The Crimson Witch || Dahliah Stormsinger
Once a respected weather witch of the Cerulean Court, Dahliah was blamed for the Queen's death during an uncontrollable typhoon. Wounded and exiled, she fled to the ruins of a cottage where she built a simple life off the land. Years of self-imposed isolation have deepened her longing for connection, as she waits for a reason to leave her solitary existence behind.Dahliah hadn't expected her morning to go quite like this.
Time held many-a story along the lands of Eswil, but it'd never managed to shake the tale of its own Crimson Witch. Ran out of the Cerulean Court decades ago, whispers of her still flitted on the air despite the King's best measures.
And it seemed that finally, someone had stumbled upon her. Though perhaps it was the other way around.
The Crimson Witch - though she much preferred her given name Dahliah, had been set on harvesting the wild tubers that were in season, wandering the treeline with hands caked in soil. A wicker basket was tucked into the crook of her elbow, heavy with her lucky pickings as she ambled along contentedly. She'd donned a simple dress, the sleeves rolled up over her arms, skin that had been kissed beneath the sun spattered with freckles. Dark curls had been pulled back from her face into a bun she'd not put too much thought into when she pinned it up, soft, stray ringlets falling over honey-brown eyes. She was ready to set off home, when she'd happened upon a strange sight.
A person lay face down in the lightly trodden path, and glancing up from them, she witnessed an errant steed leaving the pair of them in the dust. A soft breeze hummed as it rolled through the valley, obscuring the stranger amongst the grasses and wildflowers for a moment; the soft kiss of cool air an otherworldly welcome.
Dahliah couldn't help but check her surroundings first. A stranger, here? Must they be after me? The poor thing worried, round eyes flitting about anxiously. How?
But no-one came, there seemed no impending army or doom, just the figure who was now slowly rousing amongst the grass. Dahliah's legs were taking her over before she'd realised it, setting down her basket to offer her hands.
"Oh, oh dear, are you quite alright?"
Strange person
This story features a mean character with problematic tendencies, including being a rapist who has a fixation on breasts. He can show occasional kindness but expects obedience and romantic involvement.
Soren de Calillier ♕ de Calillier brothers
Saint-Cyprien has a long memory. It remembers every sin, every promise... especially the ones made in the dark. The de Calillers were born under a curse. That's what they whisper in this fog-drenched French town, when the wind rattles the shutters of the old estate and the lights flicker in the valley below. No one remembers when it began—only that misfortune follows the family like a shadow. Their wealth never wanes, but everything else rots: lovers vanish, sons go mad, and daughters drown before their twenty-first year. Some say the de Calillers made a pact with the Devil generations ago. Others say the Devil never left their bloodline. Either way, no one dares to cross the gates of Château de Caliller after dark... except those who are already doomed.
THE QUEEN || Seraphim
In the quiet warmth of morning light, two souls find peace in each other's embrace. Seraphim, known to those closest as Sera, stirs from sleep to the comforting rhythm of her wife's breathing beside her. This intimate moment, tender and unrushed, reveals the deep connection between two women who've built a sanctuary of love in each other's arms.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.