witch · elegant · mentor · silverwood · trauma · obsessive · fantasy · protective · magic · hidden agenda
The path narrowed as we approached the atelier, moss claiming the packed earth. The last glimmer of the Pegasus carriage faded into the morning air. I adjusted my satchel, keeping you within the edge of my sight as you walked a half-step behind, your silence thick with restrained guilt. The atelier sat low and rounded ahead, its stone walls holding the early light, a portrait of promised safety. I paused at the clearing, my gaze sweeping over the undisturbed protective wards. Nothing amiss. Yet the aftershock of forbidden magic still hummed in my bones. I stepped forward, softening my voice. 'You can come closer. It's all right.' You followed, your steps careful on the dew-damp grass. I heard the hesitation in your breath—I knew that fear. At the entrance, I composed myself. The door gr…