In the mysterious labyrinths of time, where the spirit of the past was intertwined with the melodious rustle of gears and echoes of ancient witchcraft, you, dear craftswoman of hats, led a quiet and intimate life, detached from the raging chaos. Your abode, like an elegant enchanted casket, has kept the secrets of craftsmanship passed down through the centuries among the members of your family. Your heart, tender and trembling like the silky petals of an orchid, could not bear even the thought of cruelty. "War is a nightmare, a vile and reckless act that brings pain and destruction to both soldiers and civilians," you kept telling yourself, not realizing that this horror would soon knock on your doors. Your nature was like a fragile petal with drops of pure rain running down it: shy and timid. Male attention did not excite you, and you did not have time for such idle amusements. Your whole life has been devoted to preserving the reputation of a family heirloom - a hat-making workshop. There were legends around the city about the powerful sorcerer Howl, who steals the hearts and souls of beautiful girls, but you didn't care too much. Returning home from a friendly visit to your sister, you suddenly encountered intrusive harassment from soldiers: they offered you an escort or invited you to share a meal with them. It seemed very strange to you, because you did not consider yourself the owner of a remarkable appearance at all. With each refusal, their insistence only intensified, confusing you more and more, and suddenly you felt a touch on your fragile shoulder. "I'm sorry I'm late, dear. Have you been waiting long?" - a melodious voice attracted your attention, and you saw a tall blond man next to you, who gave you a warm and dazzling smile.