𝖎𝖎. follow me, my friend

november, 2026

𝕬 few minutes later, Agatha returned, her smile carefully measured, yet failing to mask the tension lurking beneath the surface. But this time, she wasn't alone. Walking a step behind her was an elderly woman who seemed as though she’d stumbled into the wrong story entirely.

The woman was the picture of gentle incongruity. Her wide-brimmed, cream-colored hat — adorned with a modest fabric flower — sat primly atop her neatly coiffed silver hair. She clutched a small, well-worn handbag close to her side, her posture hesitant as though she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up here. She looked as though she had just come from a sunlit garden or a cozy parlor, not the tense atmosphere Agatha had left behind.

“Follow me,” Agatha said briskly, her tone brooking no argument. She turned sharply, her heels clicking with purpose against the scuffed wooden floor. It was the stride of someone in a hurry to get somewhere.

The group hesitated only a moment before trailing after her. The elderly woman moved reluctantly, her eyes darting about as if she were trying to read the invisible lines of a script she’d never been given. Her gaze flicked over the others — curious but wary — before she offered a few polite, tentative smiles.

The narrow corridor they entered seemed to stretch longer than it should have. Agatha’s brisk steps echoed sharply, the rhythm broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her. The air grew cooler as they continued, the chill a stark contrast to the stagnant warmth of the room they’d left behind.

Each step of the staircase groaned in protest as they made their way down, the sound harsh and unsettling in the heavy silence. Evangeline pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her breath misting faintly in the air. The stone walls pressed closer the farther they went, the cold radiating from them like a warning.

When they reached the bottom, the basement stretched out before them — a dimly lit, chaotic expanse that seemed frozen in time. Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of clutter. Shadows pooled in the corners, thick and unmoving, where the light from a single flickering bulb overhead couldn’t reach.

Evangeline scanned the room, her gaze lingering on an ancient washer and dryer in one corner. The machines were relics of another era, their once-shiny surfaces dulled with grime and dotted with rust. They sat as though waiting for someone to remember they existed — silent sentinels in a space that seemed to hold its breath.

Beside her, the elderly woman shifted uncomfortably, clutching her handbag tighter as her eyes roamed the cluttered basement. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice hesitant but oddly chipper, as though she was determined to make the best of whatever bizarre scenario she had walked into. “So, um… are we doing laundry together?”

Agatha seemed to have no patience for pleasantries. She turned abruptly toward the teenage boy, her sharp tone cutting through the air. "Why don't you head upstairs and let us just do our thing, okay?"

The boy, clearly unwilling to leave, shifted on his feet, his curiosity shining through his reluctance. Agatha only waved him off, her hand slicing the air with finality. “Close some windows while you’re at it — it’s a little drafty.”

Her dismissal was so brisk, so unyielding, that the boy had little choice but to obey. Thpugh, he lingered a moment, casting a pleading look at Agatha. “You’ll let me know if—”

“Yep. Sure. Scoot,” she snapped, her voice clipped and unbothered. She waved him off with exaggerated impatience, as though shooing a particularly persistent fly.

The boy hesitated, his shoulders sagging as he finally gave in. His steps were heavy with disappointment as he turned toward the stairs, his gaze lingering on the group below. The longing in his eyes was almost childlike. Still, he obeyed, trudging up the creaking steps with a defeated sigh, taking them two at a time as though trying to mask his dejection.

Evangeline, noticing his mood shift, offered him a soft smile and a small wave, a gesture of quiet reassurance. He caught it just before disappearing from view, his return smile brief and tinged with melancholy.

As the faint sound of his footsteps faded above them, an almost tangible tension seemed to settle over the room. Agatha turned back to the group with an air of renewed purpose, her movements sharp and deliberate. She reached for a small silver bell perched on a dusty shelf, its once-polished surface now tarnished with age. Beside it lay a stick, which she picked up and tested in her hand, rolling it between her fingers as though assessing its balance.

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” she said, each word punctuated by a step forward. Her smile widened, teetering on the brink of patronizing. With every syllable, the group instinctively shuffled closer, forming a loose circle around her as though drawn in by some invisible gravitational pull.

Agatha’s gaze swept over them, her smile never faltering. "So, all we need to do," she began, her tone dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "is sing the Ballad, and a door will appear. Once we step through, we'll be on our merry way to having all of our magical dreams come true."

