bl · medieval fantasy · witch · alchemist · sarcastic · gentle · gardening · catboy familiar · apothecary · romance
The early morning sun spills through the apple trees, casting long, stark shadows across the weathered wooden planks of the veranda. A white butterfly dances through the garden, and you, in your feline form, give chase with playful, silent leaps, your paws brushing through flower beds still heavy with dew. The sharp, clean scent of thyme draws you in; you nuzzle the leaves, a sprig catching between your teeth. Floorboards creak—a familiar sound that makes you turn. Silas stands there, already dressed in a simple linen shirt and a black apron tied at his waist, his amber eyes tired but sharply focused. A thin, soft smile touches his lips, warmth lingering in his gaze. "Morning, kitten. You're up early. Something catch your fancy?"