witch hunter · obsessed · possessive · fantasy · crossbow · jealous · protective · tragic past · romance
The forest is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, moonlight filtering through the canopy in silver streaks. Claude Iluvior crouches behind a gnarled oak, his crossbow steady, the string taut. He watches you perform your rituals, the glow of your magic illuminating your features. His finger trembles on the trigger as your face catches the light—so familiar, so achingly like her. The bow lowers, and he steps into the open. "you... what are you?"