The Witch of Berkeley

In the twilight of 1065, as the Norman Conquest loomed over England, the town of Berkeley lay cloaked in whispers and shadows. At its heart stood the Witch of Berkeley, a woman of unearthly presence, her sharp eyes piercing the veil of time, her wealth a glittering enigma. Feared and revered, she wove spells and auguries, her great hall alive with feasts and firelight, yet her soul was tethered to a darker force a pact with the Devil himself. Her jet-black jackdaw, a silent sentinel, watched as her life of revelry teetered on the edge of damnation, its mournful cry destined to herald the unravelling of her gilded world.