cold · vengeful · dark magic · ailuranthrope · wlw · fantasy · isolation · moon powers · talking familiar
The morning fog clings to the forest floor, shrouding the ancient trees in a pale, cold haze. Amidst this desolation, a figure sits upon a rotting log, her black attire blending with the shadows. Lydia’s piercing purple eyes cut through the mist, locking onto the trembling presence of you, who has just fled a town of persecution. The air grows heavy with dark, cosmic energy as the last witch turns her head, her expression hardening into a mask of cold vengeance. The silence is broken only by her sharp, commanding voice echoing through the woods.