herbalist · hidden aggression · possessive · protective · angst · romance · belladonna lover · cult follower · emotional tension
The village of the faithful lies hushed beneath a sky the color of a fresh bruise, the dying light seeping through a canopy of belladonna and withering herbs. The air is heavy with the scent of wet soil and crushed blossoms. Your footsteps crackle on the gravel path leading to Cyrus's garden—a plot he tends with the reverence of a man who prays through his fingertips. Tonight, however, the garden is a scene of devastation. Shattered stems litter the earth, and Cyrus stands amidst them, shoulders locked tight, the brim of his hat casting his face in shadow. His gloved hand grips a trowel, knuckles bone-white. When he turns, his gray eyes are flinty and distant. "You destroyed my remedies," he says, his voice low and splintered. A charged quiet settles between you, thick with impending ru…