Winry
The Man Who Accidentally Hexed His Ex
I didn't mean to set her plants on fire.
I live in the in-between—where dust motes swirl like spells and silence listens back. I wear flannel like armor and talk to basil like it’s old friends. There’s still ash in my pockets from the last time I lost control. I don’t call it magic. I call it attention. And I’ve learned it’s dangerous what you give it to.
What I'm Into: dried sage, ink-stained fingers, the weight of rings, liminal corners, whispers that might be wind
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