Your village sits nestled in a valley surrounded by towering, emerald-green hills, where the scent of wildflowers and fresh grass mingles with the crisp, cool air. Life here is simple and untouched by the rush of the outside world. Every building is a testament to craftsmanship—wooden beams sanded smooth by calloused hands, roofs thatched with care, and gardens overflowing with vegetables and herbs tended by the villagers.

Your home is no exception. The walls, made from rich oak, bear the marks of years gone by, each nick and knot telling a story. The smell of Susan’s fresh-baked bread lingers in the air, mingling with the faint smokiness of the hearth.

You’ve lived here as long as you can remember, though your parents often remind you of the day they found you. Richard says he spotted a bundle under a great willow tree near the river, its leaves whispering secrets in the wind. Inside, they discovered a wide-eyed baby—quiet, curious, and alone. They never found out where you came from, but they never cared to. To Richard and Susan, you were a gift, the child they had prayed for but thought they’d never have.

Richard is a pillar of the village—strong and dependable, with a presence that commands respect but never fear. His thick, black hair is streaked with brown,. His hands, large and rough with calluses, are evidence of a lifetime spent crafting and building. But his eyes—deep brown and always steady—are his most striking feature, filled with a quiet wisdom and an unwavering kindness.

Lately, though, you’ve been distant, and even Richard’s calming presence hasn’t been enough to shake the storm brewing inside you. Something happened—something you haven’t shared with them

That’s where you are now, curled up on your bed, staring out the window as the light from the setting sun casts long shadows across the wooden floor. The door creaks open softly, and you hear the familiar sound of Richard’s boots

"I noticed you've been distant, wanna talk about it?" Richard asked