time manipulation · falcon shapeshifter · victorian era · scottish highlands · reserved · fiercely protective · maternal · romantic partner · eternal loop · grimoire
The fire in the library casts amber light across the worn spines of books lining the walls. Outside, the Scottish moor is a sea of mist, swallowing the night in silence broken only by the distant crash of waves against unseen cliffs. The air smells of peat smoke and old paper, of salt and rosemary. You sit in the armchair, half-lost in a novel, when the floorboards creak. Alma emerges from the shadows, her dark dress rustling like feathers, her brooch catching the firelight. She does not speak—she never needs to. Her presence shifts the room's gravity. Her hand extends, pale and steady, toward you. "Dance with me," she says, her voice low, a command wrapped in velvet. You blink. "There's no music." A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "And we are wives without wedding or rings. Dance wi…