Daughter of a Witch

Thunder Between Us

The storm finally arrived.

Rain came in sudden sheets, slamming against the house in cold, rhythmic bursts. Wind clawed at the shutters and whistled through the old eaves, and every few minutes lightning split the sky, making the walls flicker pale blue for a heartbeat.

The coven had retreated to the living room with blankets and candles, their chatter dim against the percussion of rain. Jen complained about the WiFi cutting out; Alice tried to charm the popcorn bowl into refilling itself. Billy was gone with Eddie, and for once the house felt... tolerable.

Upstairs, though, the noise of the storm pressed louder, closer. The thunder sounded like it was cracking open the roof itself.

Agatha walked the hallway with a mug of tea cradled in her hands, her violet robe swishing against her ankles. She paused in front of her daughter's door, listening.

A faint scratching of pen. The occasional sigh.

She knocked lightly. "Y/n?"

There was a pause. Then: "Come in, Mama."

Agatha pushed open the door.

The room smelled of parchment and lavender. Books were stacked everywhere, neat piles on the desk, messy towers on the floor. A half-burned candle guttered on the windowsill, its flame fighting against the wind sneaking through the glass.

Y/n sat at her desk, hunched over her journal, pen moving quickly as if racing her own thoughts. Her hair, still in Rio's braids, gleamed in the flicker of candlelight. She didn't turn when Agatha entered.

Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, placing her tea down on the nightstand. "Writing?"

"Yes, Mama," Y/n said softly. "I didn't notice the storm until it was already here."

Agatha leaned back against the headboard, crossing her arms. "You've been doing that a lot lately."

Y/n hesitated, pen hovering above the page. "...Doing what?"

"Losing track of things. Forgetting to eat, skipping tea with your mami, hiding away with your books. You've always been a little bookworm, but..." Agatha's gaze softened. "It feels different this time."

Y/n closed her journal quickly, hugging it to her chest. "I just didn't want to..." She stopped, biting her lip.

"Didn't want to what?"

"Burden anyone."

The words came out too fast, like she'd been holding them too long.

Agatha frowned, pushing herself off the headboard to sit forward. "Burden me?"

Y/n didn't answer. Her knuckles were white against the leather cover of the journal.

Agatha reached out, but didn't take the book. She touched Y/n's braid instead, smoothing it gently.

"Y/n Vidal-Harkness," she said, her full name like thunder rolling low and steady. "You could never be a burden to me. Do you understand?"

Y/n's throat worked. "But you already... Mama, you do everything. You carry the coven, you carry me, you even carry Billy.."

"Barely," Agatha muttered, then softened again. "Go on."

Y/n turned finally, looking at her mother with eyes too old for sixteen. "And you carried Nicky. And when you lost him, I... I thought I had to be good. Perfect. So you wouldn't lose me too."

Agatha's heart cracked open. She slid from the bed to the floor, kneeling so she could look directly into her daughter's face.

"You do not have to be perfect for me, Y/n," she whispered fiercely. "You don't have to be quiet, or easy, or hide your storms inside. You are mine. My daughter. You can scream, cry, rage, make mistakes. And I will still be here. Always."

Tears spilled before Y/n could stop them. She buried her face in Agatha's shoulder, journal forgotten on the desk.

Agatha held her tightly, rocking her gently as the storm outside beat harder against the windows. Thunder roared, but in the room it was just the two of them, their breaths uneven, tangled together.

After a long time, Agatha coaxed her toward the bed. "Come. Lie down with me."

Y/n obeyed, curling against her mother as if she were six again instead of sixteen. Agatha stroked her hair, humming under her breath, an old, haunting lullaby from centuries past.

The door creaked open softly.

Rio leaned in, her own robe pulled tight around her shoulders. She took in the scene, her wife stretched across the bed, her daughter tucked safe against her, both wrapped in the soft glow of candlelight, and her heart squeezed.

Without a word, she crossed the room and sat on the other side of the bed, slipping in behind Y/n. She pressed a kiss to her daughter's temple, then reached across to brush her fingers against Agatha's hand.

"Storm's rough tonight," Rio whispered.

"Mm," Agatha murmured, eyes closed. "But I've got what matters most right here."

Y/n sniffed, managing the faintest laugh. "You're both sappy."

"Correct," Rio said, holding her tighter. "And you love it."

Agatha smirked, kissing Y/n's damp cheek. "Don't even try to deny it."

The thunder rolled again, but none of them flinched. In that room, in that bed, surrounded by each other, the storm felt far away, like just another sound in a world that couldn't touch them.