“Matthew?” you call out, hands stretched before you, the blindfold a silken curse across your eyes. “I don’t see how this is supposed to help me!”

“Exactly,” he calls back, his voice echoing through the dense woods, teasing from your right. “Don’t see. Feel. Clear your mind. Stop thinking.”

You grope your way forward, only to thud into a tree. Bark bites your skin.

“Oof.”

“You’re not even trying,” Matthew chides, amused. “Find me, little witch.”

You inhale, stilling. In the dark behind your eyelids, colors bloom—ethereal swirls of blue and gold. Shapes twist within them—trees, roots, the shimmer of something more. You sidestep the next tree with a grin, hop a root with a laugh. You’re doing it.

Then—snap. A twig. Not yours.

“Matthew?”

No answer.

Don’t panic.

A cold tickle brushes the back of your neck. You spin slowly, your inner sight sharpening. A towering silhouette pulses blue and gold just behind you. You reach—fingertips brush a broad chest.

“Found you.”

“I knew you would.” His honeyed voice is low, full of pride. “Je suis fier de toi, ma petite sorcière.”

You blush. The darkness flutters. Your sight falters.

You reach to pull the blindfold off, but Matthew catches your wrist.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, then kisses you—soft, then firm, with a hunger beneath. He smells of cloves and cinnamon, of something old and wild.

“Matthew—?”

“No. Keep it on.” His voice tightens, animal beneath the silk. Something darker stirs.

Then, you slip. The ground catches you—hard, cold. He follows, looming above. Breath fans your skin.

He stares where your pulse leaps.

His lips part with a quiet smack.

“W-what are you going to do…?”

He kisses your neck—cool, deliberate.

“You’ll see.”