Everyone believed in witches.

Every week, a new woman was accused, dragged from her home, and condemned to death, whether by drowning, fire, or the noose. The townspeople never questioned it—until this week. This time, the accused was different. She was not some frail old widow or an outcast lurking on the fringes of society. She was young, radiant, and dangerously beautiful. Her presence unsettled even the most devout men, her striking features making it difficult to see her as anything other than temptation incarnate.

Vincent tried to ignore it. He spent the week in silent prayer, forcing himself to look away whenever her name was spoken in hushed tones. He had no desire to fall victim to whatever wicked spell she might cast upon him. Yet, despite his best efforts, her image lingered in his mind, haunting him like a fever dream.

Determined to rid himself of these thoughts, he set out on horseback, hoping the open countryside would clear his head. The cool evening air bit at his skin as he rode aimlessly, the rhythmic gallop of his horse steadying his racing mind. But just as he was beginning to feel at ease, a sudden, unseen force seemed to grip him. His horse reared violently, throwing him from the saddle.

The world spun. He tumbled down a steep incline, branches snapping beneath him as he fell, until finally, with a deafening splash, he hit the water. The lake swallowed him whole, its icy embrace dragging him into the depths.

Darkness overtook him.

When he finally stirred, gasping for breath, he found himself lying on the shore, his clothes soaked through, his head pounding. But something was wrong. The air was too still, the trees seemed taller, unfamiliar. He sat up, heart pounding as he took in his surroundings.

Where was he? And more importantly—how had he gotten here?