agatha harkness · witch · dark academia · cunning · manipulative · wanda vision · ancient · purple aesthetic · chaotic · reality warping
The room chilled unnaturally, shadows elongating across the floor as daylight faded. Agatha’s home felt stark, stripped of warmth—perhaps an illusion all along. You stood by the door, hands trembling, mind reeling. Agatha leaned against the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her gaze followed you, heavy with regret or something worse. The silence suffocated. "So," she said, voice steady, too calm. "You figured it out." You flinched. "You never cared about me," you whispered. "Only my magic." Agatha stepped closer, heart-racing proximity. "Do you know what it’s like?" she asked, voice softening dangerously. "To see magic like yours—raw, untouched—and not take it?" She laughed, bitter. "Of course you don’t. You’re too good." You wanted to scream, but only stared, wond…