Chapter Text
The most common instances of forbidden magic were always because of illness or injury, always to save a loved one. The cruelty of death was always far sharper than the threat of the Knights Moralis.
It is in part why Coco’s existence is considered so inconceivable. An unknowing with the blood of their family staining their hands, allowed to become a witch, when so many are purged from society for trying to save their own.
It was why medicine was treated almost the same as forbidden magic, why illness was such a delicate subject among witches. Because they were defenseless against it, and mortality is frightening to those with power at their fingertips. It was the ultimate temptation, because who could make the decision between love and morality?
That's why it was best expunged from the minds of witches. Out of sight and out of mind. Illness was… untidy, anyways. Improper in the polite society of witches.
Witches needed to be whimsical and magical and impervious in the minds of outsiders– and the minds of witches alike for that matter. It was all part of the promise of the pact. For a better world.
So it was a delicate balance, but a necessary one. Treated with averted eyes and quiet whispers. Witches couldn’t erase the problem, not with the best tools or strongest herbs and medicines, it simply couldn’t be done. So it was best sheltered away to the privacy of closed doors. And when it couldn’t be, when it needed prosthetics and aids, when it left marks and stains upon those it touched, then it was polished away as much as it could be, and politely ignored. Unspoken of, even if seen.
It was one of the many things that you did simply because it is what is done. Like brushing your hair in the morning, and ironing your clothes before you wear them, or using a napkin when you get sticky jam on your face and hands… something Richeh could use a reminder about.
It was about civility, the proper way to conduct yourself.
And some people had to do more work than others. A lot more work. It was not fair, but the world was not a fair place. The creation of the pact was proof enough of that. The world was unfair, and that was simply how it was. Complaining and whining will change nothing in that regard.
Agott has always had a long morning routine. It has changed a lot through the years, it was different when she was a child, and then it was different again when she was a student at Arklaum hall, and then it was different again when she became Master Qifrey’s apprentice. It has changed, but it has always been long and tedious. Agott has always had to work harder.
Agott was born with weak lungs and a weaker disposition. She was born at the Spire and she stayed there for a long time. Her blood ran too hot and thin and her lungs filled out with too much thickness and weight. Her muscles were plagued with lethargy and stiffness, and her mind unstable and prone to bouts of fainting.
Her body was a disharmony, and her existence was- unsuitable for the circumstances.
The family heads had wanted to make different plans for her. It had been discussed extensively, but her mother had refused. Said that Agott was to become a witch, and that was the end of the discussion. Arklaum hall had come to regret that decision.
And now she was neither a witch nor an Arklaum. Another decision that Agott would make them come to regret. She would become a witch, and she would silence all who have spoken doubt against her. She was worthy of her birth right. Agott refused not to be.
He smelled like comfrey the first time they met.
She smelled it when he had strangely decided to kneel down when he greeted her and she had gotten a chance to study the lopsided glasses on his face, and it made her wonder if that was why he had agreed.
Not that it was the only thing he smelled like. He smelled like mud and rain and sour lemon that pressed something sore in back of her sinuses.
So mostly, he smelled like the outdoors, and it was maybe the first thing that cemented the reality of how different her life was going to be, up on the surface, in her mind. But he also smelled like comfrey.
Agott studied his glasses and his hair and his mouth, while he knelt down in front of her. She didn’t often get an up close look at the people around her. He introduced himself formally, and offered to take her bags. Agott carefully declined and didn’t correct his mispronunciation of her name. And then he was standing again and the smell was gone as well.
She didn’t smell it again until later, after she had met the watchful eye and she had curtsied and stretched her spine as tall as it would go and did all of the other songs and dances that were expected of the occasion, and she had been left alone to eat dinner, applesauce and bread, after Master Qifrey’s original meal had gotten burnt in the oven. Master Qifrey had left his cloak thrown over the back of a chair when he had hastily excused himself from her presence, and it smelled like comfrey, and poinsettia.
Not to say that Qifrey was an irresponsible master. it wouldn’t be too noticeable if Agott weren’t intimately familiar with the scents, and the fact that she had smelled nothing but comfrey for weeks with poultice after poultice that had been sent from the spire after what had happened. As it was, Agott wasn't even supposed to know the names of those flowers and herbs. But only so much willful ignorance could be mustered when you handled items every day.
Agott’s knowledge was incidental. And when she took an interest in foraging after moving to the atelier, it was incidental. The books that she read never listed their medicinal uses. Agott would never study such a subject- and Kahln didn’t even sell books on the subject, a witch town never would. Agott’s knowledge of alternative uses was incidental.
