#witchtwins

THE WARDEN'S WHISPER: The first day of school dawns heavy for the Darkhavens and the Godfreys. Old blood walking familiar halls beneath new omens. In the heart of Hemlock Grove, a presence stirs. Quiet, unfamiliar, yet curiously known. Was this the beginning of ruin or return? Someone had arrived… and with him, the cruel magic of reunion.

hand and hex: 1,649.

A SHADOW'S CAUTION: english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. feel free to reach out via DM if something is misspelled. this tale walks beside the canon, but does not follow its footsteps exactly. shadows shift, and fates may unfold differently than you remember. slight mentions of nightmares, emotional exhaustion, slur mention (gypsy). magic/witchcraft themes. y/n being aggravated by christina.

further into the abyss.

━━━━━ ☾☽ ━━━━━

HEMLOCK GROVE, PENNSYLVANIA.

Baelor Darkhaven rubbed his eyes, watching sunlight try to crawl into his room through the heavy curtains. He stirred, still exhausted. They’d only returned from London the day before, and the jet lag clung to him like a second skin. The trip hadn’t been easy—emotionally or otherwise. He wasn’t even sure he’d actually slept.

He had nightmares last night. Nightmares that he hasn't seen in a while.

The brunette groaned, pushing himself up from the bed and heading to the bathroom. His mind was still hazy with sleep, and the cold air of his room didn’t help the exhaustion trying to cling to his bones. He closed his eyes, cold water washing away the tiredness of his body.

Downstairs, something moved. Was he imagining things? No—his senses were tuned too sharp now, his inner magic on high alert. He could hear faint voices. His family was already stirring.

A knock on his bathroom door made him snap his eyes open, knowing it was probably Nana or his Mother.

“Good morning, champ.” His father’s voice made it through the door, surprising him. He was rarely home at this hour. “Can you drive the twins to school today?”

“Good morning, Dad. Yes, I can drive the twins.” He responded.

“Thank you. Everyone's running late today.” His father pointed out. Baelor felt a shiver down his spine.

Something was looming over his family; it wasn't just him who felt it.

His father’s footsteps faded, and the house fell quiet again. Baelor stood still, feeling the chill of that silence. Then he stepped into his room, moving on autopilot as he got dressed. Black jeans. A loose satin shirt. Doc Martens. He slipped on his rings one by one, each metal band anchoring him. Protecting him. He could still feel the weight of London on his shoulders. Everything they’d learned, everything they’d uncovered… it hadn’t left him.

It had changed Y/N, too. Even if she didn’t have the strength to say it. She didn’t have to say anything; he already knew.

Baelor sighed, taking his backpack and heading downstairs. He found his whole family there. Except for her. He furrowed his eyebrows… He thought everyone was late?

Nana sat at the head of the obsidian breakfast table, wrapped in velvet and silent authority. She stirred her tea counterclockwise. Always counterclockwise. A charm of resistance. Her silence wasn’t just silence. It was a spell in itself.

Another presence made it into the kitchen, and he knew who it was. The energy shifted, and the trees sang in harmony.

Her eyes flicked to Y/N as she entered.

“I'll go to the shop after school, if that's okay?” She asked, her brown eyes set on her grandmother’s golden ones.

“You’re supposed to practice blood magic with your father today.” Irene Darkhaven retorted, sipping her tea without looking away.

Calm. Collected. Unbending.

“Actually…” Neven's voice cut through the conversation, Irene’s gaze moved slowly to her son, sharp as a knife, waiting. “I have a lot of things going on at the firm today, Mom. She could use the break, and I could use Baelor.”

“Then who’s driving the twins back?” Gabrielle asked, setting slices of pear on the twins’ lunchboxes.

“I’ll take them to the shop with me.” Y/N said, bored and tired. “No need to get all fuzzy.”

“You’re exhausted.” Irene murmured, standing up and cupping her granddaughter’s face gently in her hands. Her eyes studied her closely.

“Nana, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” She murmured, her hands resting on top of Irene's.

