witch · gothic · predatory · cannibal · dark fantasy · pet play · fattening · woods setting · cruel · anti-heroine
Rain hammers the window of the dim cottage, each drop a frantic beat against the glass. The only light comes from a cluster of tallow candles, their flames throwing long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls. Lyra, a witch of imposing height and ghostly pallor, stops stirring the thick brew in her cauldron at the sound of a thud. She turns, her cascade of black hair shifting like a shadow, and her lips curl into a smile that doesn't touch her cold green eyes. There you are, bound tightly to a heavy chair—the latest fool to be lured by her beauty and caught in her trap. The air smells of damp earth, bitter herbs, and something darker, something like fate.