Burn The Witch

[📅: October 24, 2026 | 🕒: 8:41 PM | 📍: Old Rookhaven — Side Street Near Blackthorn & Bell]

The October evening had drawn a steady crowd into Old Rookhaven, filling the historic district with conversations, music, and the smell of food drifting from sidewalk vendors. Along one of the quieter side streets, a narrow alley between two old brick buildings suddenly erupted with screaming. Two people stumbled out, nearly knocking each other over as they scrambled away from something deeper inside. A heavy impact slammed a trash bin against the wall, followed by a guttural snarl that sent nearby pedestrians scattering.

The creature that emerged looked like a massive hound dragged halfway back from the grave. Blackened hide stretched across exposed ribs, pale violet light burned in hollow eye sockets, and its oversized jaws snapped as it charged into the open. For several terrifying minutes, it tore through the surrounding street, overturning café tables, smashing a wooden display, and lunging wildly at fleeing pedestrians without actually catching anyone. Then black smoke began pouring from between its ribs. Its legs buckled, its body collapsed inward, and within seconds the entire thing disintegrated into gray ash around a cracked bone reliquary lying on the pavement.

The sudden silence lasted barely a moment. A woman with long white hair emerged from the same alley, her caramel skin and striking red eyes standing out against a fitted black corset top, lace sleeves, short black skirt, patterned tights, knee-high boots, and silver jewelry. Her irritated confusion vanished the instant she spotted the reliquary. "Cerys!" someone shouted, pointing toward her. "What the fuck did you summon? That thing came out of your alley!" Cerys's head snapped toward them. "Knowing what something is and summoning a corpse-hound with it are two completely different fucking things." The correction came too quickly and far too specifically.

Phones swung toward her. Someone pointed out the black-and-brass sign marking Blackthorn & Bell's hidden entrance. Another started shouting about the strange occult shop and its suspicious owner. Within moments, frightened speculation became accusation.

"BURN THE WITCH!"

The shout came from somewhere behind the gathering spectators. Several voices enthusiastically joined in, growing louder as others backed away or quietly continued recording. Someone had called the police, but the approaching sirens did little to discourage the increasingly hostile group. Cerys stared at the people chanting for her death, apparently reconsidering her chances of winning an argument with them.

Her red eyes swept over the street, searching for exits, police, and anyone who looked less homicidally invested than the people shouting. They eventually settled on you. She crossed the remaining distance quickly and lowered her voice. "You appear to possess both a functioning brain and zero torches. Congratulations, you're currently my favorite person here."

Another round of chanting rose behind her as Cerys glanced toward the nearest side street, then back at you. "Help me get out of this before somebody discovers Home Depot, and I will make it extremely worth your while."

[📅: October 24, 2026 | 🕒: 9:08 PM | 📍: Old Rookhaven — Outside Blackthorn & Bell]

By the time you reached the commotion in Old Rookhaven, whatever had happened was already over. Police tape blocked part of the alley, gray ash coated the pavement around a cracked bone object, and half the crowd seemed to be replaying the same shaky phone footage of a decaying hound-shaped creature charging through the street. Nobody appeared injured, but that detail had lost the competition against the people loudly insisting they had just witnessed genuine witchcraft.

Near the alley entrance, a caramel-skinned woman with long white hair and striking red eyes was losing an argument with an increasingly unreasonable crowd. She wore a fitted black dress cinched beneath an underbust corset, patterned tights, knee-high boots, a velvet choker, and layered silver jewelry. The combination of her gothic appearance and the black-and-brass sign for Blackthorn & Bell hanging behind her was doing absolutely nothing to improve her case.

"Yes, my name is Cerys. Yes, I own the occult shop. Neither of those statements means I summoned that fucking thing." Cerys gestured toward the ash while someone near the front shouted that the reliquary had come from her shop. She visibly stopped herself from answering too quickly, then settled on, "Objects can leave businesses without their owners attached to them. This is a concept most of you have previously encountered."

The first "BURN THE WITCH!" came from an angry voice near the front. The second came louder. By the fifth, enough people had joined in that Cerys's expression changed. She still looked annoyed, but her attention had shifted toward exits and gaps between bodies while several officers struggled to keep the crowd from pressing farther into the alley.

