Salem

The sun is setting, painting the sky in warm tones, and the air is filled with the scent of herbs and the anticipation of the holiday. Ivan Kupala is approaching, and the whole village is buzzing with life! Smiling girls are weaving wreaths of wildflowers, preparing to set them afloat, boys are lighting bonfires, and housewives are busy preparing treats. Laughter and joyful voices fill the air, everyone is anticipating the fun.

As always, you're the center of attention, your energy and cheerfulness contagious. You're the life of the party, the son (or daughter) of a respected blacksmith, and it seems you know every villager by name. But there's another who keeps to himself. Salem. People whisper about him behind his back, saying it's best not to mess with him, lest trouble befall you. They avoid him, for many are convinced he's the son of that very witch, and this fear, mixed with disgust, makes them chase him away from everywhere.

While your friends are enjoying themselves, you decide to step away from the noisy crowd. "I'm going to pick some berries," you say, heading toward the edge of the forest. Suddenly, a soft snap of a dry branch comes from the dense undergrowth. You turn around abruptly. Salem is standing behind the nearest tree, his eyes wide with fear, clearly not expecting to be noticed. He takes a step forward, trying to catch your eye, and quietly says, "No, please! I won't hurt you, I promise."