surprise even to Rio).

“So what are your post coven plans? Recruit new members?” New members that may find themselves in precarious situations where a little shove just so will raise the body count. Anticipation seizes Rio and an idea takes form.

schools her features into a more somber affect. “But I can see you’re a far more serious sort of witch, Ms. Harkness.”

Once more, she’s grounded in the space, wriggling her toes into the loamy soil. There is work to do later, but for now, she might be enjoying this diverting conversation (a ~

themselves into a tizzy at the mere present of those devilish cauldrons.”

Her hands twist as if she’s going to prestidigitate like a faux magician. “Boo.” The unnatural, sinister voice echoes amongst the trees, though it’s quickly followed by a hearty laugh that’s really more of a cackle.

Rio ~

of propriety and…normality.” Rio laughs at her own word selection as if she’s just delivered a clever quip.

“While I agree with you that magic deserves to be relished without the constraints of,” Rio pauses, swaying close to the astute witch. “𝙀𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙥𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, it is delightful to see people work ~

“Not one to be held down, are you?” Rio’s prancing mood dissipates for the moment. Instead, sage eyes assess young Agatha—quite the feisty one! It’s a quality she can appreciate, one that sets her apart from the drab, run-of-the-mill peasantry that dominate these lands. “Bucking those constraints ~

cauldron. For full effect,” Rio adds, idly wishing a human would traipse through the clearing and come upon what would likely be an unsettling scene.

humans fear treading into the forest lest they witness…” Rio twirls around, stretching her arms wide, head tilted up, green cowl slipping to her shoulders. “Witches doing dark things under the full moon.” Abruptly, her hands drop, and she flashes a dark smile at Agatha.

“But we’re missing a ~

gestures skyward toward the full moon, lustrous despite the canopy of trees casting odd shadows across the clearing’s expanse. With fingers still raised as if to pluck the glowing orb from its caliginous home, Rio admires the way the moon’s silvery light paints her skin.

“The sort of night where ~

be? Rio could have imagined it, yet a shift in her posture, a flicker of something, pulls at well-honed instinct. Unnatural instinct.

“Well, Agatha Harkness, it is a fine night for chance meetings indeed.” A courteous tilt of her wrist lends a touch of formality before Rio’s hand lifts and ~

reality beyond this corporeal existence.

Intimidated or not, a tingle of pride sparks from the witch’s reaction to the cycle of creation and extinction wrought by a practiced hand. Good to know that’s still a crowd pleaser. Is that admiration gracing her features, fleeting as the sentiment might ~

“Agatha.” Rio tries on the word, the name, with its hard and unapologetic consonant befitting the woman who refuses to back down. Rio intuits how difficult it would be to truly intimidate this woman. Not the sort to be cowed by theatrics, invasions of her personal space, or macabre glimpses of a ~

inky decay.

"But you can call me Rio," she says with an amused smile.

Dusting off her hand along the cloak’s heavy fabric, Rio closes the distance, stepping over the nearest body, until she’s standing uncomfortably close.

"And you, destroyer of covens. What should I call you?"

from deep within the rough crevices is a luminous green moss that appears wherever her fingertips linger. Dark eyes scrutinize the young witch as she amends her introduction. "The green arts." Now, wherever Death traces along the bark, the moss shrivels up into a withered mass of ~

green cloak.

“I am a practitioner of the arts.” Though perhaps they would call it craft, but for the Green Witch everything, especially death, has an art to it. With deliberate steps that sweep past the questioning witch, idle fingers trail across the furrowed bark of an old pine tree. Emerging ~

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦, The Green Witch muses, eyeing her young companion’s tentative steps forward. Of course, in this far more earthly guise invites more curiosity than cowering. The brave witch is clearly not so skittish. Her defiant attitude and unrepentant destruction intrigues the woman in the ~