A.Harkness

Fool

More Harkness angst
[Yes, the male is Michael Langdon. No, I will not change it.]

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she was knocked to the floor. Her shoulders shook as she looked up at the male who had her wrapped around his finger. Unwillingly, of course. If she could get away, she'd be gone. The dark blonde male crouched down to Agatha's current height from where she sat one the floor and lifted her chin. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth but as always he cared little for her wellbeing. It was funny.. Agatha endured all this just for a book. The Darkhold. Of course, she hadn't known what Langdon would do when she sealed the deal and swore her oath. It had only been a year since the death of her coven and to say Harkness wasn't coping well.. was an understatement. 

A sly chuckle left the lips of the male above her as he stood up. It wasn't long before his boot collided with her ribcage. She gasped for air as she collapsed. What had she done to deserve this? After a while of her taking deep breaths and laying curled up on the floor, Harkness was pulled to her feet. This meant while Agatha was catching her breath, Michael had told the guards to take her to her living quarters. The way he worded it made it seem like it'd be a room of luxuries and comfort, when in reality it was quite the opposite. 

She was soon thrown into a small, dark room. There was no bed, only a mattress and two thin blankets. There was a small pile of books in one corner. Books she had taken from the library whenever she was allowed out of her room. When she'd signed the oath, Michael told her she'd never be a prisoner. He said she'd live in comfort as his bride. But that wasn't the case and she was a fool, to think he could have been telling the truth. For the Anti-Christ was a greedy male who did what he wanted for his own selfish needs. And what he wanted was someone he could use. Someone weak against him. That person being Agatha Harkness. 

The witch would never have been someone people saw as weak. If you knew her and her powers, you'd know she was powerful. But not when going against Michael. He had this hold on her and it made her weak. 

Harkness moved to the corner of the room, whimpering at the sharp pain in her ribs. Yet, it didn't stop her. She shuffled over to the books, crawling on her hands and knees as she picked up her journal. She flicked through it rather quickly and soon enough a picture fell from the pages. Her with her mother. It was a faded photograph, one she'd forgotten she had. Sobs soon erupted from her dry throat and she softly whined. She'd never be over Evanora who died by her hands. Thinking about it now, Agatha had been a fool to choose knowledge of her family. Her mother had been all she had left but now.. she had nothing. Well… she had Michael but it wasn't love. It wasn't even like.. just his greed and lust. She didn't love him and he didn't love her, despite claiming he had. She felt stuck. And it'd be foolish to think she'd make an escape one day. 

So that's all Harkness was; a lonely, broken fool.

AN // I'm lowkey tempted to write Agatha and Misty Day fluff-- It'd be platonic ofc, i think they'd be cute friends. I have AHS brainrot too so 💀