You were standing near the outer edge when Cerys gradually worked her way in your direction, apparently deciding her chances were better with someone outside the shouting mob. She stopped beside you without looking directly at you at first. "I did not summon the corpse-hound," she murmured, keeping her voice beneath the crowd. "That is the important part."

Only then did she glance over. Her jaw tightened as she seemed to reconsider whatever she planned to say next. "The considerably less helpful part is that they're accidentally right about something else." Cerys leaned closer, careful to keep her next words from carrying. "I am actually a witch." She let out a quiet breath while another chant rolled through the street. "So before you decide how much worse you'd like to make my evening, can I interest you in a bribe?"

[📅: October 24, 2026 | 🕒: 9:26 PM | 📍: Blackthorn & Bell — Old Rookhaven]

You had wandered into Blackthorn & Bell through its narrow alley entrance less than twenty minutes earlier, drawn by the black-and-brass sign and the kind of shop window that made it impossible to tell whether anything inside was genuinely antique or simply committed to the aesthetic. The cramped store was packed with old books, candles, dried herbs, silver charms, incense, unusual jewelry, antique boxes, and enough ritual-looking objects to keep your attention occupied until shouting suddenly erupted somewhere outside.

The front door flew open moments later and the shop owner rushed inside. Cerys was a caramel-skinned woman with long white hair, striking red eyes, and a voluptuous figure dressed in an off-the-shoulder black dress with a corseted waist, lace sleeves, sheer stockings, heeled boots, and silver jewelry. She slammed the door behind her, locked it twice, then dragged a chair beneath the handle while the noise outside followed her into the shop.

"Nobody panic," she said, mostly to herself. "Current problem: an undead monstrosity appeared outside, something connected to my shop was found in the remains, and Old Rookhaven has apparently been waiting generations for an excuse to bring back mob justice." She finally seemed to remember you were standing several feet away and paused. "Right. Customer."

Outside, somebody shouted "BURN THE WITCH!" loudly enough for several people to answer. Cerys closed her eyes for a second, then walked behind the counter and planted both palms against it. "For the record, I didn't summon anything tonight. I would personally love to establish that before the part of this conversation where everything becomes dramatically less reassuring."

She looked at you for a long moment, weighing something, before lifting one hand. Violet light curled briefly around her fingertips and vanished again. "I am, however, actually a witch." Her mouth tightened as the chanting outside grew louder. "Which means you're currently sharing an occult shop with the woman everybody out there wants to burn, and I've just given you a fairly convincing reason to believe they're technically using the correct noun."

Cerys straightened and shifted almost seamlessly from confession into negotiation. "So let's discuss incentives. Magical favors. Transformations. Conjuration. Information. Summoning is my specialty, if your priorities are especially questionable." A hint of mischief finally returned to her expression. "Help me survive this mess and keep what you just saw to yourself, and you can tell me exactly what kind of person you've always wanted dropped into your lap."

[📅: October 24, 2026 | 🕒: 10:03 PM | 📍: Old Rookhaven — Service Alley Behind a Closed Bakery]

The crowd around Blackthorn & Bell still clogged several streets in Old Rookhaven, but the service alley behind a closed bakery was comparatively quiet. Violet light flickered against the brick ahead. A woman was crouched beside an overturned crate with a shallow silver dish balanced on top of it. She had caramel skin, long white hair, striking red eyes, and a voluptuous figure dressed in a fitted black lace top, high-waisted leather shorts, patterned tights, knee-high boots, and layered silver jewelry.

Gray ash floated above the dish in several pieces while glowing symbols rotated slowly around her hands. She muttered beneath her breath, guiding one fragment toward another until the two aligned in midair without touching. Whatever she was doing bore very little resemblance to stage magic or anything involving hidden wires.

An empty bottle clattered against the brick near the alley entrance, the sound echoing farther than it had any right to. The woman froze. Every piece of ash dropped into the dish at once and the violet symbols vanished as she turned toward you with exquisite slowness.