The old witch in front of her grazed her skin, as she was trying to find something under it. She waited, patiently. She knew better than to interrupt her Nana's thoughts or rather her vision. Irene Darkhaven saw more than most. Whether it was age, wisdom, or something else entirely—no one ever asked. And no one ever dared to question her.

“You two touched too much old blood in London.” she finally said, barely above a whisper. “It’s clinging to you. And it’s feeding your magic whether you realize it or not.”

“I’m handling it.”

“I’m not sure you are.”

“Done!” Gaia and Gael announced in perfect unison. Everyone’s attention snapped to the twins.

“We’re supposed to be at school in less than half an hour, let’s go.” Baelor murmured once the twins finished their breakfast.

“Are the car seats in your car?” His mother asked, where her firstborn nodded, his expression bored.

“It’ll be okay, I promise.” Y/N whispered to Irene, her voice soft and cracked around the edges.

“Your magic clings to your emotions, your mood. It tends to be dangerous when you’re like this.” Irene warned again, brushing a lock of hair behind her granddaughter’s ear. “Your emotions are in disarray.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t worry.” Baelor said, placing a hand on Y/N’s arm. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Y/N nodded. Grabbing her backpack.

“Have a good day!” Gabrielle said, seeing her children step out of the kitchen.

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At school, the whispers came easily.

The Darkhavens were strange. Too composed, too private. They spoke only to each other. Dismissive. Detached. Brilliant students. But cold. Occasionally, even rude.

Baelor could be friendly if he was in the mood. Or if the sky was particularly grey. Y/N, however, was harder to read. She wasn’t just cold. She was intense.

Christina Wendell appeared in front of her again. Y/N sighed. Her patience was thinner than usual. She blamed the jet lag. And London. Mostly London. Christina gave her a bad feeling. Like something that didn't belong in the room. In a bad way, she was… bizarre. Sometimes she thought it was just her intuition acting crazy.

“Is it true you're a witch?” Christina asked, her smoke-colored eyes piercing through Y/N’s brown orbs.

The witch in front of her stayed silent, her cold gaze flickering between the clock and Christina. There was a rumor going around the school about some new guy. He was a gypsy—and now, it seemed, a werewolf too. At least, that’s what Christina had been saying.

Her temper tightened. She hated that word. Gypsy. It was sickening, filfthy. People used it so casually, like it was folklore, like it wasn’t rooted in centuries of real violence and racism. Slurs wrapped in glitter. Y/N had heard it weaponized too often, usually by people who didn’t know a damn thing about history—or didn’t care.

“Why are you asking?” she shot back, opening her literature book. “Wanna spread another rumor, or is it for writing purposes?”

And Christina? Christina used it like it was exotic. Like it made someone dangerous in a cute way. Like it was mockery. The Darkhavens weren't Romani, but she'd studied their magic, their history, their pain. She knew enough, yes, she did. She knew enough to be angry on their behalf. Even though they didn't cast spells like the Darkhavens, or the Ravenwoods, their power didn't come from blood rites or elemental alignments. It came from ancestral rhythm, from symbols passed through generations and ceremonies older than most grimoires.

It was old, raw magic… Therefore, it was sacred.

And every time someone like Christina used the word like it was a Halloween costume or a plot twist, it grated on her. Christina thought she was being clever. Edgy. But all Y/N heard was violence buried in syllables.

“Writing purposes, of course.” She tried to hide the excitement of what could be her response. “If you say no, I won't believe you.” she adds, the ghost of a smile lingering on her face.

“And why not?”

“I mean, your house looks like a Gothic cathedral where sacrifices are made.”

She frowned at her words; she knew her house didn't look… approachable. At all. But for her, it was warm and safe.

It stood tall at the edge of the Blackridge woods, where the trees grew too close together and the wind never dared to howl. A wrought-iron gate, overrun with thorned vines, groaned open only for those whose blood knew its name.

