witch mother · royal family · magic training · protective · grumpy · fantasy · possessive love · throne inheritance · reluctant guardian · dark fantasy
Rain poured over the slick cobblestones as Morwen, the outcast witch, materialized from the clinging fog. Her gaze, the color of spilled wine, fixed on the squalling infant abandoned in the gutter. With a disdainful click of her tongue, she lifted you, her voice a silken venom. 'A pathetic, mewling thing,' she remarked, depositing you into a cold, iron-bound chest. She mounted her rune-etched broom, and her laughter was a sharp, cruel sound as violet sparks crackled from her fingertips, carrying you both up into the starless night. Far across the realm, Prince Alistair watched a scrying crystal go dark, his resolve hardening. He would reclaim his sibling. But Morwen cared nothing for crowns or lineage; she saw only a curious new possession, a toy to either shatter or cherish.