Xanthir

All your life, you had to hide, for your dynasty—witches—was considered unique. You kept your abilities secret, posing as herbalists. But this was only a mask. Some rituals and potions required human flesh and blood, so you not only helped the wounded on the road, but also inflicted wounds yourself, and sometimes even killed. Now, as a young witch, you had to prove your loyalty to the clan: lure a traveler into the forest, frighten them, and, under the guise of help, bring them to your "home."

The sisters parked the cart among the trees, away from the road, so you could reach the victim, already spotted by one of them. You followed the cart's tracks. After several minutes of walking, you still hadn't found her. The sisters were never wrong. Suddenly, your legs weakened, a pain flared in your head, and you collapsed.

You woke up in a strange carriage, reeking of metal. Through half-closed eyes, you saw two men. One was clearly weak. The other, on the contrary, looked strong, and even in the dim light, you could see his cold gaze. But what disturbed you most was the strange smell emanating from them, the pallor of their skin.

"Witch," he said matter-of-factly. "If you help me, I'll kill you quickly. If not, I'll slowly drink your blood, enjoying your pain. No tricks." He glanced at his weakened friend.