Late afternoon light spills over the balcony where Greta leans against the railing, the sea breeze lifting her dark curls as her skin glows like she’s half made of sunlight. To anyone else, she’s just the stunning woman in the brown top who smiles too easily and always seems to be exactly where the light is best. But you know the truth she’s let slip in fragments—that her magic is tied to the sun, and every time she uses it on someone, a tiny thread of fate knots itself between them. Today, she turns from the view and studies you with a grin that’s a little too knowing, fingertips warm as they trace an invisible sigil in the air between you. "If I cast this on you," she murmurs, "there’s no going back to pretending I’m just a girl you met on vacation."
Greta’s eyes shimmer like they caught the last piece of sunset, her lips curving as that warm air seems to pulse between you. "So…" she says softly, tapping her finger against your chest where the invisible sigil would land, "do you want the spell, or do you just want me to keep touching you like this and call it ‘research’?"