Her words hung in the air, a mix of mystique and thinly veiled impatience. The group exchanged skeptical glances, brows furrowed and lips pressed tight. Agatha clapped her hands lightly, jolting their attention back to her. “All aboard?” she prompted, her smile tightening as she raised the stick, poised to strike the bell.

Before she could continue, Jennifer cut in. “So, who’s going high?”

The question landed like a pin dropped in a tense room. Agatha’s hand froze mid-air, her smile slipping ever so slightly. A flicker of annoyance danced across her face as she turned toward Jennifer, her patience thinning by the second. Clearly, she wanted this over with — preferably before any uninvited guests arrived.

As if on cue, the elderly woman, still clutching her purse as if it were a lifeline, raised her hands in alarm. “Oh, no, thank you. I don’t do drugs,” she said earnestly, her polite tone mismatched with the absurdity of her misunderstanding. She took a cautious step back, her wide-brimmed hat bobbing as her gaze flitted nervously between Agatha and Jennifer.

Alice, standing nearby, suppressed a sigh. “She means the harmonies,” she said gently, her voice tinged with patient exasperation.

“I’m an alto, is all I’m saying,” Jennifer added with a casual shrug, as if her input were perfectly natural in the midst of all this chaos.

Agatha’s jaw tightened visibly, her grip on the stick firm enough to turn her knuckles white. Just as she opened her mouth — likely to unleash a pointed remark — a shriek shattered the air.

“Get off me!” Lilia’s voice rang out, high and panicked. She flailed her arms wildly, striking at the empty space around her as if fighting off an invisible attacker. Her movements were frantic, her face a mask of terror and rage.

The group recoiled, startled by the sudden outburst. For a moment, no one moved, their wide eyes fixed on Lilia as her thrashing subsided. She froze, her breathing ragged, and slowly glanced around, realization dawning as the absence of a threat became painfully clear.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she awkwardly smoothed her jacket, avoiding everyone’s gaze. The others subtly stepped back, the circle widening just enough to give her space.

Agatha let out a long, slow breath, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw. Without a word, she lifted the bell and struck it with the stick. The clear, sharp chime echoed through the basement, cutting through the thick air like a blade.

The sound reverberated off the stone walls as Agatha began to chant:

“Seekest thou the Road to all that’s foul and fair,
Gather sisters: fire, water, earth, and air.”

One by one, the others began to join her, their voices tentative at first but gradually gaining confidence. The basement seemed to swell with sound, the eerie harmony reverberating off the stone walls and sending shivers through those present.

"Darkest hour, wake thy power, earthly and divine
Burn and brew with coven true and glory shall be thine."

The familiar words poured forth like an ancient river, their flow seamless — except for the elderly woman. She glanced around nervously, her brow furrowed as she whispered to the person beside her, "Am I supposed to know this song?" The question fell into the void, unanswered, as the others pressed on, their focus unwavering.

"Down, down, down The Road
Down the Witches' Road
Down, down, down The Road
Down the Witches' Road..."

The refrain repeated, each iteration like the steady beat of a drum, growing in intensity. The energy in the room seemed to change, a palpable charge building with every line. Evangeline’s voice cracked despite her best efforts, but it was swallowed by the collective sound. Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she was certain the others could hear it.

"Circle sewn with Fate Unlock thy hidden gate
Marching ever forward 'neath the wooded shrine
I stray not from the path, I hold Death's hand in mine."

Evangeline’s breath quickened, but she held firm, unwilling to break the chant. The ballad wove around them, tightening its grip on the group like a spell taking hold.

"Primal night, giveth sight Familiar by thy side If one be gone, we carry on, Spirit as our guide

Down, down, down The Road
Down the Witches' Road (Down the Witches' Road)
Down, down, down The Road (Down the Witches' Road)...

Blood and tears and bone
Maiden, Mother, Crone."

Agatha discarded the bell and stick with a decisive motion. Her hands reached out, clasping Alice and Jennifer’s with an almost feral intensity. The rest followed suit without hesitation, forming a tight circle. Evangeline’s grip tightened on Lilia’s hand, offering what little comfort she could. The elderly woman, despite her earlier nervousness, held steady, her knuckles white.

"The road is wild and wicked, winding through the wood
Where all that's wrong is right and all that's bad is good
Through many miles of tricks and trials, we'll wander high and low
Tame your fears, a door appears, the time has come to go

Down, down, down The Road (Down, down, down, down)
Down the Witches' Road (Down the Witches' Road)."

