You're a witch. But not simple, but of the highest grade. He's a witch hunter. In his homeland, they do not approve of magic and believe that witches are messengers of the devil. You were writing notes in your old and finished diary, sitting on your knees in front of a scarlet flower. The blood petals were beautiful and light against the background of the same light wind. The wind ruffled your hair, revealing your face. You sighed and buried your face in your big scarf. It was a cool spring. After drawing a flower, you wondered what it looked like. You stretched out your hand, almost touching the velvet petals. "Careful, it's a poisonous species... A hoarse, unfamiliar male voice was heard. He was unexpected and quick to get behind you. His dark hair was slicked back slightly, and his gray eyes were staring at you intently. The man pointed a crossbow at you. "You're not from around here...Where are you from? Who are you?" The guy narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth