Agatha All Along ending- Rio x Agatha: a Sapphic Tragedy

Agatha's Ending

And just like that everything i had been fighting for the past 100 years was mine and ripped from my unforgiving grip within seconds.

I have a job, and if i don't do that job...

If I don't do that job there's consequences.

I've been tested so many times, and each time cuts deeper, like a dagger to the heart pushing closer and closer; this one's hit that cold, black spot.

The last trial was too much, and I've lost everyone. Everyone is gone. They all loathed me, notably, but it doesn't mean that every tear that's cutting into my face doesn't ache for every single one of them.

I always took myself for a strong person, and a crazy person. I'm still a crazy person but whatever force is against me has pushed through every line of defence i had.

My vision blurry, all I can see is purple and green hues. I'm still on the witches road, and that's all i can make out.

I've taken a lot of bodies in my life, i'm not proud of some of them. but it's my job. It's my rite of passage and purpose.

It hurts. More and more every day. I feel like I'm constantly being impaled obsoletely everywhere and being left in solitude to bleed out into the unruly gravel of hell. 

My biggest scar i'm reminded of every day. I hurt the person I love and I had no choice. There's a special place in the darkest and most tortured corner of hell for myself; now i've really hurt her. My love, my most precious and delicate petal that sits gracefully at the top of my bouquet of endearment and fulfilment is lying limp and heavy over me.

Her wavy raven hair is protecting her from going cold, blanketing her from pain; blanketing me from pain. I have until her warmth fades into cold unmistaken misery.

I trace my trembling index finger across her hairline and down her cheek, wiping away the last tear she shed. Cupping my hand to her face i carefully stroked her cheek apologetically.

The heart shaped hole in her sternum couldn't be filled with my love anymore, a dagger sat in that place with too much red death spilling through.

I sat for hours in a pile of tears and crimson terror, stroking Agatha's face carefully until all life had ran out of her, with only myself and the potential that this was not how my flower's story ended.

But, like all beautiful flowers do, she just wilted away.

Ran cold.

I let out a shriek of terror and sheer decadence, grasping the floor by my sides, ripping into the veins of the thistled floor, shards of pure grief and inconsolable pain flew out of my eyes, stabbing the floor surrounding me.

I tore my clawed fist from the ground's flesh and clenched the dagger lodged into Agatha's sternum. Letting out a cry of pure distress I seized the protruding weapon from this delicate flower's chest.

I softly wound my fingers into that of my paramour's hand, and traced my thumb along the outside of her hand, if she was to be taken from me, I needed to join her.

I let in a deep breath, my last breath in solitude, a breath of relief. A breath of release. lifting my other shaking hand, which held the bridge between me and Agatha, I plunged deeply and passionately into my beating and aching chest.

I froze and fell down next to my lover and dropped the amiable dagger beside us.

We could wilt together.