Teeth | Agatha All Along

09

The crunch of brittle leaves under Dahlia's boots echoed in the suffocating silence. The forest around her was dense, dark, and still, the trees leaning inward as if whispering secrets to one another. The air was damp, thick with the scent of earth and decaying foliage, and the cold wind slithered through the branches, brushing icy fingers against her skin.

Dahlia exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the frigid air. She tilted her head back and stared at the winding path ahead, the infamous Witches' Road—an impossible thing made real. She had scoffed at its existence once, dismissing it as nothing more than a myth. But now, here she was, walking its cursed path, its trials pressing down on her shoulders like an invisible weight.

At her feet, muddy footprints stretched forward, leading deeper into the darkness. They were uneven, chaotic—some small, others large—overlapping as if those ahead of her had fled in panic. Dahlia sighed, straightened her back, and took another step forward. Her boots squelched in the mud, the cold seeping through the soles.

She was alone. Again.

Always alone.

Her mind spiraled back to the name that had shaken the room moments ago.

Nicholas Scratch.

It looped in her thoughts like a cursed melody. The way Agatha had reacted—pure, visceral shock—told Dahlia everything she needed to know: it wasn't just a name. It meant something. Something deep, something painful.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She could still see Rio's face when she had asked about Nicholas. That fleeting moment where Rio's mask had slipped, revealing something Dahlia had almost never seen in her—pain. It wasn't often Death herself showed cracks in her armor.

And then there was the boy.

Billy.

She slowed her pace, her eyes narrowing as the thought crept into her mind. Billy. But Billy who? Billy Something.

The boy had looked at Agatha with fear but also familiarity. Like he knew her—or should have known her. And that voice, his voice, had stirred something uneasy in Dahlia.

She pressed forward, the cold gnawing at her bones, but it wasn't the wind that made her shiver.

Billy.

Her mind betrayed her, yanking her backward into memories that felt so distant now they could have belonged to someone else.

Salem.

She could still smell the smoke in the air, hear the crackle of firewood, the whispers of witches in the dark. She was young then. So was Agatha. Before the weight of centuries dulled their edges, before betrayal and regret hollowed their hearts.

They had been girls playing at power, cloaked in secrets and forbidden spells. Agatha had been the fierce one, bold and reckless, her laugh sharp like breaking glass. Dahlia had followed her like a moth to a flame, enchanted by the pull of something brighter than anything she had known.

She remembered sneaking into the woods with Agatha, their hands brushing, their eyes meeting with unspoken thoughts. Nights spent whispering spells they barely understood, laughter turning into breathless kisses under the moonlight. Dahlia could still feel the warmth of Agatha's fingers entwined with hers, the safety of it.

But that warmth had turned to ice when Dahlia ran.

Coward.

The word echoed in her skull, as sharp as the day Agatha had spit it at her. Dahlia's steps faltered, her breath catching. She hadn't wanted to run. She hadn't wanted to leave Agatha. But fear had rooted in her heart like a weed, twisting and choking, making her believe it was safer to break her own heart than have someone else do it.