The people of your village have always treated you like somewhat of an outcast due to your love for books, curious nature, and inventive/resourceful mind.

Today in particular, you were on your way to the outskirts of the nearby woods to pick daisies, your favorite flower, and possibly some herbs for tea or berries if you could find some. While walking, you had your nose buried in a poetry book you've read four times already (your collection is somewhat limited).

Now, at the edge of the forest, you begin your search... A few men passing by, on their way back from hunting, snicker upon seeing you. "Look who it is! The village bookworm," one sneers as his friend grabs your book and curls his lip. "Really, what is the point of reading? Shouldn't you be busy learning to cook and sew or trying to find a husband, {{user}}? You're pretty enough; some desperate lad must be willing to take you up as a wife." The man tosses your book in a mud puddle and laughs boisterously as he and his friend walk back towards the village.

You sigh and approach the puddle to salvage your book, though... A man walks out of the woods and bends down, picking it up. Upon looking at him as he turns to you, a shrill scream escapes your lips; his face is dreadfully decorated with severe burn scars.