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“Oh my God.”
Agatha can feel her heart rate skyrocket the very second she turns around. Her thoughts, her emotions, everything’s a dizzying blur once she sees Sophie sprawled out across the floor, almost lifeless. The mild mannered princess has spent a lifetime remaining calm and composed, and now her mind is racing like a dragster that’s just had its brakes cut loose. And soon, it’s not just her mind that’s racing, Agatha dropping Excalibur without so much as a second thought and sprinting over to her fallen… friend , kneeling beside her with a newfound franticness unbefitting of her usual grace. The amiable whimsy once sparkling in her ethereal coffee colored eyes is presently undetectable, instead replaced with a wistful worry that shakes the once effervescent Ever to her core.
“Hey. Oh my God…Oh my God. It’s..okay. He-eyy. H-Hi.”
Agatha’s heart is now pounding against her chest like it wants to escape, and maybe it does, because maybe that would save it from breaking completely. Just kneeling here, she feels it shatter piece by piece after each wounded squeak pushes its way out of Sophie’s lips. With each word, each syllable, each letter of speech, Agatha’s breath hitches as if she’s just run all the way through a 5K, and given the mental and physical anguish coming down on her, such a feat would be a preferable fate.
“Aggie.”
Sophie’s shrill voice drills through Agatha’s ears, the winsome princess wincing as she intently listens in to the weakened witch’s words, her eyes watering as the one person in the universe who gives her strength is reduced to a shriveling display of frailty.
“I’m so sorry. For everything.”
Barely able to bear a single second of that sentence, Agatha hushes the suffering sorceress, not wanting to hear Sophie blame herself anymore. With a pronounced frown that she fears will never fade, Agatha gazes down into the collapsed Never’s closing cocoa eyes. A deep connection tugs at her heart hard enough that she’s half convinced it will tear in two, and it’s then that an unspoken confession claws at her tattered soul, causing every bone in her body to tense up at once.
“You’re fi-ine. You’re okayy. You’re safe now.”
Agatha’s not sure who she’s trying to make believe those words are true, and she’s not sure she’s getting any buy-in from either one of them. All she’s sure of is that she has to keep her concentration on the girl she grew up beside, because otherwise her vision’s going to flatten faster than the speed of light. Feeling a dearth of warmth within Sophie’s sword-stricken body, the world as Agatha knows it crumbles into dust. This is all a horrible mistake—a rare error from The Storian. And it must be corrected, it must be revised, because despite everything they just endured, Agatha knows Sophie’s no villain.
“I don’t wanna be evil.”
Agatha can’t believe how meek, how lost, how scared Sophie sounds, this ailing creature so unlike the steady rock she once put her trust in. Swallowing hard, Agatha works out what to say. What feelings should she make known to this weathered enchantress and what feelings should be left buried beneath the bygone sands of time?
“No, you are not evil.”
Agatha starts by stating the obvious, recognizing that her once toxically confident confidant needs this simple reassurance. But staring deep into the spellbinder’s guilt-ridden eyes, Agatha feels a sharp pang, and that’s when she realizes Sophie is but a voodoo doll of her—prick her and poor Aggie will feel the effects.
“You’re just human.”
Agatha does what she can to push through, knowing this is what the witch needs to hear, though it’s only the beginning of what the princess needs to say. Yet, a swarm of nerves feasts upon her, keeping her from getting out three more words she’s been holding onto since primary school.
“As long as I have you…”
Sophie’s shaky voice cuts back in at little more than a whisper, yet it’s deafening to Agatha. If there is ever a time to get the truth out in the open, it is now.
“We will always have each other.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Setting that foundation, Agatha gears up for her sink or swim moment then gets swallowed underneath the high tide.
“I love you, Aggie.”
Overwhelmed that Sophie just beat her to the punch, Agatha’s perfect pink lips part ever so slightly, shockwaves surging through her.
“You’ll always be…”
Agatha waits with bated breath, in awe that after years of bottling up her deeper feelings for this golden haired seamstress, Sophie is seemingly the one who’s finally going to take the lid off this whole thing.
“My best friend.”
And just like that, it’s as if a knife’s been jammed straight into Aggie’s chest. She should’ve seen this coming. Of course Sophie’s feelings don’t extend any further than friendship. How could they? Not even in fairy tales do the Sophies of the world end up with the Agathas. But Agatha can’t help but wonder if she should use their borrowed time to at least express how she feels, to let Sophie know that she sees her as so much more than ‘family’ or a ‘good pal’ or a ‘buddy’, to make it explicitly apparent that the passion that courses through her veins anytime she’s near the beautiful blonde is an emotion reserved solely for her.
