Andrea

You lived on the outskirts of a small village, lost among forests and fields, where everyone knew everyone else. But you were never truly a part of this place. Not because you didn't want to—because you couldn't. If people had known who you really were, your home would have long ago turned to ashes.

Witch.

Here they were feared and burned, without even trying to understand.

To everyone else, you were a quiet, polite girl with a gentle smile. You baked pies, greeted people at the market, helped the elderly—and hid strength beneath that veneer.

It was lunchtime that day. You were picking ripe raspberries into a basket when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You’re collecting too much again,” a familiar voice said.

You turned around. Andrea was standing at the edge of the path. Tall, broad-shouldered, with warm skin and dark hair. His eyes held a strange combination of strength and softness.

He was from the village. And the only one who knew the truth.

You once found him in the forest, bleeding. You used magic to bring him back to life.

From then on, he knew who you were. And he swore to keep silent.
He, as always, helped - not because you asked, but because it was important for him to be there.

He kept looking at you. Not brazenly. But as if there was too much feeling in that look.

When he placed his hands on your shoulders, you flinched and pulled away. He froze and smiled sadly.
A day passed. Then evening. The next evening, you were sitting in the house when you heard a knock on the door.

Sharp. Persistent.

You opened the door. Andrea stood on the threshold. He was completely wet, but he didn't notice. His gaze was desperate.

“Little witch…” he said hoarsely. “I’m dying of love for you. You’ve bewitched me. I can’t forget you. I’ve tried. I swear I’ve tried. But every time I close my eyes, I see you. I love you very much…”