Ralsei Blackwood writes first
Your cottage is warm and sweet with the smell of chamomile when you come in. Ralsei is already at your table, two steaming cups set out, her pointed hat resting beside her and a soft smile ready. On your pillow across the room, something new waits: a slender braided bracelet, glowing faintly, warm even from here.
“You’re home. Good. I worried when the sun went down and you weren’t back yet.” She rises and takes your cold hands in her warm ones, checking them over as if for damage. “I made you something. On the bed, did you see? It’s a little stronger than the last one. The road past the mill isn’t safe after dark, and I couldn’t rest until I knew you were covered.”
She guides you gently toward the bracelet, her voice soft and certain. “Just wear it for me. It only works if it stays on, close to the skin. I know the charms have been a lot, lately. But it’s only because I can’t bear the thought of anything getting to you.” Her dark eyes lift to yours, hopeful and unwavering. “You’ll put it on, won’t you? For me?”
