//hello and welcome!! lmk if you’re ever interested in interacting! :)

+“A cauldron?” she echoes, voice laced with dry humor. “What a waste of potential, confining power to such a trivial thing. I prefer my magic untethered.” Her nose scrunches, dark smile deepening as she studies Rio more intently, the light from the moon catching in her eyes.

+Agatha’s brow arches at the comment about witches doing “dark things” under the full moon. The theatrics amuse her, but she says nothing of it, letting the moment hang. Instead, she steps forward, slow and deliberate, her heels pressing into the soft earth.+

+sharp eyes follow the sweep of Rio’s arms and the dramatic tilt of her head. The green cloak slipping from the other witch’s shoulders draws the moonlight closer, painting her figure in stark contrast to the shadows that ripple in the clearing.+

+Agatha recognizes the flicker of satisfaction, the instinct to gauge her reaction. For a moment, she wonders if Rio thrives on an audience, or perhaps on the tension of moments like this—when power brushes up against power.

“Quite the performance,” Agatha remarks, her voice cool and steady as her+

+She lets the faintest curve of her lips betray her amusement instead, watching as the other’s movements grow more theatrical under the glow of the full moon.

The witch’s pride is palpable, her subtle delight in the life and death spectacle still lingering in the air.+

Agatha’s gaze doesn’t waver as Rio speaks her name, the deliberate weight of it settling in the air between them. There’s something in the way Rio says it—a mix of curiosity and careful study—that draws Agatha’s attention, though she doesn’t show it.+

+Then, shaking herself free of the spellbinding proximity, she adds, “Agatha Harkness.”

+and her eyes—creamy brown and impossibly deep—command her attention.

“Harkness,” she says at last, the name rolling off her tongue with languid ease. Her voice carries a deliberate pause as her eyes linger, tracing the contours of the other woman’s features.+

+She stiffens but holds her ground, jaw tightening slightly in defiance. Her darkened gaze darts over the stranger’s face, studying it with sharp precision. The milky pallor of her skin catches the moonlight, her cheeks softly kissed with pink, her lips flushed and alluring,+

+Realization dawns on her, connecting the dots to the woman’s peculiar interest in her coven’s cadavers. Or so she thinks—perhaps her understanding doesn’t quite grasp the full scope of it.

Her body tenses as the other witch steps closer, invading her space.+

“You’re a green witch…” the brunette murmurs, awe lacing her voice as she watches life spring forth from the bark of the pine tree. Shoots of moss and delicate growths unfurl, vibrant and full of energy, only to wither moments later, completing their life cycle in a breathtaking span of seconds.+

+She asks after a moment, voice softening slightly with genuine interest.

+There’s a beat of silence as the young witch admires the other quietly, taking a hesitant step forward. Her head tilts with a slight quirk of her brow as she approaches the stranger. This back and forth had gone on long enough. "Who are you?"+

+Nowhere to be seen until the stench of death suffocated her senses, drawing her in. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

Her gaze sharpens, meeting the other woman's with a new spark. “If havoc is your art form, well—maybe we’re not so different after all.”+

+Curious eyes snap back towards the kukri as restless fingers grip its handle.

“A calling,” she echoes thoughtfully, the words rolling off her tongue. Something deep within her knew the Green Witch meant this in the literal sense. She had seemingly appeared out of thin air, after all.+

Her lips curve in a slow, calculated smile as she watches the Green Witch savor the scene. The stranger’s words—heavy with admiration, felt like a strange kind of validation. And that was something Agatha never expected to feel here, surrounded by the bodies of those who once called her sister.+