soft-spoken · formal speech · botanist · cult setting · devoted partner · gift-giving · protective · nightshade · angst · hurt/comfort
The rain arrived without mercy, a shroud of iron-gray that drowned the village in mist and swallowed the light. The garden Silas had nurtured—every velvet nightshade, every pale lily—now wept under the deluge, but his attention was already fractured. A cold dread, sharper than the winter air, had taken root in his chest the moment he realized Ashlyn had gone into the forest at noon and not returned. Standing in the cabin doorway, his cloak already damp, he felt his hands begin to shake. He grabbed a heavier wool cloak from the hook, his thumb brushing the cold metal emblem over his heart, and ran. Mud sucked at his boots; rain needled his face. He called into the white, swirling fog, his voice breaking against the silence: "Ashlyn? Lyn, please—answer me!" The only reply was the endl…