THIS STORY STARTS ON A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT, BEFITTING FOR THE DAUGHTER OF DEATH AND AGATHA HARKNESS. Seeking shelter from the rain in a dingy, ran-down hovel, Agatha pressed her back against the wall, sliding down slowly while breathing in and out as the pain overwhelmed her body—a familiar feeling she'd experienced a century ago.
Clutching at her swollen belly, she squeezed her eyes shut in hopes that she wouldn't see her ex, draped in a green cloak and bearing remorseful eyes—she couldn't lose another one. She'd hoped that since this one was also Rio's, her ex would leave this one alone. Allow her one child, despite the thousands she'd already killed.
Agatha's screams ripped from her throat as she felt the baby slowly stretch its way out of her womb, and finally—after a laborious two hours—into her arms. Being a witch had its perks, including quicker childbirth.
With a sigh of resounding relief, Agatha softly cradled the infant in her arms—the babe nestled itself into her bosom, craving the warmth of her mother. She couldn't believe how something so pure, happy and innocent could come out of someone as evil as her. It shouldn't have been such a big surprise, since Nicholas was the image of perfection, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind insisted that she could only cause harm and pain. What had her mother always said? She'd been born evil. Agatha decided then and there that her daughter, despite her parentage was the opposite of evil and vowed to love her daughter better than her mother ever loved her.
Agatha's heart sank, at the sight of Rio, hands resting on her thighs, as she sat cross-legged opposite them. "No, no, no. You can't take her," Agatha cried, clutching her newborn tighter.
Rio shook her head, "Don't worry, Agatha. I'm not here to take her from you. . . I just wanted to see her, she's my daughter as well, after all," Rio promised, caressing Agatha's cheek. But the witch refused to believe her.
"I hate you," she spat, glaring at her ex-lover, but still not breaking away from her touch.
Rio only smirked. "That's not what you thought nine months ago," she teased, watching Agatha's face enraged. She licked her lips in delight, her hands falling from her lover's cheek to her arm and eventually to the top of her daughter's head. "She's beautiful, Agatha. Powerful like you, inescapable, like me."
"What do you mean inescapable?" Agatha demanded, tucking her daughter's head in her cloak, trying to hide her from Rio.
The green witch grinned, inching closer to them both, "What's more fitting than the daughter of death having powers of life? After all, a balance needs to be restored. Where there is death, there is life," sticking her finger into the baby's tight grip, Rio's grin turned into something more fond, a soft smile, "Where there is life, there is death. We are entwined inexplicably. You can't escape me any more than you can escape her," glancing up from the baby to her old lover, Rio's face hardened. "Enjoy her, my love. She's yours."
With that, Rio vanished quicker than she appeared—as if she was never there in the first place. The tension in Agatha's body seemed to follow her ex, as she snuggled into her baby and felt her eyelids grow heavy.
A bright light shone through a crack in the hovel. After such a ravenous storm the previous night, it was like nature was trying to restore itself by bringing about such a happy, clear day. Agatha appreciated the irony.
Still weak from childbirth, she remained pressed against the wall, counting all the freckles on her daughter's face. Agatha made it a mission to analyse every detail of her daughter's face so there was no way she could forget it like she was slowly forgetting Nicky's. Rio may have promised to leave them alone, but Agatha wasn't convinced. Anything could happen at any minute, and before she knew it, she'd have to confront her worst nightmare. Rio—Death.