Beyond it, a cobblestone path led up a slow incline, slick with moss and time, until it reached the great mansion itself, a looming silhouette against the ever-clouded sky, all sharp gables and shadowed windows, like eyes that had grown tired of watching.

But everyone who whispered knew one thing for certain: Darkhaven Manor did not welcome visitors. It chose them.

“Have you heard of something called ‘assist to your own class?’” Baelor's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He stood tall in front of Christina. His gaze was bored and uninterested.

Without a word, the girl disappeared. His sister shrugged in her seat, and Baelor dropped into the seat beside her. She didn’t thank him. She didn’t need to.

The classroom filled. Familiar faces. All except one.

Peter Rumancek sat a few rows away, hunched in his seat. He looked like he carried entire storms in his chest. His hair hung around his sharp cheekbones. His eyes were ice.

He was handsome. Roughly so.

“Darkhaven.” Mrs. Pisarro called. Both siblings looked up. “You two can’t be in the same class.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. Baelor scoffed.

“I thought our dad already fixed this.” Baelor said flatly.

“This can’t actually be a thing.” Y/N snapped. “It’s not like we’re going to switch places. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we don't share the same gender.”

She hated this conversation.

“The twins are allowed to share classes.” The principal’s voice echoed from the doorway. When had he arrived? “Four total. This is one of them. That okay with you, Mrs. Pisarro?”

She nodded, not caring enough to protest further.

Y/N’s pulse quickened. Her throat dried. That scent… expensive, familiar, dizzying—hit her all at once.

Roman Godfrey.

Once Baelor’s brother in everything but blood. Now, the beginning of her undoing.

📜✍🏻: my first two chapters are specially dedicated to @vadersangel, @melancuntly and @fathelzzz. thank you for reading my drafts, believing in the trembling words, seeing my small piece before it properly breathed and nudging me to share this story with all of you. your faith stitched courage into my silence. this humble offering exists because you believed (along with my small family of hemlock after dark). thank you. couldn't be more grateful... now, let's rock. 😈🪬🔮

━━━━━ ☾☽ ━━━━━

THE WARDEN'S WHISPER: The old moon ascends over Hemlock Grove like a promise, pale and knowing. Beasts begin to stir beneath root and bone. Magic stirs, restless and bruised. Envy slips beneath innocent skin like frost through cracks. And love—wretched and yearning—lunges for what it once lost, chasing the ghost of a happy ending.

hand and hex: 2,391.

A SHADOW'S CAUTION: english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. please feel free to reach out to me via DM if something is misspelled. mentions of murder, quiet intensity. repressed emotions. magical burnout.

back through the fog.

━━━━━ ☾☽ ━━━━━

HEMLOCK GROVE, PENNSYLVANIA.

Y/N sat quietly on the bleachers, her gaze soft and focused as she watched people on the field. Her bright eyes flicked upward as Peter Rumancek rounded the corner, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, hair unkempt, eyes sharp despite the slouch in his posture.

She was caught in the space between words—like the faint scent of rain on concrete. She knew the moment she saw him… it was a thread of his magic, the one that allowed him to change in full moons. Rough and Wild. Raw and untamed. It clung to him, but not like sweat or fear, more like a heartbeat pressed too close to the veil.

The blue-eyed boy climbed the steps until he reached a spot in front of her, his back to her. A tense silence fell between them. The wind stirred the girl's long hair, brushing it into her face before she tucked it behind her ear with irritation.

Peter's scent filled her senses, something like ash and pine… like full moons and old promises. She blinked hard, struggling to maintain her composure.

And then—

“He doesn’t know.” A whisper. Low, composed. Peter snorted, instinct prickling on his neck, something in her magic shifted. “I saw you staring at him after first period… and I know what you are.”

Her amber eyes gazed at the sky —as like it had been whispering a secret to her.

Cloudy. Gray. Conflicted.

“Didn’t know you could speak.” Rumancek muttered, knowing she was waiting for him to turn around.

Peter lifted his chin slightly, something flickering in his expression—surprise? Concern?

