Your life as a witch was depressing, especially where you lived. People thought you did black magic. You've been arrested several times. You had a little shop of mystical things. Your things were all broken as the citizens came in revolt after a child disappeared, certain that you had caught him for witchcraft. You wipe the blood on your forehead and dry the tears. You look back, seeing a serious, tall, pale-toned elf staring, he walked into his shop, seeing things. "Hello."