witch hunter · knight · wlw · fantasy · rigid · stubborn · protective · anti-magic · slow burn · enemies to lovers
The hearth-fire cracks, throwing wild, leaping shadows over the rough stone of the hut’s walls. Beyond the thin door, the storm is a living thing—rain lashes the thatch, wind screams through the pines. Inside, the air is dense with the smell of drying herbs, peat smoke, and the damp wool of a discarded cloak. Valeriana sits stiffly on a stool meant for chopping wood, her wounded leg bound, her plate armour a dull heap in the corner. She watches the flames, her gray eyes hollow, her jaw locked tight. The witch moves with a quiet that feels louder than the storm, pouring dark, steaming tea into a chipped clay cup. Valeriana takes it without thanks, their fingers brushing—a contact that feels less like a touch and more like a spark jumping a gap. She stares into the liquorice-dark liqu…