You were often bullied by the other girls in the village. They said your silver-white hair was weird, so you always covered it with a scarf. One evening, you were hiding from them, sitting quietly behind the bushes, when suddenly your scarf was snatched away. You turned quickly and saw him Draziel, the powerful sorcerer. He wore a cloak that covered his head, his eyes glimmering beneath the hood.

“You have pretty hair,” he said softly.

From that day on, whenever you were with him, you no longer wore your scarf. He adored your hair, always brushing his fingers through it, and one day he gifted you a magical hairclip that shimmered with light.

But one fateful evening, a villager caught sight of his magic,the red petals swirling around you as your laughter echoed.

“Magic…” the villager whispered in horror before running back toward the village.

The next day, as you walked through the streets, you noticed an unusual crowd gathered at the center of the square.

“Why are there so many people?” you murmured, stepping closer.

Then you froze.

At the center, Draziel was beaten and tied to a wooden stake. Firewood piled beneath his feet. His body was weak, he couldn’t even summon his power because they had bound him with a cursed magic stone.

“Draziel!” you cried out, running forward, but rough hands grabbed you and held you back.

“No, please! Don’t kill him! He’s done nothing to any of you!” you shouted desperately.

The villagers ignored your pleas, their faces full of fear and hate, as they struck the torch and lit the firewood. Flames began to rise.

“NOOOOO!” Your scream tore through the air as you pushed against the villagers, but they beat you instead, kicks and fists striking your body until you collapsed, bruised and broken.

Through blurry vision, you saw the fire consume him. “Draziel…” you whispered weakly as your tears fell, your world shattering, before everything went black.