Daughter of a Witch

Eternity

The house in Westview was quiet. Too quiet.

Rio had done what she could, swept away the ashes, repaired the shattered windows with precise flicks of magic, and set the walls back to rights. The house looked whole, as if nothing had touched it. But the silence made it unbearable.

Upstairs, the clock ticked steadily, loud in the hush of Y/n's bedroom. She lay curled on her side, staring at the blank wall. Her eyes were dry. They had been for a day now. No more tears would come.

The clock ticked. Tick. Tock. Tick.

Hear the clock ticking on the wall...

Y/n pulled the blanket tighter around her. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, and that had only been a few bites. She hadn't really slept either, just drifted in and out, haunted by dreams she never wanted.

Her door creaked open. Soft footsteps. The mattress dipped slightly as someone sat at the edge of her bed.

Rio's voice, low and careful: "You should eat, minha filha. Even a little."

Y/n's lips parted, but no sound came. She didn't look at her. She just traced a crack in the wall with her eyes, pretending it was something else. Anything else.

Rio sighed and set a bowl on the nightstand. The smell of soup drifted through the room, but it might as well have been ash.

"You've been lying here for two days," Rio murmured. "I don't think she would want this for you."

That, finally, made Y/n turn. Slowly. Her voice cracked, hoarse from disuse.

"Don't tell me what Mama would want."

Rio froze, shoulders stiff. For a moment, the mask of Death was there, stern and cold. But then it cracked, and her eyes softened.

"You're right," Rio whispered. "Forgive me."

Y/n exhaled shakily and turned back to the wall. "She's not here to want anything."

The words landed heavy between them.

But it feels like an eternity / Since I had you here with me...

Rio reached out, brushing strands of hair from her daughter's face. Y/n flinched at the touch, not in anger, but in exhaustion.

"Do you remember," Rio asked softly, "when you were little? And she used to sit you on the counter while she baked? She'd always let you eat the batter before it went in the oven."

Y/n closed her eyes. The memory flashed bright and cruel: Agatha's laugh, her teasing warnings of "don't eat too much or you'll spoil dinner," the way she'd swipe flour across Y/n's nose like a painter.

Her throat closed. "Stop," she whispered.

Rio's hand lingered on her shoulder. "I don't want you to forget her. Not the way she lived."

Y/n rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her voice was hollow. "All I can see is how she died."

Rio looked down, grief washing over her face. She clasped her hands together, as though to keep them from trembling.

"She chose it," Rio said finally. Her voice was soft but firm. "I begged her not to. I thought..." She broke off, shaking her head. "But she looked at me, and I knew. It was never about the boy. It was about you. She wanted you to live."

Y/n sat up slowly, her blanket falling to her lap. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale. She looked older than sixteen.

"Do you think that makes it easier?" she asked, her voice breaking. "That she chose it?"