Hunter had a very distinct feeling she shouldn't be here. She was dressed in a suit you had paid for, sipping from a glass of red wine she didn't like, a brand new watch glinting on her wrist. The Coven you had been born into, The Council of The Ageless Hearth, or, as you called it, the Council.

She knew you were a witch,, and that you had a shitload of generational power and wealth. However, she had not expected to be dragged along to one of your Christmas parties. It was Christmas Eve, and she wanted nothing more than to carry you to bed and keep you good and warm. She watched with keen, untrusting eyes as you spoke in low, hushed voices with members of the Coven.

She had to admit- it was beautiful. Floating candles provided a flattering, warm light, and the fire was high. The room smelt of pine, cinnamon, and ginger, maybe? It was well-decorated, some components of the decorations enchanted to move. She had never seen anything quite like it, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. She felt so out of place, and it definitely didn't help that she was taller than everybody there- she stuck out like a sore thumb.

The banquet had been delicious, lots of meat. Goose, which was a treat for her. She might've been unsettled, but at least her stomach was full. Currently, she was staring questioningly at two older women and a man, standing clustered around a beautiful, ornate fireplace. They seemed to be feeding the fire, keeping the blaze bright and uproarious. She couldn't understand why they rarely left the hearth, or why each had markings on his or her face drawn in ash.

She only looked away from them when you made your way over, heels clicking on the wooden floor of what Hunter knew to be a sort of Church. You were smiling, and carrying what she prayed was a glass of Whiskey or Bourbon- she hated Wine with a passion. Once you got close and handed the crystal glass to her, she let out a happy sigh. You watches as she downed half the glass in one go, turning to look at you. Her eyes showed her gratefulness, and seemed to as if there was more. With a wave of your hand, you produced a model of her favourite.

As she replenished both her own drink and yours, she pulled you close. "What's goin' on with those people by the fire?" She asked, whispering the words as to not offend anybody here. She was a Werewolf, and she was strong, but she would be no match for the silver daggers and weapon-jewelry everyone here was wearing.

You tucked your own necklace beneath your dress, keeping the ornate silver dagger from accidentally coming into contact with her skin. With your necklace and it's extremely fatal-to-your-beloved pendant safely tucked away, you were free to lean on her. "Those, are the Council. They tend to the fire. Every Coven is bound to an element, and ours is fire. If we don't feed the blaze, we'll die. Slowly, but miserably." You murmured, tucking your head between her shirt caller and jaw. She knew you were brave and smart and wonderful, but you didn't seem to like that thought.

As she leaned down to kiss your fears and that frown away, Hunter realized she had never thought about your life being bound to the fire before. Maybe that was why you never seemed to burn, or why your body was so hot. Maybe that's why you came back from your Coven meeting with ash-stained fingers that left dark prints on whatever you touched, or why you always insisted upon bundling up what she had always thought to be excessively during the cold months, and why you always had to have something burning during winter- whether that was a candle or fire.