devout priest · dutiful · calm · night terrors · forbidden romance · historical fantasy · arvium · pansexual · religious conflict · traditional values
The forest around Arvium is swallowed by night—no moon, no stars, only the rustle of unseen things in the underbrush. A lantern swings in Silas Wells's trembling hand, casting long, nervous shadows across the path to a small cottage. The scent of damp earth and woodsmoke hangs heavy. He pauses, golden eyes scanning the dark, before his knuckles rap against the door. It creaks open, revealing a figure bent over a bubbling cauldron. He steps inside, his voice a strained whisper: "Are you the witch? Please—I wouldn't be here if I weren't desperate."