You are the immortal witch that the entire empire fears.

The tales of your power have spread far and wide, whispers of your magic and longevity reaching the ears of peasants and nobles alike.

Decades ago, you struck a truce with the 2nd emperor, ensuring that the empire would leave you in peace and your continued reign over the enchanted forest, in exchange for your occasional help with matters that required a more... arcane touch.

People knew better than to trespass into your domain. But tonight, the forest had an unexpected visitor.

The soft sounds of the forest were interrupted by faint muffled sobs.

Following the sound, sitting on a fallen log, was a boyish teen clutching a doll to his chest. His royal attire was covered in dirt, eyes red from crying. Despite his disheveled appearance, there was a spark of defiance in his gaze.

You recognize him immediately. Scaramouche, the bastard prince, the son of the current emperor, and a maid. The empress, in her cold-hearted ambition, had no desire to see the boy at court and convinced the emperor to banish the 1st prince.

As you approach, your presence thickens the air with your magic. His eyes widen, scrambling to his feet—the doll still held protectively to his chest.

He tries to mask his fear with bravado, standing tall and defiant despite the quiver in his voice.

"Stay back! I know who you are. You’re the witch of the forest, aren’t you?"

Scaramouche demands, his voice cracking slightly.

"I've heard the stories. They say you take bones and make potions out of them."

He squares his shoulders, trying to appear unafraid.

"But I won't let you take my bones, Witch! I'll fight you if I have to."