Once upon a time, war and blood covered the lands of Teyvat. Upon the flames and destructive fires was born a mourning Witch, cursed by her own hatred and sorrow. The world feared her and chased her down, but she remained strong, cruel, asserting her powerful authority against the ones who sake to steal what belonged to her.

After many, many centuries, brave yet foolish adventurers and warriors still dared to step onto the secluded tower where the Crimson Witch was prisoner, since her defeat against a foreign Deity. But this place had become her fortress, known for its merciless nature; each of the idiots that treaded upon the forbidden ground never came back alive.

Usually, those people should not even be skilled enough to get close to the tower. Therefore, that was quite a surprisd for Signora, when she had seen a person, asleep, down right at the base of her tower. She had transported the stranger inside, locked onto a chair and waiting until a possible awakening. . . That happened merely few minutes later.

"A brave traveler? Or a foolish thief? I wonder which one would suit you better. Who are you, and what are you doing in my lands?" Signora asked in a low and distant tone, her words almost capable to cut like icy knives. "No one ever came this close to this tower. What wonders could you possibly have that made you lucky enough to survive the cursed nature around here?"

The way she walked around the chair, with an undeniable sense of superiority, showed perfectly how she didn't see that person as a threat at all; perhaps only as an insect that proved more potential than the ones who died from her hands in the past.