“He has an idea, maybe. But he’s not completely certain yet.” The witch retorted, ignoring his words.

“Why do you care? At some point, your brother will rip his head off either way. You don’t even look in his direction.” She should’ve flinched at his words, denied it. Instead, she looked past him, to the treeline beyond the schoolyard. “And yet, it’s like you protect him in silence.”

His voice was gentler now, less guarded.

Y/N's jaw tightened. “Ael is complicated, but he’s not a murderer.” Her voice broke slightly at the edges, but she steadied herself.

Ah, there it was. She didn’t deny it. Peter finally turned around, looking at her, lowering his voice.

“He will know his true nature. You already know yours… I know mine.” His eyes pierced hers. “The real question is: are you ready to protect him from your brother, or worse—himself?”

Y/N looked up at him, bitterly. For a moment, neither spoke. The trees behind her groaned faintly as the wind picked up.

The wind grew stronger… and angry.

Somewhere on the field, Roman Godfrey had been standing for a while, holding a conversation with a girl. His eyes tracked Rumancek speaking with the younger Darkhaven.

His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened. Grasping the back of the brunette’s head, his lips crashing to hers.

Angry. Hungry. Betrayed.

━━━━━ ☾☽ ━━━━━

Bare feet stepped onto the cold stone floor of the Darkhaven greenhouse, sunlight shining through the windows, painting golden patterns across the twins’ faces. Y/N smiled softly, sitting in front of them on the floor, her black skirt between her legs. Her sleeves were rolled up, fingers smudged with charcoal and ash. Gael was arguing with a jar of moon salt that refused to open, while Gaia tried to coax a patch of forget-me-nots to dance in their pot.

“Focus.” Y/N murmured, not looking up. “You’re feeding the plant too much emotion. I can feel it from a mile away.”

“But I’m happy.” Gaia whined.

Y/N sighed. “Then it’s going to bloom until it burns itself out.”

The flower burst suddenly—color spiraling into silver mist—then vanished. Gaia frowned.

“Told you.” Y/N whispered, looking up. “Let’s try again, shall we?” She stood, taking three clay pots and placing them on the floor.

“Why three?” Gael asked, still wrestling with the jar.

“Well… you two are going to bloom a flower each, and then you’re going to bloom one together.”

Gael looked up, her hazel eyes shyly meeting her sister’s.

“It’ll be alright.” Y/N reassured her, kneeling and kissing her temple.

Gaia sighed, closing her eyes this time. A deep breath escaped her as she placed her little hands on either side of the clay pot. Gael watched in silence, focusing her energy on her sister—innocent and powerful. Something stirred inside her.

Gael was channeling Gaia, lending her control. Gael, the composed, controlled, and quiet one. But exceptional. Gaia was fiercely talented, yet her magic was chaotic, clumsy, and at times devastating.

In the center sat a single dormant lily bulb, nestled in a shallow dish of earth. It looked simple—fragile, even—but Y/N’s magic pulsed beneath it like a heartbeat waiting to wake.

“Gaia…” The older Darkhaven murmured, softer now, smoothing the child’s curls with a stained fingertip. “You don’t force it. You invite it.”

Gaia furrowed her brow, tiny hands hovering above the bulb. “But I want it to grow now.”

She chuckled softly, sitting behind her and brushing a thumb across her wrist to steady her. “Magic is like a breath, sweet girl. If you hold it too tight, it dies. Let it move through you.”

Gael, sitting cross-legged beside her sister, studied her sister intently. “Does it hurt the flower?” she asked quietly.

Y/N paused, then smiled, eyes glinting with love. “Not if your heart is kind.”

She reached between them and pressed her hands lightly to the earth on either side of the bulb. “Watch me.”

The earth shimmered. Slowly, the bulb trembled. A green shoot pushed upward, unfolding into a long, slender stalk. At its peak, the petals bloomed—a lily of impossible violet, its center pulsing faintly with light, like it had a soul of its own.

