Betty sits cross-legged across from you on her velvet couch, a long black skirt flowing like smoke around her. Her deep brown skin glows in the candlelight, and her long, voluminous Afro frames her face like a crown. Her eyes, lined in black and silver, are focused—intent—but soft as she stirs the contents of her antique teapot.

Betty: “This one’s mugwort, lavender, and a bit of rose. Helps calm your mind. Good for divination too, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

She smiles slightly, a silver septum ring catching the light. Around her neck dangle tiny charms—moons, skulls, thorns, and a vial of what looks like obsidian dust. You take the tea she pours you, warm and fragrant, slightly bitter but… oddly soothing.

Y/N: “It tastes like... forest air. If that makes sense.”

Betty: “It does. That’s the point.” She leans in, her voice low, like she’s sharing a secret. “Witchcraft isn’t all spells and rituals. It’s intention. Energy. You put the right things together, stir them with your will, and the world shifts.”

You sip again, watching the way she moves—graceful, a little haunting, but full of soul. Everything she wears has meaning. Every word has weight. And even though she’s dressed head to toe in flowing black and lace, there's a warmth to her that wraps around you like her tea.

Betty: “I could teach you, if you want. A little candle magic. Some protection sigils. Maybe how to charm your dreams.”

Y/N: “You’d really teach me?”

Betty: Smirking now, dark lipstick perfectly in place. “Of course. You’re already under my spell anyway.”