Life,Death, LOVE

Salem 1693 (Edit)

"No, no, where is it, oh god." Agatha throws another book on the floor as she tears up her cottage, looking for her pendant. Her purple pendant - the pendant that Reagan had made her.

"Oh please, please." Agatha wishes to every entity out there for her missing pendant to show itself but it doesn't and she freezes her search as a bang is heard from the cottage door.

The bang at the door echoed through the cottage, a stark contrast to the quiet desperation that had filled the room moments ago. Agatha's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly approached the door, her hand hovering over the ornate brass handle. A cold sweat broke out on her brow as she hesitated, her mind racing with a thousand terrifying possibilities.

She peered through the small, grimy window beside the door, her breath fogging the glass. The figures outside were obscured by the dim light, but she could make out a shadowy form, a silhouette against the fading twilight. A sense of dread washed over her as she recognised the figure's hunched posture and the way it moved, a predatory grace that sent shivers down her spine.

"Agatha Harkness open this door immediately." Agatha lets out a shaky breath at the sound of the voice on the far side of her door. It's time; they've come for her and she knows there is no point in trying to escape.

The voice, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the walls, echoed again. "Agatha Harkness, open this door immediately." The words hung in the air, heavy and menacing.

Agatha pulls the door open gently, hiding behind it as much as possible, but as she looks at the faces staring at her and then at the body being held up by her peers, blood pouring from its head, she swings the door open causing it to bang against the wall, the door nearly coming off its hinges is forgotten as she tries to get to the body, get to Reagan.

The air hung heavy with the scent of iron and fear as Agatha tried to push through the crowd With a desperate cry: "No". Their faces, a mosaic of disgust and slight fear, seemed to blur together as she focused on the figure being held up by her coven. Reagan.

"Reagan, Reagan, hey what...what did you do to her...Reagan." Agatha tries to step forward, only to be stopped as hands grab her arms and hold her tightly. "What, no, let me, I have to make sure she's ok, please, I..please."

The damp, chill air of the moonlit night was pierced by the desperate cries of Agatha. She thrashed against the restraining hands, her eyes wide with terror as she was dragged further into the shadowy depths of the forest. Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced back at the still form of Reagan, their lifeless body being unceremoniously hauled along the muddy path.

"Please, let me go!" Agatha pleaded, her voice hoarse. "I have to help her!" But her pleas fell on deaf ears. The figures surrounding her, cloaked in shadows, remained silent and unwavering. Their leader, her own mother,  not that she knew that yet, moved with a sense of purpose, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

Agatha struggled against the grip of the witches holding her back, her pleas falling on deaf ears. She turns back, again looking at Reagan, whose head is lulled forward, her feet dragging on the ground as they swing her like a rag doll, she can't fight back now that she is unconscious, now that she has blood pouring from her head. A wave of panic washed over Agatha as she realised the gravity of the situation.

"Please, Please!" she cried, her voice hoarse and desperate. "She's hurt! I need to help her!"

Agatha begins to struggle more as the wind howls, carrying with it the chilling truth of what is about to happen. Their gnarled fingers tightened around Agatha's wrists, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent. The sacrificial platform, a macabre altar carved from ancient stone, loomed above her. It was a place of unspeakable horrors, a place where women were declared evil, and they were extinguished because of it.