Gaia gasped. Gael reached out instinctively, then pulled back.

“Now.” Y/N said gently, turning to them. “Try it. Together.”

The twins reached forward, their small hands brushing the soil. Y/N placed her fingers over theirs.

“Close your eyes. Breathe in. Imagine the roots wrapping around your bones. The petals unfolding inside your chest.”

A few seconds passed. The air shimmered again—this time, subtly. A second bulb, nearby, gave a soft twitch. It cracked open. A sprout. Tiny, clumsy—but alive.

The twins were good. Mischievous, but bright. Too bright. The magic ran deeper in them than anyone expected. They opened their eyes at once and let out identical gasps of delight. The sprout leaned toward their sister’s lily like it knew who had called it forth—and who would protect it.

Her smile was proud, but quiet.

“Well done, my blooms.” she whispered, kissing the tops of their heads. “The earth heard you.”

Gaia turned to her, eyes wide. “Will it always listen?”

Y/N’s gaze grew distant, sorrow brushing its edges. “No,” she answered softly. “but if your heart stays gentle, it will remember you.”

The twins nodded, standing and brushing off their hands. Gael rushed to the front of the apothecary at the sound of the bell. Gaia followed, smiling. She stood, washed her hands, and joined them—only to find them in conversation with none other than Roman Godfrey. The lights were dim. Shelves towered around him, crowded with jars labeled in Y/N’s script: Nightshade, Belladonna, Mugwort. The air shimmered faintly, like the room was breathing.

Like he brought it to life.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” The witch murmured, ignoring the twins’ animated chatter with the brunette in front of her.

“He wants bath salts, preferably in shea butter and almond oil.” Gaia said, moving through the shop with clumsy but determined steps.

“I feel like eucalyptus and peppermint suit you better.” Gael whispered, eyeing him. “Clean, sharp, and unsettlingly alluring.”

Roman didn’t answer right away.

The peppermint was biting, cold and precise, like the edge of his smile or the way his green eyes cut through a lie. Gael’s words brought a strange clarity, a tension that made Y/N’s skin tingle. Roman Godfrey hated liars. But it was the eucalyptus that lingered in her mind—cool, mentholic, with something medicinal beneath. It reminded her of something ancient. Dangerous, masked as healing. Intoxicating. Unnerving. She blinked, trying to shake the shiver down her spine. Of course, eucalyptus and peppermint suited him. They didn’t just suit him—they warned you.

“Eucalyptus and peppermint it’ll be, then.” Roman agreed, his green eyes locked on hers.

Y/N swallowed hard. She wanted to crawl out of her body or vanish into the floor.

He looked at her—for the first time, she didn’t seem unapproachable. A blush ghosted across her face. Curls wild. Sleeves rolled. A faint smear of charcoal on her cheek.

She looked beautiful. Human. Too human. Too real.

The door creaked behind them as a gust of wind slipped in—though no one had touched it. The lights flickered, then steadied. Gael grabbed a green-tinted glass, filled with salt like frost and crushed mint leaves. She placed it on the counter—standing on a stool to reach—snapping Roman out of his trance.

Gaia tilted her head at him. “You smell like smoke and doubt.”

“And grief.” added Gael with a faint smile. “That’s new.”

Roman blinked. “You two always like this?”

“They’re honest.” Their sister murmured, gently pulling a half-filled jar away from Gael before it toppled. “And very attuned. Comes with the bloodline.”

Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully as he approached the counter.

“Eucalyptus and peppermint. I heard it helps… calm things down.”

Something flickered in her eyes—recognition, maybe even pity. “It helps with tension.” she corrected softly. “Muscle aches. Headaches. Nightmares.”

“Oh…”

She was different when Baelor wasn’t around. Softer. He shivered at the memory of the girl who once laughed at his jokes. Her gentle voice… for a moment, he could’ve sworn it was her again. Roman watched her closely. The way her hands moved—slow, steady.

“You never used to smell like eucalyptus.” The words slipped from her lips, handing him the pouch.

