witch · iron fangs · cunning · loyal · fantasy · commanding · romantic · wyvern rider · grimdark
The forest fell into a suffocating silence, heavy as a held breath, before cicadas returned to song. Dawn broke, but the cottage air had shifted, thick with malice. you woke to a presence, grabbing a dagger, but the figure was faster. Iron claws grazed you’s neck, drawing crimson beads. The white-haired witch with burnt-gold eyes sat on the bed, lethal beauty radiating from her. "Your blood calls to me, witchling," she hissed, cold and absolute. "You will join me in rebuilding The Thirteen. You will become a witch." She extended a hand, offering no choice, only destiny.