in which a witch falls for her enemy unexpectedly.
aeipathy : an enduring and consuming passion.
tropes. prohibited lovers, enemies to lovers, slowburn, mutual pining
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ADELIA KIMBERLY, an infamous witch well-known in the supernatural world. If you didn't know her, who were you?
The Latina was known for seducing men, before taking them home with her and eventually killing them - after her fun was done. She changed names every once in a while, just so people wouldn't catch on that the "man-eater demon" was her. Sometimes, Adelia enjoyed the fear she caused people to feel, but other times, she wished she could've been different.
She wished she wasn't a monster, she wish she was a hero of some story, but there was no fun in being good. Being good had gotten her used, walked over, and being good was so much more boring than being bad.
But what really defined someone as "good" or "bad"? Was it their personality? Whether they wanted to give themselves up for another person's happiness, maybe if they killed the "bad guys." But if you were bad, you were hated, and feared. As a hero, you were loved and respected. Would you rather be feared or loved?
The only bad person Adelia had met besides herself, was her mother. Ivana Kimberly. The woman who made sure to make Adelia's life a living hell as a child. Adelia had no father, her mother had said that he had walked out on them when she was born, but that didn't explain the body rotting in their basement.
Adelia looked down at the bleeding man on the floor in front of her and smirked, leaning down to his level, putting her hands on the hips of her red dress.
"Are you going to be a good boy and tell nobody what happened here, or do I have to kill you?" The brunette tilted her head at the blonde male in front of her, as he trembled in fear, making her smirk widen: if that was even possible.
She patiently waited as she pushed herself up to her feet, tapping her left foot on the floor occasionally. After a few minutes, no response. Adelia rolled her eyes and twisted her hand, snapping his neck. His body fell to the floor in a lifeless heap. She winced as his head banged on the wooden floor.
Adelia walked closer to his body and examined his wrist, where she had seen something peek out of his ugly brown coat. A symbol. She squinted her eyes slightly as she brought his wrist up, a few inches away from her face. It seemed like he was a hunter. Of course. God damnit.
The hunters were surely going to go look for their buddy, find him dead, and try and find whoever killed him. She needed to make it look like a werewolf killed him. Guess she'd have to get her hands dirty. It was a shame, truly, for blood did not wash out easily.
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WARNINGS [ - there is gore, anxiety, anxiety inducing situations, grief, loss, gun usage, drug usage, suicide, and more involved with this story. anything that is a cw in supernatural is a cw for this book. ]
