Teeth | Agatha All Along

06

In the quiet solitude of her hotel room, Dahlia sank into an armchair by the window, her eyes drifting to the dim streetlights outside. The faint glow cast shadows against the walls, flickering like the memories that haunted her. She had spent centuries weaving lies and manipulation, carving a path through darkness and half-truths, yet it was only now, in this stillness, that her past seemed to close in on her, clawing at her mind.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, and tried to settle the unrest in her chest, but it only grew louder, a drumbeat of regret and shame that she could no longer ignore. This feeling—the pull between light and dark, between the woman she was and the woman she wished she could be—was a constant shadow over her soul. Her heart ached with the weight of a life built on half-truths and abandoned love.

Agatha's face floated into her mind, vivid and unyielding, the intensity in her eyes as they had argued flashing in her memory. Dahlia's fingers twitched, as if trying to reach back in time, to hold on to what she'd once had with Agatha, to change the course that had led them to this point. Agatha, with all her complexities and secrets, had been the one person who had ever understood her, the one person she had loved without restraint. And she had left her. She had run when things had become too real, too intense. She'd been so young then, so afraid of what their love might mean, and now she was paying the price for it.

Dahlia's eyes opened, but the darkness in the room felt heavier than before. She lifted a hand, watching as the faint glow of her grey magic began to swirl around her fingers, like smoke and mist. The magic was steady, yet cold, a mirror of her guilt as it manifested in her touch. She felt her power shift, as if responding to her emotions, twisting and coiling around her in tendrils that pulsed with memories.

A wave of guilt washed over her, deeper than any she'd felt in centuries, and she closed her eyes as the memories flooded her mind, unbidden and relentless.

Margaret. Sweet, kind, unsuspecting Margaret.

Dahlia's jaw clenched as the image of her late wife formed in her mind, a woman who had loved her without question, without hesitation. Margaret, with her warm smile and gentle eyes, who had believed every lie Dahlia had spun for her, every story crafted to make her feel loved. Dahlia had played her part well, had coaxed love from her lips, and in the end, had inherited everything Margaret had built over a lifetime.

It was supposed to be a simple con, one Dahlia had perfected over the years, yet now, in the stillness of this room, she felt the weight of it bearing down on her, pressing into her chest like a leaden weight. Margaret had deserved better than a woman who only saw her as a stepping stone to wealth. Dahlia swallowed, the magic in her hands flickering, turning darker as her guilt deepened.

And then, the Blip. The chaotic, strange years when half the world had disappeared. For Dahlia, it had been an opportunity. She had moved through cities and lives like a ghost, taking what she wanted, manipulating those who were desperate, lost, afraid. She had promised them hope, love, answers—anything they needed to hear to open their hearts, their wallets, their trust to her. She had been a thief in the night, preying on grief and loss with a smile that never wavered, with words that dripped with sincerity.

Now, though, as she sat alone, her fingers wrapped in the tendrils of her magic, the weight of her actions pressed down on her, clawing at her insides. She could feel it festering in her chest, spreading through her veins like a poison. Her power responded to the guilt, growing darker, more volatile, twisting into shapes that mirrored the darkness in her heart. She saw faces, ghostly and distorted, lingering in the haze of her magic—people she had hurt, people she had deceived, people she had left broken and used.

Agatha's face appeared again, piercing through the haze with a clarity that made Dahlia's breath catch. Her magic stilled, then flared, as if rebelling against her, feeding off her guilt. Dahlia gritted her teeth, struggling to control it, to push the memories away, but it was no use. Her magic was too entwined with her guilt, too tied to the regrets that she had buried for so long.