Daughter of a Witch

Through the Veil of Memory

The golden magic circle flared one last time before the world around them shifted. Their cozy living room dissolved, replaced by a warmly lit space filled with holiday cheer. The faint scent of cinnamon and pine hung in the air, and a record player softly spun an old Christmas tune in the corner.

Agatha's breath caught as the scene unfolded. "Oh..." she murmured, her voice trembling with the moment's weight.

Y/n blinked, taking it all in. A younger version of herself-no older than eight-sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging as she scribbled on a piece of parchment with a stubby red crayon. A steaming mug of cocoa sat next to her, topped with excessive whipped cream and marshmallows.

"Is this...?" Y/n whispered.

"Christmas Eve," Agatha said softly, her gaze fixed on the younger Y/n. "We used to do this every year."

Rio stepped closer, her expression unreadable. Her eyes darted between Agatha and the tiny version of their daughter. "You wrote letters to Santa?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

"Every year," Agatha replied, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "She insisted."

Little Y/n scribbled with intense focus at the table, occasionally pausing to blow on her hot cocoa or hum along to the music.

"What are you asking for this year, moonbeam?" memory-Agatha asked as she set down a tray of freshly baked cookies.

"Hmm..." Young Y/n tapped her chin with the crayon, leaving a faint red smudge on her skin. "I already wrote the big stuff, but I'm adding one more thing!" She leaned over her letter, carefully scrawling a final sentence.

Agatha peeked over her shoulder. "A spellbook for beginners?" she read aloud, raising an amused eyebrow.

"I wanna learn magic like you!" Y/n exclaimed, turning to her mother with wide, hopeful eyes. "Santa can do that, right?"

Agatha crouched beside her, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n's face. "Oh, moonbeam," she said with a chuckle. "Santa might need some help with that one. But we'll see what we can do."

The current Y/n smiled softly at the exchange. "I remember this," she said, glancing at Agatha. "You gave me that little charm book the next morning."

Agatha nodded, her eyes shining. "And you used it to enchant your stuffed animals so they'd 'talk back.'"

"I was eight!" Y/n defended, laughing.

Watching from the side, Rio felt a pang of guilt. Her heart swelled at seeing her wife and daughter's bond, but it also ached with regret. She should have been there-been part of these moments.

The memory shifted, the scene melting into the living room. Young Y/n stood on tiptoes to place a glittery star on top of the tree, her small hands wobbling with effort.

"Careful, sweet girl," Agatha cautioned, steadying her daughter with a firm but gentle hand. "We don't need another ornament casualty this year."

Y/n giggled, the sound bright and carefree. "It wasn't my fault the cat knocked it over!"

Agatha smirked. "And who was it that enchanted the cat to chase the blinking lights?"

"I was experimenting!" Y/n said, puffing out her chest proudly.

From the sidelines, the current Y/n laughed, covering her mouth. "Oh my gosh, I remember that cat! I thought it was hilarious."

"It wasn't," Agatha said dryly, though her fond smile betrayed her words.

Rio chuckled despite the ache in her chest. "I would've loved to see that," she murmured, mostly to herself.

Agatha heard her, her expression softening. "It was chaos," she said quietly, "but it was ours."

The memory skipped forward again, this time to the kitchen. The counter was covered with flour, cookie cutters, and bowls of colorful icing. Young Y/n stood on a stool, her tiny hands expertly shaping the dough into what vaguely resembled a snowman.

"Look, Mama!" she exclaimed, holding up her creation.

"Ah, yes," memory-Agatha said, squinting at the misshapen blob. "Frosty the... abstract snowman."

"It's modern art!" Y/n proclaimed, giggling.

Current-Y/n clutched her stomach, laughing at her younger self. "That is not a snowman!"

"It was delicious, though," Agatha quipped, her tone fond.

Rio stayed quiet, her eyes never leaving the scene. She watched as Agatha leaned down to help Y/n sprinkle sugar onto the cookies, their heads close together. The love and patience radiating from her wife was palpable, and it struck Rio like a blow.

"You were so good with her," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Agatha turned to her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "We did what we had to," she said gently. "But we're doing it together now."

The final scene of the memory unfolded in the living room. The tree lights twinkled softly, and the scent of cookies filled the air. Young Y/n lay curled up in Agatha's arms on the couch, her head tucked beneath her mother's chin. The TV flickered with the opening scene of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

"Her favorite," current-Agatha murmured, her arms instinctively wrapping around the present-day Y/n.

Rio couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She turned away slightly, wiping her eyes. Agatha noticed and pulled her at her hand, whispering, "My love, we'll make new memories. Together."

Rio nodded, though her heart still ached. "I know," she whispered. "But I missed so much."

As the spell faded, the living room melted back into the present. The silence was thick with unspoken emotions.

Y/n glanced at Rio, noticing the far-off look in her eyes. She reached out, gently taking her mother's hand. "Mom?"

Rio blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "Yes, cariño?"

Y/n smiled softly. "Let's bake those cookies. And maybe watch The Grinch. We can make new memories."

Rio's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. "I'd like that very much."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and warmth. The kitchen was alive with the sound of Y/n's giggles as she and Agatha reenacted their cookie-making antics, and Rio joined in, her heart lighter with every passing moment.

Later, as they curled up on the couch, Y/n nestled into Agatha's arms, her head on her mother's lap. Rio leaned against Agatha, her fingers laced with her wife's. The opening notes of How the Grinch Stole Christmas played, the warmth of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket.

Rio kissed Agatha's temple, whispering, "Thank you for keeping her safe, mi cielo."

Agatha smiled, her eyes soft. "She's our moonbeam. Always."

Together, they watched the movie, the glow of the Christmas tree reflecting the love they shared.