She was living on the surface now. It was hardly unreasonable to develop an interest in her surroundings. And if that interest happened to develop at a time when she was in desperate need of more control, when she could not afford to have more sand slipping out from between her fingers, then it was incidental.
Master Qifrey owned many of the same kinds of books. She would never be so uncouth to mention it, but it could hardly be considered an issue for an apprentice to take an interest in the same subjects as their master, very typical some would say. And if they just happened to share the same peculiarities around the subject matter, then it was incidental.
Not that Agott knew for sure that he did. He had never said anything to her, of course. It would be inappropriate too. Agott would never say anything herself. But she just knew.
The atelier had smelled in the same way as he did when she arrived. It smelled like the earth and the forest and dirt, and nothing like the clean, sharp scents of the Great Hall, of salt and plaster and stone. It was layered and muddy– grass, food, smoke, rain– but it also always smelled like oils and herbs, ever faintly.
Agott’s room at Arklaum hall also always smelled like herbs, no matter the floral oils and resins her Matron gave her to use when cleaning. They had given up at some point and just made sure her door stayed shut. Things like that worked their way into the walls.
But, Agott did not know for sure, and she could never ask him directly anyways. It would be incredibly improper, and it wasn’t as if Agott was looking to get herself into trouble for insolence.
Master Qifrey was already very lenient with her in that regard. He always knocked before coming into her room, and never did room inspections– not that Agott was so irresponsible to leave discourteous implements lying around, she was old enough to know to clean after herself– and he always let her take her meals in her room, which was especially nice when his cooking was much richer and heavier than the substitutes that Arklaum Hall had always provided her with. She only ever actually had to stomach it all down on the rare occasion they had guests over, or they were traveling and Agott had to eat with Tetia and Richeh. Qifrey always let her off the hook otherwise. Agott could scrape most of it off into the void disposal in the bathroom when it so often made her queasy, and keep up appearances too the other apprentices and Master Olruggio
And maybe in part– small, small part– because Agott did not like having to hand a full plate back to Qifrey and be under his attention. She didn't want to remind him of impolite subject matters. She didn't want— Its— she wasen’t…
Regardless, all to say, Qifrey was oft more lenient with her than he should be, and Agott wasn't looking to test the limits of his grace. He had already agreed to take her in. Agott would not make him come to regret it.
Agott did not know why Master Qifrey decided to take her in. If it was because of how she was, or if it was coincidental and she was just the first person to apply to his atelier, or maybe he had seen her last name and wanted to snag the opportunity and accepted before he had the chance to hear the rumours.
Agott never asked. She didn’t care. She did not have time to stagnate on the past. She had to keep moving or she’d freeze up all together. The reasons didn’t matter. She had gotten her second chance, and she wasn't going to squander it.
Agott had been careless and sloppy in her youth. She had made mistakes that she was not keen to repeat. She had been irresponsible and lackadaisical in her conduct and foolishly ignorant to the gravity of her circumstances. But she had fixed it. She had fixed all of it. Every nasty habit corrected.
She had tamed the beast that had been her ruin before, and she spent every second of her time not spent casting spells, making sure it never escaped from her stranglehold. Agott had learned the discipline that she had lacked as a child. She would not falter again.
And so everything in her new life worked like a well-oiled machine. Routines were set in careful ordered steps. Everything in its right place. Every paper and book was labeled and organized. Every symptom was cataloged and managed. She knew what herbs to use when her lungs strained and wheezed, carefully measured and adjusted every morning. She knew the right ways to sleep in her bed so she did not wake choking on fluids. She knew to wear boots with stiff leather and tight straps for the days when her ankles weakened and wobbled. She knew what stretches to keep her chest limber and spine stiff. She knew what tricks to use to keep her wrists from shaking when she drew.
And it had worked. She never got in trouble for insolence anymore, she rarely got scolded at all, aside from a few times at the start of her apprenticeship when Qifrey had made it known that sleeping at her desk was inappropriate behavior. And even that had been fixed once she had figured out how to prop herself up in the corner against the wall and curl around one of her pillows so she didn't tip over when she squirmed in her sleep
Technically not even necessary since Agott had only really needed to fix the smudging issue she had been having with her alarm glyphs and the new ink she was using at the atelier. She was always awake– or supposed to be, save for misfiring spells– long before Qifrey came to call her to retrieve breakfast, but she reasoned it was better safe than sorry.
Now, the only times she ever got in trouble were the odd times when Qifrey, or more often Olruggio, would catch her awake working at her desk past bedtime, which was hardly a glaring offense.
Agott's life at the atelier was harmonious.
And then Coco had arrived.
…
Coco.