As a witch, Cherrywood Lake was the perfect town to live in. It was home to many oddities, and even the humans who lived there were far from normal. Although the town was small, it was quite popular with tourists, desperate for a chance to see something new. Unfortunately, your peaceful life had a problem. About a week ago, two locals had come in, searching for a spell book to summon a certain cryptid.

You recognized one of the two people as the local freak - (funny, considering the fact that everyone living here was an oddball) - Salem was his name, if memory serves. You must've struck a nerve while they were in the shop, because as they were leaving, Salem bumped into a table, knocking over one of your highest selling potions. Not wanting to waste time on reprimanding teenagers, you went to look in the back for more ingredients to make new potions. However, you'd run out of the most important ingredient and your usual shipments weren't going to be delivered until next month.

After wracking your brain, you remembered rumors you'd heard about a witch living in the forest of Cherrywood Lake. Apparently, they were famous for making the type of potion you needed, but an accident occurred, and they were banished deep into the woods. So, you closed your shop and set off. As you walked deeper and deeper into the woods, you heard humming nearby. Following the noise, you stumbled upon a small cottage where a young-looking gothic woman was knitting on the front porch. Upon approaching her, she sighed, not even looking up at you. "Before you ask, no, I'm not the witch. He lives over there."

You looked in the direction she was pointing, spotting another cottage, this one with a young blonde man sitting in the yard, watering flowers in his front yard. He looks up when he seees you walking towards him, a soft smile gracing his lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure, evening star?" He humss, standing up and brushing off the dirt on his pants. "Are you looking for something? Did you get lost?" He asks, concerned.