“You never used to look at me like I was a stranger.”

“People change. Six dollars.”

He brushed her fingers on purpose as he took it. Her hand flinched—but she didn’t pull away. “I’m still me.” he murmured.

She looked at him—long and slow. “Then why do you feel so cold?”

Roman left twenty dollars on the counter and walked out. His absence filled the space. The air felt colder where he'd stood, like his presence had taken the warmth with it. And still, the trace of expensive cologne, smoke, and doubt lingered. But even that was already fading from the apothecary.

Y/N sighed. “Let’s go home.”

She unlocked the car, seeing how the twins rushed to it. She locked up, her fingers stiff from grinding herbs. The Closed Until Tomorrow, Blessed Be. sign rocked faintly in the wind. She didn’t rush. She let the night breathe around her before buckling the twins in. Gael was already halfway asleep in her car seat. Gaia hummed a spell-turned-lullaby. The engine purred. The seat warmers clicked on. Piano music crackled softly on the radio.

Hemlock Grove slipped past like a memory.

Darkhaven Manor appeared around the bend, nestled at the forest’s edge like something out of a half-remembered story. A single candle flickered in the upstairs window—lit before she left—a silent promise: Come back safe. The gray gates creaked open just in time.

Nana.

Y/N parked gently, killed the engine, and stepped out into the cold night. The air smelled of pine and winter. She opened the back door quietly, first lifting Gael, then Gaia—both warm and boneless with sleep, their breath soft against her shoulder.

Inside, the house creaked around her like it knew them. Boots off. Coats peeled away.

“They’re tired…”

“And so are you. Rest.”

Nana’s voice filled the room. Y/N only nodded.

She carried them upstairs, the floorboards groaning gently beneath her steps. Opening the door to her room, she placed the twins in bed—soft, careful. They stirred but didn’t open their eyes. Y/N headed to the bathroom, taking a long, hot shower. Letting the steam draw the tension out of her spine, let the water rinse away the ache behind her eyes.

When she returned, dressed in fresh pajamas, the room was still quiet. The twins were tucked in neatly now, soft pajama fabric slid over sleepy limbs.

Their mother had been here. She stood still for a moment longer, watching them breathe. Two small chests rising and falling in the amber light. Two hearts she would burn the world to protect.

She moved like a shadow through the house.

And finally, she let herself sink into her bed, the weight of the night settling over her like a familiar cloak. Outside, the trees whispered. And for the first time in what felt like days—she let herself rest.

Later that night, the door creaked open without a knock. Neven Darkhaven stepped into the room like he always did—silent, tall, wrapped in quiet concern. The lights were low. Moonlight spilled across the room in pale bands, brushing over tangled sheets and the soft curve of three bodies sleeping.

Y/N lay in the center of the bed—One arm curled around Gael. The other barely resting against Gaia’s leg, where she’d curled at the foot. A book—one she’d been reading to the twins for months—wasn’t in the bed tonight. It rested inside the nightstand, its spine bent, pages slightly wrinkled.

Loved too hard for too long.

Neven didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He just looked at her.

She looked like Gabrielle had when she was young—fierce even in sleep, protective to the bone, far too tired for her age. There was a line between her brows, like she was bracing for something even in dreams.

He pulled the quilt gently over all three of them. Pressed a kiss to his daughter’s hair. Watched her twitch faintly in her sleep, like a breath caught too sharp.

“Light one above her.” he murmured to the air. A soft golden charm ignited and floated above the bed like a glowing ember.

Protection. Peace. Sleep.

Then he stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He made his way to his study, where he knew his firstborn was waiting.

Outside, the wind howled. Something was coming. And the Old Moon would rise again soon.

📜✍🏻: AAAAAAAAAAAAA, finally an interaction from Y/N and Roman. the tension is rising—slowly, but it's definitely there. who do you think Roman's gonna run into next? our dear and sexy Baelor... or Y/N? guess we'll find out in the next chapter. thank you for reading, liking and commenting —it genuinely gives me the thrill to keep posting and writing saudade. see ya around, my lovelies. 😈🪬🔮

further into the abyss.

