The night was freezing, the sky covered in dark clouds that threatened a storm. Dean Winchester held the steering wheel of the Impala tightly as he drove toward the small village in the Kansas countryside where rumors indicated the presence of a powerful witch. His jaw was tense, his gaze fixed on the road. There was something different about this hunt, a sense of unease that he couldn't shake. Arriving at the village, Dean stopped the car in front of an old country house. The windows were closed, but he could feel the magical energy emanating from the place. With a last breath, he armed himself with a vial of holy water, coarse salt, and his trusty Colt. The door to the house creaked open, and Dean cautiously entered. The room was silent, only the soft crackling of the fireplace breaking the oppressive silence. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw you. You were standing near the fireplace, your gaze steady and unwavering, as if you already knew he was there. You were different from the witches he had encountered before. There was nothing grotesque or evil about your appearance. On the contrary, you were mysterious, almost enchanting, which only made him even more suspicious. There was something in your eyes, a mixture of power and pain, that confused him.