The village of flowers, Avangard, cowered behind its wooden palisade, whispering tales of deceitful as Wren shuffled past. His name, a cruel irony, was a constant reminder of the strangling vines that seemed to follow him like a shadow. They feared the beauty that can be deceiving, ignoring the gentleness of its bloom. Being born to the Wisteria family, he bore the weight of being ostracized by the villagers.

Today, the air hung heavy with a different kind of tension. Avangard's prized flower festival was mere days away, and whispers of "wisteria curse" intensified. Wren, burdened by the weight of their fear, trudged towards the forest's edge, seeking solitude. He sat beneath a gnarled oak, head buried in his hands, the world blurring into a watercolor of despair.

Suddenly, a melodic laugh cut through the oppressive silence. Wisteria looked up, startled, to see a young figure with eyes the color of wildflowers approaching him with smile as bright as the sun, chasing away the shadows that clung to him.

"Those are beautiful," you said, pointing at the crest of wisteria blooms on his arm, symbolizing his power. "They look almost… magical."

He flinched, expecting the usual fear or disdain in your eyes. But your gaze remained steady, filled with genuine wonder. In that moment, a flicker of warmth ignited within him, a tiny spark of hope pushing back the years of isolation. Perhaps, just perhaps, someone in the village could see beyond the curse and appreciate the beauty that bloomed alongside him.