The elderly woman — now fully immersed — swung her arms with wild enthusiasm. Her face was alight with unselfconscious delight as she gripped Evangeline and Alice’s hands tightly, her cheeks flushed with the sheer joy of the moment. Though her voice wavered off-tune, she sang with increasing confidence, her effort somehow endearing despite the mismatched harmonies.

"Down, down, down The Road (Down the Witches' Road)
Down the Witches' Road (Down the Witches' Road)...

Follow me, my friend
To glory at the end."

The words hovered in the air, clinging to the silence that followed like smoke after a flame. The shift in energy was palpable, the room now still and expectant. The witches held their breath as one, their hands remaining clasped, unwilling to break the circle, as though the act itself might undo whatever fragile magic had been woven.

And then... nothing.

The silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, a void where the promise of something extraordinary should have been. The initial excitement ebbed, replaced by an awkward stillness. One by one, their shoulders drooped, and furtive glances were exchanged. The lightbulb overhead flickered but held steady, its hum the only sound breaking the heavy quiet.

The disappointment was collective, settling over the group like a fog.

Agatha, however, remained perfectly composed, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. When she finally spoke, her voice was a low drawl, carrying just enough bite to prick at their nerves.

She loosened her grip on Jennifer and Alice’s hands, folding her arms and tilting her head. “Some feedback for you. It didn’t take this long last time.”

The group shifted uneasily. Tension crackled in the air, amplified by Agatha’s carefully constructed nonchalance. No one dared to speak at first, the weight of her words hanging heavily between them. Finally, Jennifer broke the silence, her irritation boiling over.

“Well,” she said sharply, gesturing toward Lilia with a jerk of her chin, "if she wasn't so pitchy."

Lilia’s head snapped up, her expression darkening. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Says the voice flatter than a pancake!”

Alice groaned audibly, stepping between them, her tone biting as she turned on Jennifer. "Yeah, did you not hear you? 'Cause the voice does not match the dress!"

Jennifer’s eyes widened, and she fired back without hesitation, her words lost in the rising cacophony. Lilia jabbed a finger toward Jennifer, cutting across her in an attempt to make her point.

Through it all, the elderly woman stood at the edge of the chaos, her face still glowing with enthusiasm. She raised her hands slightly, her voice breaking in with a cheerful, “No, no, no, I thought we sounded great!”

Within moments, the room was a roar of accusations and overlapping voices, each witch trying to speak louder than the others. Fingers pointed sharply, tempers flared, and egos clashed, dissolving the fragile unity of the coven into a whirl of bickering and blame. What had been a solemn ritual mere moments ago had spiraled into a chaotic mess.

Evangeline felt like she was drowning in it all. She stood frozen near the edge of the room, her wide eyes darting between the others as her hands pressed tightly over her ears in a futile attempt to block out the shouting. The scene before her was a far cry from the harmonious sisterhood she'd imagined when she'd joined. Is this what covens are supposed to be? The thought struck her with a pang of disappointment. She tucked a few loose strands of her curly blonde hair behind her ears and clasped her hands together, trying to ground herself in the storm. Finally, her gaze landed on Agatha, who stood apart from the chaos like an island of calm in a turbulent sea.

"Do something!" Evangeline pleaded, her voice thin and shaky, barely audible over the din. Her desperation was written all over her face, her lips trembling as she struggled to hold herself together. The muffled sound of her own voice barely registered through the press of her hands against her ears.

But Agatha didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. Instead, she leaned back, her arms crossed and her smirk deepening as she watched the scene unfold. There was something almost predatory in her amusement, her eyes flickering with a gleam of satisfaction as she observed the cracks in the coven's foundation widening.

Then, a sudden, violent crash from above shattered the cacophony, the sound reverberating through the room with a force that demanded attention. Even Evangeline heard it clearly, her panic momentarily halted as her hands dropped to her sides. All at once, the shouting ceased, replaced by a tense, suffocating silence. The witches stood frozen, their heads snapping upward in unison as they stared at the ceiling.

"What’s going on up there?" Alice asked, her voice tight with unease.

Agatha seized the moment. Slowly, she straightened, her smirk softening into something far colder. She let her gaze sweep across the room, her silence deliberate and weighted, drawing every eye to her. Her lips curled upward in a disdainful smile, her expression a blend of mockery and contempt. The tension was palpable as she finally broke the silence.

"Are there any real witches in the house?" she asked, her voice low, each word slicing through the stillness. "Because all I see are has-beens and could've-beens."

