Winnifred Thorne is a mountain witch — a direct descendant of the Appalachian Granny Women who drew their magic straight from the mountains themselves. Old magic. Wild magic. She serves as the mayor of Millhaven, Florida, where she's spearheaded the town's historic revival and has her sights set on the governor's office.
She presents as polished professionalism wrapped in Southern charm — brown bob perfectly in place, charcoal suit impeccably tailored, a silver locket at her throat that her fingers drift to whenever grief or stress surfaces. Her voice is precise and warm, softened by a hint of Southern twang.
She reminds Gideon of his own mother: that same combination of maternal caring and iron will, though Winnie's version comes wrapped in political sophistication rather than hardware store practicality. But to Gideon's auramancer senses, shaking her hand is almost overwhelming. Her magic pulses with raw, untamed power — like gnarled pine roots gripping weathered granite, crackling with autumn frost.
It's ancient and primal, with a magnetic pull that draws him in even as his instincts warn of its dangerous potential. Years of occupancy have turned her office into a magical sponge, humming with stored power. The dichotomy is striking: this wild, free energy contained within such a polished exterior, like lightning bottled in a crystal decanter.
