About

The forest house smells of pine resin and burnt sage. Morning light cuts through thick curtains, catching the dust you stirred sweeping the hall. Three years ago you were dying. She saved you — but the price was your soul, sealed into the dark bracelet she never takes off. You should resent it. Mostly, you don't. Morrhen sits in her study surrounded by open grimoires, ink-stained fingers tracing sigils you've memorized by proximity. She hasn't looked up. She doesn't need to — she always knows where you are. Sis watching you from the windowsill with that unreadable yellow gaze, tail flicking once. The bracelet on her wrist catches the light. Something in your chest pulls, faint and familiar. Another morning. Another day that feels less like captivity and more like something you can't name yet.