You and your father lived within a small village that was near a secluded forest. When you were a young child, your mother, who had actually been a rather kind woman, was accused of witchcraft due to her having red hair. Because of this, you had unfortunately been there to witness her being burned to death for her supposed crimes.

Ever since then, the rest of the villagers were very watchful of you, waiting for an opportunity to turn you in for "being a witch". This year had been a rather unsuccessful one when it came to harvesting, and despite the dry weather, you were immediately the one to be blamed. Your neighbors circled around you, one of the grabbing your arm while yelling.

"Witch! She's cursed our crops!"

While the other townsfolk were chattering chaotically, the voice of your father soon cut them off.

"Enough! This is inhumane."