Daughter of a Witch

No. Just no.

Agatha's heels clicked sharply against the worn hardwood floor as she stepped inside. The scent of old wood, dust, and the faintest hint of something Agatha was certain was mildew filled the air. She stopped dead in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, eyes scanning every inch like she was prepping for cross-examination.

"No," Agatha said flatly.

Y/n closed the door behind them, clutching her keys. "Mom."

"No," Agatha repeated, voice cool and firm. "Absolutely not."

Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You haven't even seen the whole place yet."

Agatha gestured vaguely to the crooked light fixture above. "Oh, but the exposed wiring really sets the tone."

Y/n crossed her arms, clearly fighting back a smile. "It has character."

"It has mold."

"That's... patina," Y/n countered weakly.

Agatha tilted her head, eyeing the faint water stain near the ceiling. "That's black mold in training."

Y/n groaned. "Okay, lawyer lady, come see the kitchen."

Agatha let herself be dragged down the narrow hall, her sharp eyes scanning every crevice, slightly warped floorboard, and questionable plaster crack. "Is that the actual size of the hallway, or is it just aggressively small?"

They stepped into the kitchen, and Y/n threw her arms wide like a game show host. "Ta-da!"

Agatha's lips pressed into a thin line. "Ta-don't."

"Mom."

"No. This is not a kitchen. This is a cautionary tale."

"It has a gas stove!" Y/n pointed out, trying to rally.

"It has a gas stove from 1974," Agatha shot back, stepping forward to inspect the ancient appliance. She reached for one of the burners and immediately recoiled. "I think I just touched rust."

"It still works!" Y/n said defensively.

"So do guillotines, doesn't mean we should use them."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "It's fine, Mom. Jess and Josh and I are splitting the rent three ways, it's a steal."

Agatha turned to her daughter with a deadly serious expression. "Y/n, bank robbers get better deals."

Y/n groaned, dragging her toward the bedroom. "Wait till you see my room. It's actually cute."

When they reached it, Agatha stopped cold. She looked from the tiny bed to the barely-there closet to the window that rattled slightly with the wind. The mattress looked like it had been carried up three flights of stairs by someone who had lost a battle with it. The closet door hung slightly off its hinge. The room itself was so small that if Y/n stretched out her arms, she might be able to touch both walls.

"No."

Y/n flopped dramatically onto the bed, ignoring the way it creaked ominously under her weight. "It's fine. I'm a broke photography student, not a Bond villain."

Agatha, standing stiff in the doorway, folded her arms tighter. "I would prefer you were a Bond villain. They have better housing."

Y/n bit her lip, suppressing laughter. "I can make it work."

Agatha sighed deeply, leaning against the doorframe. "I know you can. I just—" She looked around again, eyes scanning for every potential hazard, her protective instincts warring with the reality that her daughter was growing up. "I don't have to like it."

Y/n sat up, voice softening. "Mom... I'm ready for this."

Agatha's expression melted just a little, her lawyer mask cracking. She stepped inside, finally, and sat beside Y/n on the bed. "I know." A beat passed. "Still no."

Y/n grinned. "Love you too."

Agatha smirked. "You're getting a security system."

"Already on it."

"And I'm calling Jess and Josh about fire exits."

Y/n groaned, falling back onto the bed. "Deal."

Agatha blew out a breath and finally looked at Y/n—really looked at her. The confidence, the excitement, the way she was holding herself. It wasn't just a dingy apartment; it was freedom. It was independence.

"You're gonna be okay here," Agatha murmured, reaching over to brush a stray hair from Y/n's face.

Y/n nodded. "I will."

Agatha smiled faintly. "Still don't like it."

"Noted."