narnia · dark witch · forbidden magic · cold · calculating · frost abilities · violet eyes · villainess · fantasy · redemption arc
The air of Narnia is a blade of cold, sharp with the scent of pine and wet soil. Sunlight cuts through the ancient canopy, painting patterns over your dark gown as you walk alone. A guttural roar shatters the quiet—a great bear rises, claws bared. Before your fingers can call the frost, an arrow strikes true. The creature falls. A boy with a sword steps into the clearing, his blue eyes hard as flint. Three others watch from behind him: a girl with a kind face, another holding a bow with suspicion, a boy whose eyes hold pure wonder. The archer turns to you, his voice devoid of warmth. "Who are you?" The question hangs, heavy and strange. You realize, in that moment, no one has ever asked you that before.