Teeth | Agatha All Along

05

Dahlia stepped up to the house, her heels crunching softly against the debris that littered the front yard. The front door was missing, blown off its hinges, leaving an open maw of splintered wood and jagged edges. The air was thick with the scent of ash and something metallic, like blood. Dahlia's eyes flickered over the damage with mild curiosity, the destruction almost beautiful in its way.

But her gaze didn't linger on the wreckage for long.

No, her attention was drawn to the figure standing in the center of the ruined doorway—Agatha.

Agatha Harkness, the woman who had been Dahlia's first love, the one person who had ever truly gotten under her skin. Their history was long, tangled in centuries of magic, betrayal, desire, and something darker, something Dahlia didn't dare name.

"Hey, Ags," Dahlia purred, her voice smooth and rich as velvet, a smile curling at the corners of her lips.

She leaned against the doorframe—or what remained of it—her eyes drinking in the sight of Agatha, who stood in nothing but a bathrobe, her hair wild and unkempt. There was blood—fresh, wet, and glistening—dripping down the side of her neck.

Dahlia's smile widened.

At the sound of her voice, Agatha jumped, her body tensing for a moment before her eyes found Dahlia's. The two locked gazes, and Dahlia could see the wariness there, the edge of suspicion that had always lurked just beneath Agatha's cool exterior. But there was something else too—something far more intimate and familiar.

"You gonna try to kill me, too?" Agatha asked, her voice cutting through the thick silence like a blade.

Dahlia's smile didn't falter, but she tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting together in a mockery of confusion, "Kill you, too?"

Agatha's lips twitched into something that might have been a smile, but it was laced with bitterness, her dark eyes narrowing as she regarded Dahlia with a mix of irritation and amusement, "Don't act all coy. You've wanted to kill me for centuries."

Dahlia chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, like honey dripping from her lips.

"Oh, darling," She murmured, her voice as soft as a lover's caress, "if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead a long time ago."

She took a step closer, her movements slow, deliberate, almost predatory. Her eyes never left Agatha's as she closed the distance between them, her presence filling the space with an almost unbearable tension. The air seemed to hum with the unspoken history between them, a thousand unsaid words hanging in the space between their bodies.

Agatha's breath hitched slightly as Dahlia approached, but she didn't move. She stood her ground, her chin tilted defiantly, even as Dahlia's hand came up, her fingers brushing lightly against the side of Agatha's face.

"I could never hurt you," Dahlia whispered, her thumb grazing over Agatha's cheekbone, the touch so gentle, so intimate, it made Agatha's breath catch.

But there was something dangerous beneath the softness of Dahlia's words, something dark and possessive that lingered in the space between them. Because as much as Dahlia might claim she couldn't hurt Agatha, there had always been an undercurrent of something darker between them—a desire to push, to test, to see how far they could go before one of them broke.

Agatha's eyes flickered with something unreadable, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she just stood there, her pulse quickening beneath Dahlia's touch, the heat of their shared history burning between them like an open flame.

Dahlia could feel it—the pull, the connection that had never quite gone away, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how many betrayals lay between them. Agatha was her first love, the one person who had ever truly gotten under her skin, and no matter how complicated things had become, that fact had never changed.