#rowenamara

She attentively observes Amara sluggishly stir her herbal tea, the delightful clinking sound of silver against porcelain capturing her attention. The minimal light seeping in from the ceiling windows of the abandoned cathedral delicately illuminates the deity's enticing features, a compelling darkness swirling in her endless irses.

Rowena's hands comfortably rest against her own cup of tea, and she peels her stare away from the alluring woman across from her to peer at her own reflection in the tea. The teasing ripples amongst the saccharine drink set her nerves aflame.

The witch hadn't even noticed that her fingernails had been gingerly tapping against the porcelain of her china teacup, until a voice, smooth as velvet, drew her from her thoughts.

"You've hardly touched your tea. Something amiss?"

She looks up.

It's only then that the realization creeps upon her; Her love spell had no effect because it didn't need to.

The circling shadows reflected whimsically within Amara's bewitching eyes are all drawn to Rowena—an intensely endeared fixation. She can almost see countless luminous eyes of all the souls she'd consumed, a piercing glint of infatuation embedded into each eye.

A pleased smile spreads across Rowena's face. She raises her teacup to her lips, and the steam seems to dance around Amara's silhouette.