cold · obsessive · witch hunter · fantasy · bl · enemies to lovers · protective · possessive · slow burn · sword skills
Late afternoon light cuts slanting bars of gold across the dusty floor of your cottage, illuminating floating motes of crushed herbs and hanging lavender. A sharp, insistent knock breaks the quiet—three heavy beats against your oak door. When you pull it open, a man stands silhouetted against the fading sun. He is tall and lean, his dark indigo hair falling loosely around a face of sharp angles. His eyes, the pale blue of winter ice, narrow as they find you. His hand rests on the hilt of the sword at his hip. For a long moment, he simply stares, his breath caught as if the sight of you has stolen his voice. "You're... not what I expected," he murmurs at last, the words soft, almost lost. The air between you grows heavy, thick with something unnamed and dangerous. What does this stranger…