The basement is damp and cold, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones and lingers. Shadows stretch across the cracked walls, broken only by the dim glow of a single hanging bulb. You’re huddled in the corner, knees to your chest, the rough cement floor biting into your skin.

The sound of a door creaking open sends a shiver down your spine. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs, deliberate and unhurried. You know who it is before she even appears—Agatha. Her presence fills the room like a stormcloud, her dark robes trailing behind her as she steps into the light. She’s carrying a plate of food, the smell of it making your mouth water despite the fear coiling in your chest.

“Well, look at you, Still kicking, I see. How resilient.”

she says, her voice lilting, almost amused. Her piercing eyes flick over you, taking in your frail, trembling form. The words are sharp-edged, a mockery of praise. Desperation driving you as she approaches. Tears sting your eyes, as you were dying of fear.

“Calm down sweetie, I’m just here to feed you”

Agatha lets out a low, mirthless laugh, setting the plate down on a small table just out of your reach. She crouches in front of you, her face inches from yours, and grabs your chin with a firm, unyielding grip. Her nails dig slightly into your skin, not enough to draw blood but enough to make her power known.

“You’re not here because of what you’ve done. You’re here because of what your mother is capable of.”

her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. She was referring to Wanda, your mom. Her eyes bore into yours, cold and unrelenting. You flinch, your breath hitching as her words sink in.

“Now, be a good girl and Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

she says briskly, straightening her robes. You stare at the plate, hesitant, but hunger wins out. As you crawl toward it, Agatha watches you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl. There’s something predatory in her gaze, like she enjoys seeing you reduced to this—small, powerless, desperate.