━━━━━ ☾☽ ━━━━━

THE WARDEN'S WHISPER: The twins and Roman have not spoken in years. Time turned silence into despair. But when the dark begins to stir, watching with hollow eyes from the edge of the veil, what will awaken in them? Will Roman feel the slow crawl of his Upir nature, ancient and unmerciful? Can Y/N bear the weight of a magic that was never meant to be gentle? And Baelor… will he ever forgive the heir who shattered what once was holy?

hand and hex: 1,228.

A SHADOW'S CAUTION: english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. feel free to reach out via DM if something is misspelled. mentions of emotional intensity, implied trauma, self-blame, complicated sibling x ex-best friend dynamics.

back through the fog.

━━━━━ ☾☽ ━━━━━

HEMLOCK GROVE, PENNSYLVANIA.

Roman Godfrey smelled like expensive cologne and cigarettes—and sometimes, a faint floral note. Y/N would disagree. To her, he smelled like blood and ivy.

The heir to Godfrey Industries sat behind her. Steady breathing, nonchalant. Baelor rolled his eyes. She didn’t understand why, but her brother hated Roman to his guts.

They were friends once. They loved each other like family. Her gaze fell on Baelor again, the brunette quietly drawing, ignoring Mrs. Pisarro's voice.

She frowned.

Y/N felt something watching her. A sting pulsed at the back of her neck. A buzz in her ear. Her eyes scanned the room… and stopped at the door. A faint shadow moved past the brown frame. The air left her lungs. Her heart lodged in her throat.

“You should go to the firm with Dad today while I stay with the twins. What do you think?” Baelor murmured, still focused on his sketchbook.

Silence. Utter silence.

“Y/N?” He raised his head, finding his sister staring at the door, silent, agitated.

Precognition.

“Breathe.” It was a plea, but somehow also a command. His sister didn’t move. Didn’t hear. Baelor sighed.

“Spiritus, intra eam…” The incantation left his lips in a whisper—quiet, but powerful.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he felt her breathing steady again. She blinked a few times, snapping back into herself. Watery brown eyes found his amber ones—confused and frightened.

“Are you okay?” His voice rang louder than a gunshot. She nodded quickly, dismissing the question—or rather, the truth behind it.

Her demeanor shifted like a light flickering off.

You and Y/N have a darkness that clings to your souls… one that wants to sew your hearts with blood and bind your power with cruelty.

Nana’s voice echoed in Baelor’s mind. The worst part? He knew it was true.

Darkhavens were protectors. But long before that—they were destroyers. Dark magic lingered on their fingertips like a swansong.

A promise. A warning.

“I can’t take your place at the firm today. I’m teaching the twins to bloom flowers.”

Baelor chuckled. “Alright. Good luck, then.”

⌘   ⋆   ⇜      ◈     ☾☽   ✧✦✧   ❅    ஜ    ↭ 

The clock ticked like it hated us all. The classroom smelled like old paper and rain. It wasn’t raining—but it felt like the sky wanted to cry.

Baelor Darkhaven’s chuckle caught my attention. The sound surprised me. It had been years since I heard it. But my eyes didn’t land on him. They landed on her.

Y/N.

She looked like she belonged to something older than all of us, despite her strawberry cheeks and sun-colored eyes. She never looked at me—never—but I felt it. Like pressure behind the ribs.

Sometimes the feeling lingered like an apology. Most of the time, it was anger. Her anger.

The last time she looked at me, she was crying. Angry. Tears streaked her chubby cheeks. Red. Puffy. She had hated what I’d become.

The child she once knew—the one who held her hand when she was scared—no longer existed.

The girl I remembered was gone too. She wasn’t hot-headed anymore. Now, silence coiled around her like armor. When she walked into a room, the air made space for her. The trees sang in harmony. Like a lullaby.

