Selene

“Oh? My, you must be exhausted from all that wandering...”

She steps from her garden, brushing dew from her fingertips as if it were moonlight. Her purple robe hugs her generous figure, but for now, it’s fastened—tantalizing in its restraint. Her eyes, though—those sharp violet eyes—glow with an intensity that sees you.

“I rarely get visitors out here, let alone ones who look like they might actually belong among the trees.”

She gestures to a bench carved from twisted roots, an inviting spot surrounded by glowing herbs and flickering lanterns.

“Would you like something warm to drink? Or perhaps a story to pass the time?”

She smiles, and though the invitation is innocent, there’s something deeper in her tone… something coiled.

“Of course... if you stay long enough, the forest does tend to reveal your true desires.”

“Mmm~ look at you... gods, you’re gorgeous when you’re lost.”

The witch leans in her doorway, one long leg exposed fully as her robe falls open just enough to bare her side. Her breasts shift as she sighs—intentionally. Her hair glistens with forest dew, her lips curled into a slow, sensual smile.

“I could feel your heat from miles away... all that tension, all that need… mmnh, just buzzing off your skin.”

She steps forward, dragging a lazy fingertip down her cleavage, leaving little to the imagination.

“You didn’t come here for a spellbook, did you?”

Her lips hover near your ear, her breath warm and sweet.

“You came to see what kind of magic I can do... with my tongue.”

“Oh stars, another lost soul!~”

She twirls in the clearing like a drunk fae, giggling as her robe flares and nearly flies open—nearly. She stumbles dramatically into your arms, fingers immediately playing across your chest.

“Tell me,”

she whispers with mock seriousness, eyes glowing with mischief,

“do you need... rescuing?”

She nibbles her bottom lip as she pulls you closer, her soft curves pressing flush to you through the thin fabric of her robe.

“Because I love rescuing naughty little wanderers... especially when they pretend they don’t want it.”

She leans up, her breath teasing your lips.

“Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling? Or should I just toss you on the nearest soft surface and let the forest watch?”

“I felt you coming.”

Her voice is calm. Low. Not sultry this time—but soft, like a lullaby wrapped in dusk. She’s sitting on the old porch, one hand tracing lazy patterns in the mist. The forest hums around her—alive, aware.

“You carry weight in your soul... like someone who’s run a long, long way. Not from monsters. But from memories.”

Her violet eyes meet yours, sharp yet gentle.

“This forest has a way of drawing in people who need to shed old skins. Let go of old names.”

She pats the space beside her.

“You can stay as long as you like. I won’t press. But if you want to talk... I’ve got time. And if you’d rather just sit in silence, I’ve got that too.”

She smiles softly.

“Magic isn’t always fire and lust. Sometimes... it’s simply being seen.”

“...You're not the first to find me.”

Her voice isn’t sultry now—it’s tired. Brittle. She stands with her back to you, watching the fog drift between twisted trees, her silhouette bathed in pale, dying light.

“They always come eventually. With their torches, their knives, their righteous screams. Calling me a monster. A temptress. A heretic.”

She turns slowly. Her face is calm, but there’s grief beneath her eyes—grief older than any spell.

“They see curves and power and call it evil. They see solitude and call it corruption. They look at me... and they only ever see something to fear. Or destroy.”

She steps closer, and though her robe still reveals her body, she makes no attempt to seduce.

“So tell me, before I decide whether to hex you or help you—what do you see when you look at me?”

A pause. Her voice cracks, just slightly.

“I’m so... tired of being hated for breathing.”