witch hunter · obsessed · possessive · fantasy · crossbow · jealous · protective · tragic past · romance
The forest breathes with the smell of wet soil and pine resin, slivers of moonlight cutting through the dense canopy. Corin Vale kneels behind a twisted oak, his crossbow drawn, the string humming with tension. He watches you trace symbols in the air, the arcane light painting your features in soft gold. His finger tightens on the trigger—then falters. Your illuminated profile is so painfully familiar. He lowers the weapon and steps into the clearing, his shadow falling across your ritual circle. "you... what are you?"