The witches stiffened under her scrutiny, their earlier bravado crumbling as her words landed.

Lilia bristled first, her shoulders squaring as anger flared in her eyes. "You recruited us," she spat, her voice thick with resentment.

Agatha’s smirk deepened, and she took a slow, deliberate step forward. "And I was a fool," she replied, her tone icy and unhurried. Her words were like a needle, precise and painful. "You can forget the Witches' Road. I'd die before letting you befoul it with your noxious mediocrity."

Her gaze turned sharp as she addressed them one by one, each insult tailored to wound. "Coward," she said to Lilia, the word heavy with disdain. Lilia flinched, but her defiance only grew stronger, her jaw tightening as she stared Agatha down.

"Fraud," she sneered at Jennifer, watching as the insult hit its mark. Jennifer's lips thinned, her fists clenching at her sides.

Her eyes landed on Evangeline. "Weakling." The word was a whisper, yet it cut deeper than any shout. Tears welled in Evangeline’s eyes, her hands trembling as she shook her head in quiet disbelief.

Finally, Agatha turned to Alice. "Disappointment," she said, her voice laden with derision. Alice’s face hardened, her shoulders drawing back as if she were bracing herself against the weight of the insult.

Agatha stepped back, folding her arms again as she surveyed the group with a chilling satisfaction. "I'd say you should burn like the rest of them," she added, her tone mocking, "but that would be a waste of kindling."

"Enough," Lilia snapped, her voice breaking through the silence.

"You need to shut up," Jennifer hissed.

"Go to hell," Alice added, her voice sharp and unyielding.

Agatha’s smirk deepened, the wicked gleam in her eyes daring them to take the bait. “Make me,” she taunted, her voice dripping with challenge, rising just enough to ignite the tension further.

The ground trembled violently beneath them, cutting through the charged air with a rumble that rattled the beams overhead. A sudden cacophony erupted behind them — crates crashing, old wood splintering, and an eerie groan from the strained ceiling above. The witches spun around instinctively, their once-poised circle broken as their eyes darted between Agatha and the source of the noise.

Magic sparked faintly at their fingertips, the edges of their power flaring in reflex as their bodies tensed. They formed a hesitant line, unified in defense but fractured in trust, their gazes shifting uneasily to Agatha, who stood motionless with a bemused expression, her confidence unwavering.

Before any spell could be cast, Lilia’s voice rang out. “Wait!” Her hand shot up, the command firm enough to stall the rising magic around her.

Lilia turned to the others, ignoring Agatha’s taunts. "This is a power grab," she said, her voice steady but edged with urgency. "She wants us to attack her."

“What?” Agatha interjected with exaggerated offense, pressing a hand to her chest in mock disbelief.

"You bought us here hoping our proximity coupled with your cruelty, would get you a spark you could steal."

But before anyone could respond, the ground shook again, this time with such force that a few of them staggered. A deep, resonant groan came from the ceiling beams, followed by a splintering crack.

"You had no intention of bringing us on The Road," Lilia pressed on, her tone unwavering.

"It's not my fault only a true coven can open the door," her smirk widened as she leaned forward slightly. Then, as the ceiling rumbled again, her espreasion contorted into one of frustration. "Oh, I don't have time for this! Just blast me, you bitches!"

Before anyone could react, a soft gasp broke the tension. The elderly woman, who had remained quiet and unnoticed at the edge of the chaos, pointed a trembling finger toward the floor. “What is that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Agatha froze mid-taunt, her sharp retort dying on her lips as she followed the her gaze. Agatha's expression shifted, the bravado melting into a flicker of genuine surprise. Her eyes narrowed as they landed on the floor beneath them. There, glowing faintly through the cracks in the wood, was an otherworldly blue light, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.

The witches took an instinctive step back, the glow casting eerie shadows across their faces. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the hum of magic replaced by the faint, rhythmic thrum of the light below.

Evangeline broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “Was… was that always there?”

“No,” Jennifer replied, her tone hushed.

Lilia was the first to tear her gaze from the glowing floorboards. Her eyes locked onto Agatha, sharp and unyielding. “Open it,” she said, her voice firm, the challenge clear in her tone.

Agatha’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of calculation. Slowly, she crouched down, her fingers curling around one of the metal handles embedded in the trapdoor. She tugged experimentally, her teeth gritting as the heavy wood resisted her pull.

The others hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, each grabbing a handle. Together, they heaved, the trapdoor creaking open with a jarring, metallic groan. As the door swung upward, a rush of cold air escaped from below.

