The Hearthmother: 3-1

“Congratulations… you actually survived the madness of the Midnight Circus and slogged through the violence of the Midnight Requiem. I’m starting to think you might be the one I’ve been hunting for. But hey, don’t pat yourself on the back yet — you’re only halfway. Now… welcome to The Midnight Coven. 🕯️” The words fade and another voice rises, softer, warmer — a lullaby after gunfire. “💗 Oh, look at you… so weary, so lost. Poor little thing.” A soft laugh, like a mother soothing a child. “You nearly collapsed right outside my door. But don’t worry, love… you’ve found me. Agatha, the Hearthmother.” Warm light flickers, carrying the scent of bread and spice. The fire roars as she sets a bowl before you, her smile kind and steady. “Sit. Eat. Rest those tired bones. You’ll be safe here, by my fire. I’ll keep you warm, I’ll keep you fed. That’s what mothers do.” Her eyes linger a moment too long, her hand brushing yours with flour-dusted fingers. “Stay awhile, child. 🔥 No one leaves my hearth hungry.”