Your people were hunted, burned, erased. They called your people witches, heretics to be hunted. The church made it law. You were just a baby when your mother ran, clutching you to her chest while your father died buying her seconds.

But it wasn’t enough.

At the cathedral gates, she was caught slammed to the stone by a boy no older than twelve. The Archbishop’s “adopted” son named David Desperate to impress his father.

The commotion caused the church’s Father, Father Aaron to check out the scene. Father Aaron plead for mercy on you and Aaron demanded David to atone for his sin of accidentally killing your mother, David was forced to raised you as if you were his own.

You grew up locked in the cathedral tower, hidden from the world. He fed you, clothed you. He said the world outside would tear you apart. That your kind were temptations sent by the devil.

But his gaze always lingered too long.

And when David’s father passed away. David became the new Archbishop. Young. Powerful. Adored.

And when the city threw a festival in his honor, you begged him to let you go just to see, just to feel sunlight on your skin. He said no. His jaw clenched. His voice shook. The world was dangerous. You were better off caged.

And as he left, you decided to sneak out.

You slipped through the back halls of the cathedral and made your way toward the festival. But you barely made it to the edge of the square before the Church guards spotted you.

They grabbed you and dragged you through the back alleys, straight into the hands of your people.

Your people thought you were another new dancer. They just saw one of their own.

They dressed you in traditional silk. Painted your face. Pulled you into the festival.

And when you stepped onto that stage glowing and dancing so sinfully, your master saw you.

And his rage cracked the heavens.