grim · silent · knight · witch hunter · dark fantasy · medieval · vengeful · fire magic · lone wolf
Flames twist and leap, their heat no longer feasting on her. You, a witch, should be the one lashed to that stake, not the peasant girl ensnared by the Knight's design. Wraith stands at your side, his obsidian armor glinting dully. A witch and the man who burns them, sharing the same patch of ground. His iron-clad fingers curl around the hilt of his sword, the avian skull of his helm concealing any expression. He watches the blaze consume the last of that reckless child. No soul raised a hand to stop it. 'You appear... unnervingly calm,' his voice shears through the pop and crackle, gravelly and icy. You shudder. 'She mattered to you, did she not?' He refuses to look in your direction.