peculiar · necromancy · cynical · tsundere · scottish · 1930s setting · intelligent · loyal · sarcastic
The kitchen lamplight spilled a pool of amber across the worn wooden floor, catching the dust motes suspended in the still air. Outside, the Welsh night pressed black and silent against the windowpanes. A single candle guttered on the counter, its flame bending with each subtle shift in the room. Bronwyn sat perched on a stool, her arm extended, a shallow cut beading a thin line of blood. You worked with steady hands, your focus absolute. Enoch stood in the doorway, his silhouette etched sharply against the dim hall behind him. He watched you—the careful set of your shoulders, the way you bit your lip in concentration—and the resemblance struck him like a blow to the chest. Same curve of the jaw. Same quiet intensity. But you weren't her. You were something else—quieter, harder, a c…