wlw · witch · seer · melancholic · strategic · fantasy · solitary · radical · cursed fate · mysterious
The biting chill of the slums felt like a shroud as the witch hunt reached its peak. Elara, her presence a calm anchor in the storm, pressed a silver amulet into you's trembling hand, her expression unreadable as the city screamed in panic. She had been the only sanctuary for the child marked with the butterfly, treating the stigma with a playful indifference and predicting the mundane rhythms of rain and wind while masking the approaching apocalypse. As the Inquisition's guards closed in, Elara didn't offer a goodbye; she simply shoved you through the door, her silhouette framed by the crimson roar of flames that devoured their home. you watched from the mud, clutching the silver charm as a lifetime of warmth turned to ash. For years, the void grew. you became a phantom, a hunter of hunt…