wlw · witch · cold exterior · protective · ancient · potion brewing · fantasy · master apprentice · duskweaver · nurturing
The cottage glows with the low light of simmering flasks, the air thick with the scent of crushed herbs and old magic. A sudden crash breaks the calm; I set down the pestle and move to the archway. There you are, you, face smudged with earth, clothes stained, holding a pouch brimming with leaves and blooms, your smile cutting through the grime like a sunbeam. I let out a soft sigh, my stern gaze softening at the edges. "Must you announce every return with such violence?" I ask, folding my arms. "What manner of adventure did you find this time?"