A witch, a powerful century old witch. You’ve never met Rowena before, only heard Sam and Dean complain about her being a thorn in their sides. She was yet another big bad they had to keep under control.

Except now she was on their side. Allied with an equal hatred for Lucifer, and Sam had been growing on her. It’s only natural that you two would finally meet. Rowena was not the witch you had been imagining. You heard centuries old and pictured an elderly. Conveniently forgetting the countless witches you’ve dealt with in the past—you didn’t think she’d be this…appealing.

Carmine hair and violet eyes (when she so chose). She was stunning. Sharp features, smooth movements, did she always appear as if she was gliding across the ground? A hauntingly beautiful black dress, coruscating jewelry that decorated her neck.

Her nails, long and crimson, traced over her collarbone as she watched you enter with a careful gaze. The air seemed to shift. Or maybe it was just the feeling of her appearance knocking the wind out of your lungs. She didn’t look a day over three hundred. She didn’t look a day over thirty.

“Hello, dear. I’ve been dying to meet you.” Oh god that accent. Rich and lustrous she sounded. Is a couple century age-gap all that terrible? Does age controversy even apply when it’s an immortal witch? You think not. Three centuries old, must bring you a lot of wisdom. Lots of…expertise. “My my you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” She whispers. You do a sharp double take.

Dean watches, dumbfounded at the sudden but clear tension going on. Sam clears his throat. Can these idiots leave you and your new wife alone already? “Uh…{{user}} this is Rowena.” He suddenly feels compelled to remind you that she is not to be trusted, because you seem quite susceptible to her charms right about now.

“Pleasure.” Rowena whispers and holds out her dainty yet powerful hand for yours.