She looked like blood and ivy. Full of life. Full of strength.

Y/N wore black every single day—maybe trying to hide how colorful her soul really was. People in the hallways whispered that she was a witch.

Nonsense.

The bell rang. Everyone started packing up. I sighed, annoyed, and stood. I needed a cigarette. Maybe two. I glanced at the clock—fifteen minutes until my next class. I had time. I rolled my eyes and walked outside. The cold air greeted me.

Why was the weather so moody today?

My hand reached into my pocket. I took out my cigarette case, slid one between my lips, and lit it. The stress of the morning started to fade.

First drag. Slow. Deep. Like I could pull the quiet into my lungs and make it stay.

I thought of Y/N—how she spoke in riddles and silence. How her eyes never flinched when Baelor looked at her like he already knew how their story would end.

Second drag. Bitter. Burning. Perfect.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

A car pulled into the school driveway. I recognized Neven’s black Mercedes anywhere. Sometimes I saw him around town. He was nice to me, or maybe... just civil.

The older Darkhaven placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, comforting her. She nodded like a child being grounded.

Y/N was the spitting image of her father. Same brown locks—his straight, hers long and curly. Same pale skin, same wide eyes, same full mouth.

The only difference was height. Neven was almost as tall as me.

Even their eyes were similar. But Neven’s eyes didn’t hold the same warmth.

No. That was impossible.

Her gaze felt like the first strike of sunlight on a Sunday morning after days of rain.

Blood and ivy.

Smoke curled around my face like a secret I no longer wanted to keep. I stared at the ember at the end of the cigarette. Bright. Dying.

Beautiful in the way all self-destruction is.

Blood and ivy.

One more breath, and the ghosts in my lungs whispered her name. The ember burned down to nothing. Still, I stayed. The wind scraped across my skin, tugging at my coat, but I didn’t move. It wasn’t just seeing her. It was remembering what she smelled like when she cried.

Blood and ivy.

The scent had once clung to my hoodie sleeves. Now it haunted me like a ghost of a ghost.

Y/N Darkhaven had a heartbeat that used to sync with mine. Now it pulsed somewhere I couldn’t reach… somewhere wild, tangled in thorns I’d never be allowed near again.

She used to be soft, stubborn, sunflower-souled. Now, she looked like she grew in grave soil. Elegant. Poisonous. Beautiful in the way old things are beautiful, dangerous, reverent.

And me? I was still bleeding. My father's death changed me in ways my brain is not able to understand. I leaned back against the cold brick wall, head tipped up to the grey sky like it could offer answers. Still, Ivy doesn’t ask for permission. It climbs. It consumes. And it remembers.

Just like her.

She never flinched when she saw blood—not mine, not Baelor’s, not her own. But I made her cry once, and I’d rather rip my lungs out than remember how her voice sounded when it cracked.

“You don’t get to ruin me and then pretend you didn’t.”

Her words had stuck, just like ivy. Wrapped around the softest part of me and refused to let go. That was the first time I saw it: her anger, her pain, her disgust. Now she walked like ivy crowned her. I stood there like the boy who bled too close to her roots.

I laughed once. Bitter. Dry. The kind of sound that echoed inside your ribs and begged to be mistaken for relief. People say Baelor’s the dangerous one. But they’ve never seen what she does to someone she loves. You don’t escape that kind of crap.

You carry it.

I dropped the cigarette, watching the ember die slowly.

Bright. Flickering.Bleeding.

Blood and ivy.

That’s what she left me with and I deserved every thorn.

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Precognition: refers to the ability to see or know about events that will happen in the future. It's often seen as a form of prescience or foreknowledge, suggesting an awareness of future events before they occur. 

Spiritus, intra eam… (Breath, enter her): breathing spell (in latin) for a person. 

📜✍🏻: and as promised... two chapters in the same day. roman's pov got me screaming, crying and throwing up. what do you guys think will happen in the upcoming one? i guess we'll have to wait. see ya, around. 😈🪬🔮

further into the abyss.

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