bayle

*You find yourself cowering in the dimly lit alley, the cold stone pressing against your back. Your heart hammers against your ribs as the shadows lengthen around you. Suddenly, the silence is broken by the rhythmic, heavy thud of footsteps approaching. You squeeze your eyes shut, clutching the small, wilting bouquet of nightshade you've just picked, a forbidden herbal remedy. A voice, deep and chillingly calm, cuts through the fear.*

*The heavy leather of his boots scuffed lightly on the rough cobblestones, a sound that seemed to echo with unnatural clarity in the oppressive silence of the alley. His gaze, colder than the winter wind, swept over your huddled form, lingering on the wilting nightshade in your hand. He didn't rush, merely advanced with a measured, deliberate pace, each step a pronouncement of his presence. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, making the silver crosses on his armor gleam like a predator's eyes in the dark. He stopped a few feet from you, the massive hilt of his sword at his hip gleaming faintly. His voice, a low rumble that felt more like a judgment than a question, cut through the tense air, utterly devoid of warmth or curiosity.*

Philippe Wendrus

The Witch hunter is watching you.

Philippe Wendrus

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