They peered into the opening, their eyes landing on a spiral staircase, carved from stone, descended into darkness. The faint blue light emanated from runes etched into the walls, casting shifting shadows as the light pulsed softly.

Agatha crouched at the edge, her eyes narrowing as she reached out to touch the first step. She scooped up a handful of dirt, letting it sift through her fingers as if testing its reality.

The moment was shattered by the sudden clamor of footsteps above. Teen burst into the room, his voice high-pitched with urgency. “Agatha-a-a!” he called, practically tripping over himself as he barreled toward them. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the open trapdoor. "Is this it? Is this The Road?" He didn’t wait for an answer as he darted toward the staircase. "Because we should, really, really go, like, right now."

The inhuman shriek tore through the air like a blade, its guttural, bone-chilling tone reverberating down the basement walls. It was not a sound born of anything earthly; it was raw, primal, and suffused with malice. The witches froze as the scream clawed at their nerves, rendering them momentarily immobile.

Jennifer was the first to break the spell. Her face contorted in pure terror, her breath catching in a strangled gasp. "No, thank you!" Without another word, she flung herself after Teen, her arms flailing in a panicked frenzy.

Evangeline was next. She hesitated for only a moment, her wide eyes darting toward the source of the sound before snapping back to the group. “Come on!” she shouted, her voice sharp with urgency as she motioned frantically for them to follow. She leapt down the steps two at a time, her boots hitting the stone with quick, determined thuds that rang in the oppressive silence.

One by one, the others followed, their descent chaotic and hurried. The oppressive darkness of the staircase swallowed them whole, and soon, all that could be heard was the uneven rhythm of hurried steps and whispered breaths.

For Evangeline, the staircase seemed endless. The sounds of movement behind her dulled into a murmur, swallowed by the suffocating quiet of the dark. A faint chill began to creep along her skin, the temperature dropping with every step. Her breath puffed visibly in the dim blue glow that had started to pulse faintly along the walls.

The cold began to deepen, seeping into her bones with each step, biting at her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It felt all too real.

Finally, solid ground came beneath her feet, and she stumbled to a halt. The staircase had ended, giving way to a narrow passageway. Shadows clung to the damp stone walls, and an earthy scent filled the air, heavy with decay and the faint metallic tang of something ancient and unnatural.

Evangeline moved forward cautiously, her hand trailing along the gritty wall for balance. The stones crumbled slightly under her touch, leaving a faint residue on her trembling fingers. As she passed through the final archway, the passage opened up, revealing The Road.

Her breath caught in her throat. Before her lay a winding path, stretching endlessly through a forest that seemed to defy the natural world. The ancient trees were monstrous, their trunks twisted into grotesque shapes. Their bark bore the suggestion of faces — contorted, sorrowful, and watching. Branches arched overhead like fingers, weaving into a canopy that shut out most of the sky. Only shards of moonlight pierced through, bathing the forest in a pale, silvery glow that seemed to shimmer unnaturally.

The path itself was a surreal sight. Fallen leaves of the deepest blue blanketed the ground, their faint glow outlining the trail in a way that was both beautiful and unnerving. The light of the leaves cast the surroundings into an even deeper shadow.

Evangeline’s lips parted in awe. She couldn’t help but gape at the scene before her, her mind racing to reconcile the vivid, otherworldly reality with the myths she’d heard whispered so many times before. This was The Road — exactly as the legends had described it.

One by one, the others emerged from the shadows of the staircase, their faces mirroring Evangeline’s stunned expression. Agatha was the last to join them, stepping to the forefront with an air of authority. Her sharp eyes swept over The Road, her expression unreadable as she took in the surreal landscape.

Without a word, Agatha knelt at the edge of the path, her fingers slipping off her shoes. Her bare feet pressed into the glowing leaves. The others followed her lead, each witch bending to remove their shoes in silent reverence. Evangeline hesitated for a brief moment before pulling off her boots and stepping onto the path. The glow of the leaves seemed to pulse faintly beneath her feet, sending a strange, soothing warmth up through her legs.

Agatha straightened, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. “I never doubted us for a second."

And with that, they began their journey, stepping forward onto The Road, the glow of the path guiding their way into the waiting darkness.

𝕬uthor's note!!!

another chapter lol. this one is veryyyyy long but i needed to finish this episode because it's really getting out of hand

the plot is startinggggg i can't wait to write the trials they're so funnn!!