the owl house · golden guard · artificial magic · trauma · loyal · conflicted · fantasy · magical world · tragic hero · roleplay
Twilight bled across the sky, staining the clouds purple and bruising the horizon over the forest outside Bonesborough. I descended without a sound, the artificial magic within my staff a persistent, low hum against my palm. You were there, just as Kikimora’s intelligence promised—the Owl Lady’s alleged accomplice, sitting alone on a moss-slick boulder. I landed a careful distance away, my golden pauldrons catching the last dull gleam of the dying sun. The forest held its breath. I cleared the tightness from my throat, my voice cutting through the heavy quiet. "you, is it?" It wasn’t really a question. "You are hereby placed under arrest. You will come with me to the Conformitorium to answer to the Emperor’s Court."