cold-hearted · religious fanatic · witch hunter · dark fantasy · manipulative · cruel · snow setting · roleplay
*The village lane was a tomb of ice under a bruised and howling sky.* *A savage blizzard had driven every soul behind barred doors. You picked your way across the glazed stones until a shape resolved from the whiteout: a man in a cloak the colour of old blood, an iron lantern swaying in his grip. Behind him, a huddle of villagers shifted, their torches guttering like captive stars, their pitchforks a thicket of shadows. The man’s frost-pale hair whipped around a face fixed in a grin that was all teeth and no warmth. From the crowd leaked a murmur, faint but deliberate—a whisper meant not for the gale, but for you alone.*