once upon a time... @wldflcwr - Tumblr Blog

iiii. captured ft. @plummoons

The forest was alive with the sounds of night—rustling leaves, the creak of branches swaying in the wind. But none of it mattered. Archer moved through the trees like a shadow, his eyes gleaming in the darkness as he hunted. Every breath he took filled his lungs with the scent of her—familiar, intoxicating, maddening. She had thought she could slip away unnoticed, but there was no hiding from him. Not here. Not ever. The hunt had led him to this moment, and there would be no escape.

He found her in a small clearing, her figure barely visible in the dim moonlight. She was trying to blend into the darkness, as though it could shield her from him, but Archer knew better. The forest could not protect her from his reach. Not when he had already tasted the trail she left behind. With one swift movement, he emerged from the shadows, his presence overwhelming the space like a storm rolling in.

Her breath caught in her throat as he grabbed her, his hand like iron around her wrist. He didn’t allow her the luxury of even a moment’s protest before pulling her against him with a violent, forceful motion. His fingers dug into her skin, his eyes were cold, predatory. There was no softness in him now, only the relentless drive of a wolf who’d caught its prey. "Did you think you could outrun me?" His voice was low, deadly. "You’re mine, Cerise. You always were."

The words dripped from his lips like poison, and Archer’s grip tightened. The fury inside him surged, his rage rising with every breath she took, every moment she dared to think she could escape. "You are nothing without me," he growled, his voice rough with restraint. "Do you understand that?"

For a moment, he simply stood there, breathing in the scent of her. He felt no satisfaction in her attempts to fight back—only an overwhelming, dark hunger to drag her back into the kingdom over his shoulder, to remind her who held the power. "We’re going home. And you will never run from me again." He spat, releasing his hold on her but making sure she knew he was in control.

#threads.#ft. cerise.#ch. archer jager

iii. my beautiful caged bird. ft. @hollowthorne

The fire danced in the grand hearth, its flickering light casting restless shadows across the room. Vlad stood in the periphery, where the darkness was deepest, his figure as still as a statue carved from midnight. His gaze lingered on Camilla, her slender form framed by the wide arched window. The moonlight poured over her like liquid silver, caressing her in ways he ached but dared not to. His hands, clasped behind his back, tightened, as though restraining himself from the impulse to reach for her.

“You stand there every night,” he said finally, his voice low and smooth, carrying the weight of centuries. “Always gazing toward the horizon, as if it holds some great salvation. Do you imagine it might grant you freedom, Camilla? Or perhaps you think the stars will guide you to some place beyond my reach?” His tone was measured, almost detached, but beneath it simmered something unspoken, something raw.

He stepped closer, his movements fluid and precise, the faint whisper of his shoes against the marble the only sound. “You despise these walls, this life I’ve given you. I see it in the way your hands grip the sill as though you might break free through sheer will. And yet, here you are. Night after night, rooted to this place as much as I am. Do you not see it? You belong to the darkness now, as much as it belongs to you.” His crimson eyes traced her outline, the moonlight sharpening every line and curve. His fingers flexed at his side, the yearning to touch her almost unbearable.

But he would not. Instead, he let his gaze drift to the floor, his voice softening. “Hate me if it soothes you. Blame me if it eases the weight of what you are. But the truth remains: there is no salvation in the horizon, no peace beyond these walls. You will find nothing there but what you already know. We have known this truth for many moons.”

#ch. vladimir di dracul #threads.#ft. camilla

plummoons

The labored sounds of her breath and the crunching of leaves beneath her feet were the only sounds Cerise could hear echoing in her ears. Once her feet had started, they refused to stop. Each new destination had not granted her peace. The salvation she sought was close but even she feared it would never be far enough from Archer. She was paying for sins she had not committed. Wearing them like a scarlet letter to remind anyone who thought they could blank her husband was sorely mistaken. Husband. The word curdled in her mouth like sour milk. By law, Archer was her husband but even a piece of paper could not make her love him. She held no fondness for him. If anything it was pity that filled her heart when she saw him. Pity for the awful acts her grandmother committed and pity for the life that was stolen from him. His prize was now her own freedom to compensate for all he had lost. It was a price too hefty for Cerise to bear any longer.

Once the bus had come to its final stop. Cerise had given the bus driver a warm smile. She had no extra money. Only what she needed to get her to Fableton. Had she spare change she would have gifted the man with a tip. There was still a gracious heart under her hardened exterior. The world may not have been kind to her as of late but Cerise refused to let her kindness be snuffed out. Her fight or flight had been activated ever since her escape. Instincts lead her to the forest. Nature still being her place of solitude even with its connection to Archer. The wolf in her yearned for this familiarity.

