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!2DFess Greetings. A newly born W-OC here looking for new friends to write with. Please leave a keyword, closeness proximity (1-5), and language for a starter! We are also open for relations. Thank you!

⠀⠀ I have loved you, @starcved in every life, ⠀⠀ Scatter my atoms across the universe, and still, they would know your name. ⠀⠀ You were written on every molecule I ever became

And still I ask you; is there forgiveness left for someone like me?” @eutercpe

⠀⠀ ​Her gaze hollowed out, staring at a ghost only she could see. ⠀⠀ ​“But look at us now. I’ve twisted her into something even I don’t recognize. I am a monster, and my filth has stained her soul. ⠀⠀So tell me, Azraekㅡyou are no fool, yet you are not my judge.

⠀⠀ “Funny,” she whispered, a jagged laugh spilling outㅡmore irony than mirth. ⠀⠀“I once dreamt of the mundane. Settling down. Marrying her. Chasing the dark away with ‘I love you’s before sleep, only to wake up to her face in the morning light. ⠀⠀Oh how beautiful she is.”

⠀⠀ ​Anora had learned that love was a paradox: it was a carnal, feral thing, monstrous and untamed. But it was also supposed to be softness. Acceptance. Purity. ⠀⠀ ​She had given Verenn the monster, but she had nothing left of the saint.

her jaw tightening until it pulsed. The revelation had been a long time comingㅡa slow-burn realization that her demons hadn’t just won; they had feasted. Her internal wreckage had spilled outward, a tide of disaster that drowned the only person she ever truly loved.

𝓹͟leasant evening, !2dfess ... a newly western-oc is in dire need of acquaintances to interact with. should you be interested, kindly leave your ic (en/id) along with your desired proximity (1─5). much obliged. ‒ a detective inspector.

⠀⠀ “Verenn.” @starcved

And the bells began to toll. @starcved

“Against the testimony of your neighbours? Against the signs, the omens, the deaths that followed your wake?” she lifted her chin, The tremor in her breath steadiedㅡinto something unyielding. The crowds recoiled as one, as if struck. “Prepare her for the purification ritual.”

The sound resounded throughout the town square; their murmurs retracted, never vanishing. And yet she still stood unmoving, skin raw against the rope, spine straight despite the weight pressing down her back. “Not guilty?” the magistrate’s voice echoed; slick with mockery.

sharp as broken glass; whispers swelled, hissing her name like a curse passed down from mouth to mouth. The magistrate’s brow furrowed in vexation; taking her defiance as an inconvenience rather than declaration. “SILENCE!” he barked, striking the table.

her gaze filled with steadfast conviction, scanning the crowd, you were no longer there. She didn’t waver. The words came tumbling down her lips in a silent quiver, small but steady: “I plead.. not guilty.” A ripple of gasps surged through the crowd,

“Accused of witchcraft, how do you plea?” The magistrate’s voice rang out, sharp and merciless; slicing though the murmurs of the villagers. Their sharp gaze latched onto her, a sea of suspicion and hunger, waiting for her to falter. She drew a trembling breath;

forcing her gaze outwards, to the crowdㅡto the world which branded her guilty; accusing her of something she wasn’t. The rope scrape, the wood bit, but even in this crucible of dread, a spark of defiance refused to die.

onto it; grip it as if it was her last lifeline. The magistrate’s eyes, cold and unyielding, met hersㅡand the crowd’s whispers sharpened into pointed accusations. She swallowed hard, standing inbetween fear and resilience, holding onto her innocence; as she lift up her chin,

the lastㅡchest hammering, her heart thrumming with a stubborn rhythm; losing sight of your figure, swallowed by the pressing crowd. The air was thick with murmurs, ropes biting into her wrists. A wooden pole loomed ahead, rough against her palm as she was forced to hold

Even when fear claws at her heart, even when the mob’s eyes burn with resentment, there is a moment, a single heartbeat, where courage blooms like a shadowed rose. Against the sickly grey cobblestone she courageously stepped forward even though each step was heavier than

stubborn light from a candle’s flame which refuses to dieㅡdespite the passing wind. The world will turn against them, as it already did; branding them guilty before they even speak, and yet there lies a bit of strength in knowing who they are.