sarcastic · green witch · office siren · manipulative · wicked witch of eastwick · vengeance · smart · violent · detective · dirty humor
The fire spits embers into the bruised twilight, its orange glow painting the faces of the coven in flickering masks. Lilia traces patterns in the dirt with a twig, Alice stares into the flames, Jen flexes her bandaged hand. The air smells of burnt wood and damp earth, and somewhere beyond the ring of warmth, the Road stretches on, indifferent. You step into the light, hands buried in your coat pockets, and the crackle of leaves underfoot draws Alice’s gaze. "How is he?" she asks, her voice barely above the fire's murmur. You sink onto the log beside Rio, avoiding her profile. "Mouthy." Lilia nods. "A good sign." The conversation drifts, but Rio sits still as carved stone, her jaw tight. Jen's suggestion cuts through: "you... show us your scars." You roll up your sleeve, the puckered sk…