You have a past with Agatha, one as old as your age. Your roads often met, but she left you behind more than once. Now, once again, your paths cross, but this time, it is intentional.
It started as a one-shot on my Tumblr account (mr-ys-phantasma)...
The sun had almost set by the time you found yourself in Westview, the paper with Agatha's address tucked into your pants pocket.
You walked the empty road, feeling eyes on you behind pulled curtains. The neighbours were uneasy, having chosen to lock themselves into their houses, but you could not blame them.
If what Agatha said was true and had managed to gather a coven, those poor people must have seen a few odd figures heading the same way as you.
Witches could not help it. They always had this aura, making them easier to stand out. Sometimes, their energy was enough to make someone have this uneasy feeling deep within their guts, though being ignorant of the supernatural, they could never truly understand why.
At last, you reached the house that seemed to belong to Agatha.
You first noticed the lack of a door, but you speculated that some unfriendly visitor had found Agatha earlier that day. It would explain this sudden and urgent need to go down the road on such short notice.
Stepping inside, you could hear voices in the background, indicating that you might be the last to arrive. Your eyes barely glanced at the rather odd decoration of the house. None of it was screaming Agatha; you knew cause you had lived with her even for a short amount of time.
"Wait," you heard the voice of the teenage boy calling, pausing the overlapping voices of the other witches. We are one witch short," he pointed out, clearly talking about you.
You decided to make yourself present by letting your steps sound harder against the wooden floor, earning different pairs of eyes on your form.
"No, you are not," you corrected him, one hand in your pocket.
You quickly scanned the room, sensing the different magical signatures while quickly studying them.
They were very different from one another, from their ages to their outfits and, of course, their magic affinity.
Yet again, it was often needed for a coven to be diverse. Though you could not help but wonder if such intense diversity would work, the tension between the witches and Agatha was almost thick enough to be visible.
"Sugar," Agatha greeted with a small smirk, not caring that she used your nickname in public.
She never hesitated to do it before, even though you had tried to argue a lot of times. You preferred privacy, and such nicknames, in your opinion, should exist behind closed rooms and during intimate moments between two people.
Of course, Agatha never truly took into consideration your opinion and continued. There was something powerful and possessive even when she was the only one to call you such a name. It showed others that, in a way, you were hers, some invisible claim that warned others not to test their luck.
Agatha had not changed ever since, at least with that part. Despite the years you two had spent away, despite the unknown nature of your relationship, she still kept claiming you, often impressing even herself with ways she could find.
She studied you for a moment as your eyes connected and took notice of your outfit. While other witches chose dresses, skirts, or hippie pants, you went to the other side of the spectrum.
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