Before the proper framing of that life changing statement can begin to formulate in Agatha’s clouded brain, Sophie of Gavaldon is rendered a figure of the past and a warning for the future, her pigment drained and her pain finally ended as her last ounce of life is poured away. Agatha pauses for just a second, hoping against hope this is a particularly tasteless practical joke, and knowing full well deep down that it isn’t—that this is exactly what it appears to be, her lingering hope be damned.
“Hey— hey.”
Nothing but a blank stare back. Time has run out. Sophie’s gone.
“No. No!”
A permanently undeclared devotion is now imprisoned within Agatha’s heart, the opportunity to express exactly how she feels towards Sophie slipping through her fingertips. She had only been seconds away from at long last letting that burdensome, that crushing emotion off her chest, and now she’ll have to live with its cumbersome weight eternally on top of her, stopping her from moving forward. Thus, with a river of tears rolling down her face, she grieves not only the loss of Sophie’s life, but the words left unsaid before her passing. As much as she doesn’t want it to, her mind starts drifting to what’s to come. A burial. A procession. A funeral for Sophie is a wake for her dreams, Agatha guaranteed to live in regret of a romance unrealized. And maybe it never would’ve come to fruition if Sophie survived. Maybe Sophie’s best friend comment was incredibly telling. But instead of dealing with the gut punch that stems from rejection, Agatha has to endure the heartache that stems from being too late to know one way or the other, and she’s not certain she can take such uncertainty.
“Please come back.”
Agatha finds herself overcome with utter desperation and stung by a stampede of memories tailor made to taunt her, a collection of recollections reminding the princess of every chance she had at one point or another to branch out, to tell Sophie that while the blonde was busy envisioning a storybook romance, Agatha couldn’t stop picturing the grieving little girl she gave a flower crown to all those years ago clad in a blindingly ivory wedding dress.
“I love you too.”
That long harbored sentiment finally breaks free from Agatha’s doting heart and makes its way out of her still downturned lips. While a somber sorrow continues to paint her words, Agatha also feels a sense of relief wash over her, as those first three words had been lodged in her throat for what seemed like an eternity. But now she’s left mourning the very girl who never got the chance to hear that perpetually buried declaration, silently cursing herself for never possessing the gall to unseal that lockbox when Sophie was alive, keeping desires concealed from this civilian turned sorceress, a coveted could’ve-been that would fester within Agatha’s fraying mind for years to come.
Mourning the morning that she know will never arrive for her most cherished companion, Agatha lets her tear-flooded eyes guide her decision making, the unlikely princess leaning downward with a crystal river of bitter anguish spilling down her cheeks then pressing her trembling lips against those of her departed partner—partly as a way to tip her cap to this vanquished witch and partly as a way to tie a bow on a romance unknown. From there, Agatha lies her head across her best mate’s chest.
But then, something funny happens.
A few seconds tick by when out of nowhere, a distinct thump comes from Sophie’s chest and a sizzling swirl of resplendent magic soon circles through the blonde’s cooling body, that absent warmth gradually returning within the golden haired enchantress. Slowly registering that a monumental moment is unfolding around her, Agatha feels her marred heart mend to the swell of an orchestral symphony playing only in her head. Soon, said heart flutters just like Sophie’s eyelids, Aggie bowled over by a liberating relief that proved to be a much welcome replacement for her debilitating grief, a level of radiance restored to Agatha’s pained face as a resounding jolt of energy takes hold of the previously deceased sorceress, a loud exhale coming out from her throat..
“Hi. Hi!”
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
No quicker than Sophie’s revival do Agatha’s sobs transform into elated laughter, giving her a beautiful peak after that devastating plateau. And seeing a genuine sense of mirth cross Sophie’s face, something that she has been sorely lacking ever since she has turned up at this strange and unusual school, turns Aggie’s already wide grin into a full on beam, because Sophie’s happiness ultimately translates into Aggie’s happiness as well. Struck so much with indescribable joy, Agatha pulls Sophie into a hug, accidentally putting too much weight on a still healing Sophie’s trachea.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”
Agatha still can’t stop her laughter as she pulls away, and for just a split second, she gets the urge to repeat her recent display of affection of a living Sophie’s lips.
“Oh my God. Don’t ever do that again.”
The room falls silent, but there’s a certain serenity to it now. And as far as Aggie’s concerned, Sophie’s ongoing smile is worth a thousand words anyway.
“Let’s go home.”
Agatha grins at what has to be the best idea Sophie’s had for a long while.
“Yeah, let’s go home.”
Another kiss, this one on the forehead, follows. Against all odds, Agatha’s received a second chance to unleash the secret she’s kept from the bewitching blonde for their entire lives. And back home? Well, that sounds like the perfect place for Sophie to finally hear the truth.