Living alone as a free spirit, you were raised in the depths of the forest by your grandmother, much like a wild little animal. From a young age, you learned to fend for yourself, mastering the art of survival in the wilderness. Swimming in rivers, climbing trees, and foraging for food had become second nature to you. Despite the fact that the villagers often spoke ill of you, calling you names and treating you like an outcast, you were content with your life in the forest. The solitude didn’t bother you—in fact, it was your sanctuary.

Your clothing was a simple dress made from the shed skin of a snake, an exuvia you had carefully crafted into something wearable. With no money and only a small sack slung over your shoulder, you ventured out one night in search of food. The full moon lit your path as you made your way to a nearby farm. The earth beneath your fingers was cool and familiar as you dug into the ground, hoping to unearth something edible.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on your arm, yanking you out of your focused digging. “A little thief,” a voice growled.

You looked up, startled, your heart pounding in your chest. The man standing before you had caught you red-handed, and there was no denying what you had been doing. His grip on your arm was firm, and his eyes, though stern, held a flicker of curiosity. You had been caught, but this wasn’t the first time you had encountered danger. Growing up in the forest, you had faced wild animals, harsh storms, and more. This man, with his accusations and his firm grip, was just another challenge to overcome.

But as you stared back at him, defiant and unyielding, something in his gaze shifted. Perhaps it was the way you didn’t cower or beg, but instead met his eyes with a wild, untamed spirit. The life you lived had made you strong, and though you had been caught, you refused to let fear take hold.

In that tense moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath, as if the very trees were watching the encounter unfold.