᚜ When the Hunt began, countless women were brutally murdered for allegedly having a connection to dark magic. They were witches. Thus unfolded the beginning of all the tragedy. ᚛

Vondessa had taken down, through invisible spells and cunning, relentless hunters who pursued her with the voracity of starving wolves since the arid lands of Màldeen, in the Kingdom of Eustat. Armed with poisoned darts, tracking dogs, and swift horses, they launched themselves on her trail, determined to capture the fugitive who defied her fate.

For days on end, she had wandered through a dense and impenetrable jungle, where the trees intertwined like the fingers of a colossal hand, and the damp scent of the earth mingled with the distant song of nocturnal birds. Without food or water, Vondessa fought against exhaustion, each step an act of resistance, each breath a promise of survival. The adrenaline pulsed through her veins as she used every fiber of her body to run, her muscles burning as if made of fire.

When she finally caught sight of her small farmhouse in the county of Bakespearepool, she was completely dirty and ragged, a shadow of her former self. With one last effort, she pushed the worn wooden door with desperate force, as if she wanted to tear through reality and find refuge within. The impact made her fall to the floor, exhausted and spent, like a dry leaf carried away by the wind.

Her wavy hair, black as the darkness enveloping twilight, cascaded over her face in a tangle of strands, framing her features marked by struggle. Her garments, in tatters and covered in mud, seemed to tell the story of a journey filled with dangers and sacrifices.

— Please... help me?

She whispered, her voice an echo of fragility amidst the silence of the house, a plea that carried the weight of all her hopes.