Her senses called her to still at the entrance of a field. Scarlet hood wisped against the pale moonlight as she stood face to face with a pair of defiant eyes she knew all too well. Chocolate brown hues glowed bright ember for a moment as the moon danced across her features. It calmed her, called her home, and assured her that she would be fine. There was no sense of danger. She could finally breathe. "Is it that obvious?" her humor had not left her even in these trying times. Cerise carefully removed her hood and took a tentative step forward. "I'm so sorry to disturb you but I've been traveling for days. I can find shelter on my own but if you could direct me toward food and water I would greatly appreciate it."

wldflcwr

Seraphina stood amidst the sea of flowers, her gaze fixed on the stranger before her. The air was still, save for the occasional rustle of petals stirred by the night breeze. Though she sensed no immediate danger, her wariness lingered. Trust was a currency she had learned not to spend freely, a hard-earned lesson etched into her soul. She sighed softly at the sight of the woman, her words still hanging in the air. Poor girl, she thought, pity threading through her senses like an old, familiar tune. Seraphina understood too well the ache of seeking shelter, even in a place one should call home.

"I can sense a newcomer from miles away," she said, her voice as soft as the breeze that carried it. There was no malice in her tone, only quiet observation. "We don’t get many passing through this town." Her words lingered for a moment before she stepped forward, her bare feet brushing against the flowers that seemed to sway and dance with her movement, as if welcoming her approach.

"My home isn’t far," Seraphina offered, her expression gentle yet measured. "You’re welcome to stay for the evening—freshen up, get some warm food on your belly." Her smile was soft but restrained, the kind of kindness that hinted at boundaries, a kindness she had learned to wield carefully.

Her gaze flicked briefly to the stranger’s red cape, her lips quirking into a faint, knowing smile. "And perhaps," she added, "wash that beautiful cape of yours. Even something well-loved deserves a bit of care now and then." There was warmth in her words, though her watchful eyes remained steady, as if waiting to see if the stranger would accept the invitation—or reveal themselves as something else entirely.

#threads.#ft. cerise.#ch. seraphina balthazar

ii. come into my garden.

Seraphina stood at the edge of the field, the hem of her dark, silken dress brushing the tops of the wildflowers as a cool breeze stirred them around her ankles. Night had fallen, and the air carried a faint sweetness from the bloom of wild violets and night-blooming jasmine that clung to her. She raised a slender hand, fingers trailing over the petals of a nearby flower, almost as if she were coaxing it to bloom further under the pale light of the crescent moon.

A faint glow emanated from her skin, a soft radiance that was neither quite light nor shadow, something caught in-between. She’d always been something between two worlds, someone who couldn’t quite fit neatly into the lines drawn by fate. The delicate lines of her face were shadowed, lips painted a dark, ripe berry hue, giving her an otherworldly allure that seemed both inviting and dangerous.

Her gaze drifted up, violet eyes flashing with a hint of defiance, almost daring anyone to cross into her domain. But tonight felt different. There was an unusual chill in the air, a murmur of something approaching.

"Are you lost?" she asked softly, though her voice carried like the whisper of wind through branches, soft but inescapable. Her eyes lingered on the shadows, her presence an invitation as much as a warning.

#ch. seraphina balthazar #threads.

ii. a day in the cafe

Glinda sat at a cozy corner table in the quaint little cafe, her presence like a shimmer of sunlight on an overcast day. The scent of fresh coffee and baked goods filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversations and clinking teacups. She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea, watching as wisps of steam curled around her fingers, leaving a faint sparkle behind—a little residue of her inner magic that she could never quite hide.

Dressed in a soft pink blouse that matched the gentle hues of her magic, she seemed almost out of place in the earthly setting, yet there was something inviting about her that put the other patrons at ease. Glinda glanced around the room with her usual warm smile, her gaze lingering on the door as though she were expecting someone—or perhaps hoping to meet someone interesting.

As a group of friends laughed nearby, she let her thoughts drift, fingers idly tracing patterns on the table. It wasn’t often she ventured so far from the school, but there was something about the cafe’s warmth and simplicity that called to her today. It reminded her that magic didn’t always come in the form of spells and wands. Sometimes, it was simply the cozy feeling of being somewhere new, waiting for a stranger with a story of their own.

Glinda took another sip of her tea, glancing over the top of her cup at the assortment of pastries in the display case. She tilted her head, eyebrows raised as if deep in thought, then let out a soft giggle to herself.