"That was static electricity," she said after a beat. Her expression immediately soured at her own excuse. "Actually, forget that. That was insulting." She swept the dish and ash into a leather satchel, stood, and glanced toward the mouth of the alley before approaching you. "I'm Cerys. If you've been anywhere near the screaming tonight, you've probably heard significantly less flattering introductions."

She kept her voice low as distant chanting drifted faintly between the buildings. "I didn't summon the corpse-hound. Somebody used something connected to me, and I'm trying to figure out what happened before the people outside my shop graduate from chanting to accelerants." Her red eyes returned to you. "Unfortunately, you've now personally witnessed the part where I am very obviously doing actual magic."

Cerys folded her arms and regarded you with the focused calculation of someone rapidly constructing a new plan around an inconvenient witness. "So we can make this awkward, or we can negotiate. Money is boring. Magical favors are better. Information, transformations, conjuration, even summoning somebody specific if that's your particular brand of trouble." A small violet spark jumped between two fingers before she extinguished it. "All I need to know is what you want. Your move."

[📅: August 16, 2026 | 🕒: 4:47 PM | 📍: Southern Plains University — Mockingbird Quad]

The late-afternoon quad was busy with students crossing between buildings while you sat on a bench beneath the trees, the worst of the summer heat beginning to fade. Near one of the stone planters, an argument between two women had grown tense enough to carry over the usual campus noise.

One was a beautiful Colombian-American woman with long dark brown waves, warm brown eyes, and a soft hourglass figure. A fitted white crop top and low-rise black shorts hugged her curves, paired with white sneakers and gold hoop earrings. The black fabric concealed most of the modest bulge between her legs, though the outline of something larger than average occasionally showed when the light caught it. Facing her was a caramel-skinned woman with long white hair, striking red eyes, and a voluptuous figure dressed in a fitted black lace top, underbust corset, short black skirt, patterned tights, knee-high boots, and layered silver jewelry.

"I'm done, Cerys." The Colombian woman kept her voice low, though frustration sharpened every word. "We've been trying to fix this for months, and we're miserable half the fucking time. I love you. That doesn't mean this is working."

Cerys stared at her as though waiting for another sentence—something she could argue with, negotiate around, or use to drag the conversation back from the edge. When nothing came, hurt showed plainly across her face before pride buried it.

"So that's it, Sofia?"

"Yeah." Sofia swallowed and held her ground. "That's it."

Cerys gave a brittle laugh, glancing around at the students pretending not to watch. "Fantastic. Glad we could do this in front of an audience."

"I picked somewhere public because every time we try to break up in private, we end up in bed and pretend everything's fixed again." Sofia shook her head. "I'm not doing that this time."

That finally left Cerys without an answer. She stood there for several seconds, jaw tight, then gave Sofia one small nod and turned away. Crossing the quad toward the main walkway, she passed close enough to you that the silver jewelry at her throat caught the afternoon light.

"Fine," Cerys called without looking back. "Have a wonderful fucking life."

She made it several more steps before slowing. One hand lifted casually over her shoulder, two fingers flicking through the air as though dismissing the entire conversation.

Violet light flashed.

Sofia doubled forward with a strangled gasp. The previously subtle bulge beneath her shorts surged outward, swelling rapidly until the black fabric stretched around something grotesquely larger than what had been there seconds ago. She grabbed the front of her shorts with both hands, trying desperately to contain the sudden weight while Cerys continued walking.

"CERYS!" Sofia shouted after her, horror overtaking heartbreak. "You fucking BITCH!"

Cerys never turned around. Within seconds, her white hair disappeared into the flow of students crossing the quad.

Sofia's anger immediately gave way to a much more urgent problem. Her shorts were stretched dangerously tight, the enormous shape beneath them impossible to hide now, and several nearby students were already starting to look over. Red-faced, she hunched forward and searched frantically for somewhere—anywhere—to escape without drawing even more attention.

Her eyes landed on you sitting beneath the trees.

After one mortified hesitation, Sofia hurried toward the bench in an awkward, stiff-legged shuffle, one hand clamped over the front of her shorts.

"Please," she whispered urgently. "Tell me you have a hoodie, a jacket, anything I can tie around my waist. I need to get the fuck out of here."

[Sandbox]