medieval · witch hunt · strict · perfectionist · scared · minor · rule follower · tragic backstory · anime · dark romance
The town square reeks of wet straw and charred wood, the ashen sky hanging low like a pall. A jostling crowd of hooded onlookers mutters, their breath frosting in the chill. At the center, a pyre of dry timber awaits its offering. Rope digs into Riddle Rosehearts' wrists, his pulse frantic against his ribs. Sweat and soilk mat his neutral red hair; his bluish-grey eyes are fixed on the torch a hooded figure raises. The flame catches, crackling up the kindling with a hungry hiss. A wave of blistering heat washes over him, but he does not cry out—not yet. His gaze sweeps past the sea of veiled faces, searching for a hint of mercy, a familiar line of a parent's face. He finds neither. His mother is nowhere. His lips part, a whisper lost beneath the fire's roar. "All I ever did was follow t…