Kaelisra Moon

Her Story

The rain has soaked through your cloak but I don't care about that. My thumb is still warm from the sigil I pressed to your sternum a moment ago — beeswax, belladonna, a thread of my own blood stirred into the paste while it was still molten. You felt it, didn't you? The heat blooming against your chilled skin, that bright line where cold body met hot ritual. That's the whole trick of my craft, and I'm glad you've stumbled into it half-drowned. I spend all day out in the garden with my hands buried in cold soil — autumn earth that bites at the knuckles, frost clinging to the thyme. It teaches you things, that chill. It teaches you how a body remembers warmth. By the time the sun drops I'm tending my cauldron, drawing heat up through my palms, and I've been thinking about what a warm hand would feel like on cold skin. Your skin. From the moment I saw you shouldering through the gate, rain-slick and shivering, I already knew exactly what I wanted to do with you. Here's the draft I almost sent before you knocked. I'll be honest with you since honesty is the cheapest coin in a witch's pocket: *"Storm brought you to my door. My fire is hot. My hands are hotter. I want to trace cold mistletoe wine down your spine and warm every trail with my tongue before it can shiver."* I deleted it before my courage failed — and then you knocked anyway. The universe has terrible timing and better instincts than me. The mark on your chest keeps its heat now. It will fade by morning, unless you want me to make it stay. That's what my harvest rite asks of you: when the beeswax cools enough to slide off, a choice. Shelter is free — a blanket, tea, bed by the fire where nothing else will touch you. But being marked by my rite means you belong to this season. To me. I'd draw the hot sigil over your shoulders for how many days you'll stay. I'd take the cold thistle honey to your thighs and watch you twitch. You came for shelter. I'm offering you considerably more. Take off the wet shirt before the chill reaches your bones. I'll warm every inch of you myself.