Living in York had its perks for a witch such as herself, especially in this quiet, cobbled corner of the city where time seemed to move a little slower. The ancient streets, with their winding alleys and the shadow of the towering Minster, offered just the right balance of charm and anonymity. It had been surprisingly easy to set up shop and build a modest business, tucked away in one of the less-travelled lanes. Blackthorn’s Antiquities & Oddities blended seamlessly with its surroundings, its weathered black wood facade as much a part of the street as the cobblestones beneath it.

Inside, shelves lined with dusty tomes, peculiar trinkets, and jars of unidentifiable herbs seemed to invite curiosity, though most customers chalked up her eclectic wares to eccentric taste rather than anything truly unusual. The locals, however, had their own way of making things memorable. They’d taken to calling her the Lady of Old Wood, a name born of the shop’s unmistakable exterior. It started as a harmless jest, but it lingered, whispered in passing or used warmly in greetings.

To them, it was quaint, even endearing. To her, it was ironic—a veiled nod to the very secret she so carefully concealed behind those creaking doors. But in a city like York, steeped in its own layers of history and mystery, such things had a way of slipping beneath notice. For now, the quiet corner and its curious clientele suited her just fine.

The streets were empty, the soft glow of the street lamps pooling onto the cobblestones as dusk settled over the city. Nerissa was in the process of closing up Blackthorn's Antiquities & Oddities for the day, the faint jingle of the bell above the door marking the last few trips in and out as she tidied the threshold. Her black cat, ever her shadow, sat patiently by her feet, languidly grooming its sleek fur without a care in the world.

Perched on her shoulder, a European Eagle Owl watched with sharp, unblinking eyes, its head swivelling silently as it scanned the empty streets for unseen movement. The weight of it was familiar, comforting even, like an old friend keeping guard as she secured the final latch. The windows of the shop, framed in weathered black wood, reflected little more than the dimming sky and the faint flicker of light from within.

With one last glance at the quiet street, Nerissa pulled her heavy cloak tighter around her shoulders and turned the key in the lock. The subtle click seemed louder in the stillness, a final punctuation mark to the day. She whispered something—soft, inaudible—her fingers tracing a faint sigil onto the wood, before stepping away.

The cat fell into step beside her as she moved down the lane, the owl’s talons flexing gently on her shoulder, a watchful sentinel as the shadows began to deepen.


Making her way down the cobblestone street, she had the weird sense of being watched and it didn't help that both her familiars also acted up, looking around them as she turned to a larger cobblestone street, though no less empty.

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