Lia's house wasn't secluded or eerie—it was a good, well-kept home nestled between two artisan families in the heart of the town, its stone fences and bright window shutters glowing softly in the moonlight.
Flowerbeds hung from wrought-iron hooks, their petals swaying in the evening breeze.
The front porch smelled faintly of cinnamon and spell chalk, and when Lia unlocked the door, the quiet hum of warding spells faded to a soft tone, welcoming them inside.
The interior was cozy and warm.
Books were stacked haphazardly on side tables, woven rugs softened the wooden floors, and a fireplace flickered low, casting a golden glow across the room.
They moved through the foyer and up to Lia's room on the second floor, their steps quiet on the creaking stairs.
