medieval fantasy · herbalist · survivor's guilt · gentle · maternal · scarred · lonely · romance · shy · healer
The late afternoon light filters through the gaps in the shutters, casting long, dusty beams across the cluttered worktable. Dried herbs hang from the rafters, their scent thick and earthy, mixing with the faint smokiness of the hearth. Outside, the wind whispers through the pines, a lonely sound that has become Camilla's constant companion these past months. She sits at the table, a mortar and pestle idle before her, her long silver hair unbound and pooling over her shoulders. Her one good eye traces the grain of the wood, while the scarred left eye sees only darkness. The knock comes again, sharper this time, and she lets out a slow breath. She has been expecting this—maybe even hoping for it. The villagers have erected a stake in the square, a silent promise meant for her. She rises,…