, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Her coat billowed slightly as she walked, the echo of her heels the only sound in the silence of the night.

She had a job to do, something important, though the details were always just out of reach. Her thoughts felt cloudy, fragmented, as if every time she tried to grasp the truth, it slipped through her fingers like water. The world around her was fractured, and yet it felt real enough to keep her moving forward.

And then there was her.

Dahlia Thorne.

In this twisted reality, Dahlia wasn't a witch. No, she was something else entirely—a lawyer. A cunning, morally grey lawyer who played both sides of the law, twisting words and bending the truth to her advantage. She was the kind of woman who could charm her way through any courtroom, who could defend the guilty and make them seem innocent, all while wearing that impossibly perfect smile.

And in this version of reality, Dahlia was the last person Agatha wanted to see.

Agatha pushed open the door to the dimly lit office, the sound of the hinges creaking as she stepped inside. The scent of leather and paper filled the air, the space cluttered with books and files, each one more meaningless than the last. At the center of the room, behind a large mahogany desk, sat Dahlia, her long legs crossed, her posture relaxed, yet there was something predatory in her gaze.

"Detective," Dahlia purred, her voice smooth as silk, her lips curling into that familiar, knowing smile, "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

Agatha clenched her jaw, the sight of Dahlia sending a ripple of irritation through her. They had been here before, trapped in this dance, this game of power and control. But there was something else, something deeper beneath the surface of this distorted reality—something Agatha couldn't quite place but could feel, like a dull ache at the back of her mind.

She stepped further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her.,"You know why I'm here."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in her chair as she regarded Agatha with a look of amusement, "Oh, do I? Enlighten me, then."

Agatha's fingers twitched slightly at her sides. There it was again, that feeling—the sense that there was something more to this, something they weren't saying. She couldn't remember all of it, couldn't pull the memories to the surface, but she knew this was wrong. This reality, this version of their world—it wasn't real.

But Dahlia, even in this illusion, still held power over her.

"You're defending him," Agatha said, her voice sharp, cutting through the thick air of the office, "You know he's guilty."

Dahlia's smile widened, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something darker, "Guilt is such a subjective thing, don't you think? Besides, it's my job to defend those who can't defend themselves. You of all people should appreciate that."

Agatha felt her teeth grind together, the tension between them electric, simmering just beneath the surface. She had always hated this part of Dahlia—the part that could twist and manipulate, the part that played the game with such ease, as if the truth was nothing more than a suggestion.