Narrator
The wind whispered like something old and restless, threading through the trees that guarded the forest's edge. Snow fell in erratic bursts—sometimes feather-soft, other times in cruel, glassy hail. It was winter, yes, but not any winter the locals recognized. Meteorologists reported calm weather. No anomalies. Instruments chirped their lies. But anyone who lived near the treeline could feel the wrongness seeping through the soil.
Just beyond that border, where pine needles gave way to cobbled stone, stood a crooked old manor draped in frost and ivy. A chimney puffed tired smoke into the steel-gray sky, and a lonely path led from the woods to its arched double doors. Not an ordinary house—no, far from it. This one belonged to two witches. Not wicked, nor hidden in fairy tale shadows, but very real—and employed, oddly enough, by an organization called the Power Protection Division.
Their mission? Contain the unnatural. Protect what must be protected. Unlike the other agencies that dissected, captured, or destroyed what they didn't understand, the PPD believed in stewardship.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Tonight, let's peek inside. Let's watch them, these two strange souls—friends, or perhaps something more—sharing a life of late-night snacks and lingering danger.
Chelsie
The door slammed open, and Chelsie stumbled in, boots soaked with snow and eyes foggy with exhaustion. Her shoulder bag dropped with a thud. She shrugged off her blazer and tossed it over a chair like it had personally offended her.
Remote in hand. TV on. Leftover pizza in lap. Soda cracked open.
She exhaled. "Home, sweet chaos."
Chian
A door clicked open upstairs. Steam billowed out, and with it emerged Chian—wrapped in a towel, skin flushed from a long, scalding shower. Her damp hair clung to her neck, and her breath still ghosted in the air despite the heat.
She paused at the landing, eyes catching Chelsie on the sofa. A small smile tugged at her lips before she turned back into the hallway, ascending to their shared room. Minutes later, she reappeared in a cozy sweater and leggings, descending quietly into the living room.
"The fridge is empty," she said, brushing her still-wet hair from her face. "I'm heading out for groceries."
Chelsie
"Huh? Already?" Chelsie blinked at her. "We just stocked up three days ago."
Chian
"Yeah, and then we threw that backyard party for the whole department," she said with an awkward laugh, tugging on her scarf.
Chelsie
"Oh, right..." She glanced at the snow through the window. "Well, go quick. Looks like another blizzard's kicking up."
Narrator
An hour passed. The storm, true to Chelsie's intuition, had turned violent—winds howling like wolves, snow flung sideways like blades. The front door opened again with a groan, and Chian stepped in, hair wild and coat powdered white. She kicked it shut behind her and sighed.
Inside, it was quiet. Only the low murmur of the TV filled the house.
Chelsie was asleep, curled into the couch like a cat, her half-eaten pizza forgotten.
Chian watched her for a moment, eyes soft.
"Lazy winter days," she whispered.
She busied herself in the kitchen, unpacking groceries, lighting the stove. Soon, the scent of baking filled the air—muffins, then cookies. She worked in silence, the kind only shared homes and quiet love allow.
Narrator
Morning. Pale light crawled over the frost-laced windows.
Chelsie
She stirred beneath a blanket she didn't remember grabbing. Yawned. Rubbed her eyes. "Gods, I did fall asleep here…"
Chian
Leaning on the kitchen doorframe, mug in hand, Chian greeted her with a soft chuckle. "Morning, Chel."
Chelsie
She sat up, stretching. "How long was I out?"
Chian
"Eleven hours. Impressive. But hey, it's your day off. And it's just past eight—perfect breakfast time."
Chelsie
"Oh. Right. Day off..." She blinked slowly. "Weird. Feels illegal to sleep that long."
Chian
"I didn't get to ask yesterday—how'd your mission go?"
Chelsie
"Routine chaos," she muttered, rubbing her temple. "Wendigo took down three hunters before we got it. Eight of us total—decent odds. Still, not a pretty sight."
Chian
"You ever think about leaving the job?" Her voice dropped, quiet. "There are safer ways to make a living, Chel."
Chelsie
She crossed the room, touched Chian's forehead with a kiss. "Don't worry. I'll be careful. Always."
Her phone buzzed. She checked it. Groaned.
"Oh, come on. A meeting? On my day off?"
Chian
"What? I thought HQ mandated two full days of rest."
Chelsie
"They did. This one's marked urgent. Guess something happened."
She grabbed her coat and bag. Heavier than yesterday.
Chian
She watched her go with a flicker of unease. "There she goes again," she murmured.
Then, quietly, she ate a single muffin alone.
Narrator
Chelsie returned around 1 PM. Her posture sagged. Snow clung to her lashes like ash.
Chian
"You said it'd be quick."
Chelsie
"It was supposed to be." She dropped her bag. "A hellgate opened. Literally. The west wing's in ruins. I'm lucky I made it back in one piece."
Chian
Her back turned. "Maybe it's time to walk away from all this."
Chelsie
"I can't," she said. "But I will come back. Always."
She pulled Chian into a hug. The silence that followed was heavier than snow.
Narrator
Three weeks later, the world outside was still white and cruel. But inside, the manor glowed with warmth. The witches shared the couch, watching some forgettable show, passing snacks and laughing softly.
Peace, for now.
But don't get too comfortable, dear reader.
This isn't the story. This is just the prologue.