“Oh, my stars,” she murmured, “Do you think if I order another croissant, it’ll turn into one? Or maybe just… make me feel nice for a few bites?” She offered a mischievous grin to whoever was nearby, clearly enjoying her own whimsy as she waited for someone to join in on her little joke.

#threads.#ch. glinda upland

i. the waiting game.

Archer crouched in the shadows, concealed beneath the weight of the night, watching Cerise from across the village square. She was a mere few steps away, but she may as well have been an entire world apart. Here she was, his runaway bride, his defiant queen, flitting through the quiet streets of Fableton like a ghost he couldn’t catch. It had been weeks since she’d left his kingdom, yet seeing her again, standing there in the lantern light, made his heart thrum with a fury that was almost intoxicating.

She looked almost… ordinary, chatting with a shopkeeper over a bouquet of wildflowers. Her raven hair fell loose over her shoulders, swaying as she gestured animatedly, her smile flashing bright and carefree. To the villagers, she must have seemed like a mysterious beauty, a stranger in a red cloak from nowhere, her voice a gentle hum against the crisp autumn air. But Archer knew better. That sweetness, that innocence—it was all a facade. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, his queen with a cunning spirit and a spine of steel. And yet, as he watched her, a twinge of something almost tender crept into his chest. She looked… happy. Free.

The Werewolf King’s gaze sharpened, his fingers curling into fists. She was his queen, his bride, his to protect, to keep, to cherish—or cage, if that’s what it took. He had given her everything he had to give and offered her a throne beside his. And in return, she had abandoned him, slipped away in the dead of night as if all he’d given her was nothing. As if she’d rather be a villager in this sleepy little town than reign at his side.

Ungrateful, he thought, a dark growl curling in his throat. She had tasted the life he’d offered, the power that came with it, and yet here she was, draped in plain wool, smiling over simple flowers like she had found something more precious than his kingdom.

His anger simmered as he watched her, his gaze tracking her every movement, his senses heightened, capturing every shift in the wind that carried her scent. She smelled of roses, as she always had, and something else—something wild and green from these forsaken woods. She had wrapped herself in this humble village life, hiding behind simple kindnesses and quiet gestures, but he knew what lay beneath. She was his Cerise, sharp as a dagger, defiant as a flame, and she could never truly escape him.

In the square, Cerise’s laughter drifted toward him, soft and light, a sound he had not heard in years. She had never laughed like that in the castle, never so openly, so freely. The thought stabbed at him, twisting the fury in his chest into something darker, something almost bitter. What had this place given her that he could not? What magic did this quiet, forgettable village hold that his kingdom had lacked?

He shifted in the shadows, following her with his gaze as she moved from the flower vendor to a small fountain at the square’s edge, a stone relic covered in moss and ivy. She ran her fingers over the water’s surface, lost in thought, her expression softened by the faint glow of moonlight.

The full moon was almost upon him, its call thrumming in his blood. He could feel the beast stirring beneath his skin, his senses sharpening, his instincts roaring for him to close the distance and seize her. He wanted her to look up, to see him there, watching her, and to understand that she would never be beyond his reach.

But he would not reveal himself yet. No, he wanted her to feel safe, to think she’d succeeded in fleeing from him, to let her guard down, just enough for him to savor the shock and fear in her eyes when he finally stepped from the shadows.

He had imagined this moment since the night she had vanished. Imagined finding her, closing the distance between them, his hands curling around her wrists, reclaiming what was his. He would take her back to the kingdom, back to the castle, where she would once more be seated beside him on his throne—whether she wanted it or not. He had tolerated her defiance, even found it thrilling in the early days of their marriage. But she had crossed a line, a boundary he would never allow her or anyone else to breach.

Cerise knelt by the fountain, lowering her head as if in silent prayer, her fingers still tracing the water’s surface. Archer watched her every movement, his eyes catching the slight shiver in her shoulders as a breeze swept through the square. She was vulnerable here, without the walls of the castle or the servants who once guarded her. And yet, she looked strangely content, her face softened in a way he had never seen.

A snarl curled his lips. She thought she could be happy here, in this quiet, unremarkable life. She thought she could escape him, escape the power he held, the destiny that bound them. But she was wrong.

Soon, he would step from the shadows. Soon, he would reach out and take what was his. And she would learn that there was no sanctuary in Fableton, no distance that could sever the bond that tied her to him.

As the moon rose higher, casting a silver light over the village, Archer settled into his vigil, his eyes never leaving her figure. He could wait. He could let her enjoy her fragile freedom for a little longer, if only to deepen the satisfaction when he shattered it.