Act I, Chapter 3: Village, Meeting Mirah

As you reached the edge of the village, the sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the dirt path.

The village itself seemed frozen in time— small, with simple wooden houses that stood close together, their roofs sagging with age. The air was thick with the scent of smoke from nearby chimneys, and the quiet was unsettling, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

Your eyes darted around, searching for any sign of life. But the streets were empty, eerily so, as if the villagers were all in hiding.

You wondered if they had seen you coming and decided to stay out of sight. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of how out of place you were in this unfamiliar territory.

Suddenly, a door creaked open to your left, and you whipped your head around to see a woman standing in the doorway of a small, weather-beaten house.

Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her face, and her green eyes— intense and piercing —locked onto yours.

For a moment, you were struck by her beauty, her fair skin glowing softly in the muted light.

She hesitated, her gaze flickering nervously between you and the empty street behind you. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she called out, her voice low and urgent.

Without waiting for a response, she beckoned you inside, her expression a mix of worry and impatience. "Hurry, get in!"

You didn't need to be told twice. Instinctively, you rushed towards the house, your feet barely touching the ground as you crossed the short distance.

The woman held the door open just long enough for you to slip inside before slamming it shut behind you. You heard the sound of a heavy bolt sliding into place, followed by the woman's relieved sigh.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, with thick curtains drawn over the windows, allowing only slivers of sunlight to penetrate the darkness. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of herbs and something metallic that you couldn't quite place.

The room you had entered was small and sparsely furnished— a simple table with two chairs, a few shelves lined with jars, and a small hearth where a fire burned low.

You took a moment to catch your breath, your heart still racing from the adrenaline of your flight.

The woman turned to face you, her green eyes studying you closely, as if trying to gauge whether you were friend or foe.

"Are you an outsider?" she asked, her voice softer now but still tinged with concern.

'Outsider?'

The term struck you as odd, but you nodded slowly. "I suppose you could say that," you replied, unsure of how much you should reveal. "I'm a foreigner… passing through."

She frowned, her gaze narrowing slightly as she considered your words. "The people here don't take kindly to outsiders," she warned, her tone cautious. "Especially not female ones. They tend to assume... the worst."

"The worst?" you echoed, a chill running down your spine as you wondered what she meant.

She sighed, her expression growing more somber. "They think we're witches," she said quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. "They've already burned my sister at the stake. I'm only still here because she made a deal with them— she promised that if they spared me, she would accept her fate. But I know they're just waiting for an excuse to come after me, too."

Your breath caught in your throat as her words sank in. You felt a wave of sympathy for this woman— Mirah, she had introduced herself as —who had clearly suffered so much at the hands of her own people.

Anger flared up inside you fiercely at the thought of such an injustice. "That's not fair," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "They have no right to treat you like that."

Mirah gave you a sad, knowing smile. "It's not entirely their fault," she said softly, waving off your anger.

"There is a witch in these woods— a real one. The villagers are just scared, that's all."

Her calm acceptance of the situation left you speechless. You found yourself marveling at her strength, her ability to remain kind and understanding despite everything she had endured.

But there was something else, too— a coldness in her smile, a hint of something dark lurking beneath her gentle exterior.

Before you could dwell on it, Mirah's expression softened, and she looked at you with concern. "You look exhausted," she said, her voice gentle. "Have you eaten anything recently?"

As if on cue, your stomach let out a loud, embarrassing growl, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Mirah let out a light, melodic laugh that made your heart skip a beat. There was something about her laugh, the way her green eyes sparkled with warmth, that made you momentarily forget the danger you were in.

You found yourself thinking, 'She has such a beautiful laugh,' but you kept the thought to yourself. Or at least, you thought you did.

Mirah's smile widened, but there was something strange about it— something that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "Thank you," she said sweetly. "That's very kind of you to say."

You blinked, startled. You were sure you hadn't spoken out loud. So how had she heard you?

You stood there, the realization of the situation your are currently in began to press down on you. You had escaped one danger only to find yourself in the company of someone who was, perhaps, even more dangerous. Maybe.

But for now, you had no choice but to trust her. You were exhausted, hungry, and completely out of options.

Mirah returned a few moments later with a bowl of steaming stew and a slice of bread. "Eat," she said, placing the food in front of you. "You'll feel better with some food in your stomach."

You hesitated for just a moment, your mind racing with doubts, before hunger overpowered your fear.

You took the bowl and began to eat, the warm stew soothing your parched throat and aching body.

Mirah watched you closely, her green eyes never leaving your face, as if she were studying your every move.

As you ate, the weight of her gaze began to feel oppressive, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. But you were too tired, too hungry, to care. All you wanted was to get through this meal, find a place to rest, and figure out what to do next.

When you finished, Mirah took the empty bowl from your hands and set it aside. "You should rest," she said softly, her voice laced with an almost motherly concern. "You've been through a lot."

You nodded, too exhausted to argue. Mirah led you to a small, simple bed in a corner of the room, the sheets clean but worn.

You lay down, your body sinking into the mattress, and for the first time since you had fled into the forest, you felt a small measure of safety. But as you drifted off to sleep, Mirah's words echoed in your mind.

"There is a witch in these woods— a real one."

And as the darkness claimed you, you couldn't help but wonder… had you really just walked into her home?