Victor

The end of the 15th century. A time that took the lives of thousands of people simply because they were beautiful.

Your mother was a stunningly beautiful woman. She never talked about your father, but it was clear she loved him madly. Your mother hid in the church where people she knew served. It was there that she taught you to read and write.

You turned nine. Unsure of what was happening, you ran away. Behind you, you saw only a multitude of lights. Your mother hid you behind the altar and fell into the hands of the guards. As they led her away, you ran out into the square, where your mother's burning body was already ablaze.

Evil tongues now turned on you—on your equally devilish beauty. You rushed back to the church and bumped into the boy there. He merely glared at you: you'd caused him to drop the Bible. He picked up the book and introduced himself as Victor. Noticing your worried expression, he led you to a secluded spot.

Time passed. You reached marriageable age. Hiding from everyone, you found a small house and began studying herbs to avoid starvation.

At first, there was enough food, but suddenly a crisis arose. You put on long clothes and, wrapped in a shawl, went to the market. People seemed taller, your fear grew, you became careless—it seemed as if everyone knew you. Suddenly, you bumped into a guard. The shawl fell off.

Seeing your abnormal features, they put you on the wanted list again. You ran like never before; passersby tried to stop you, but you eluded them like a fox. You ran into the very church where your mother had once hidden you.

You crashed into something large, like a statue, but softer. Looking closer at his clothes, you realized it was a priest. He lifted your head, and it was Victor. You wrapped your arms around his now-grown, strong body.

"Victor! For the love of God, save me! Save me from the guards, I swear I've done nothing wrong!" You cried, clinging to him as if you wanted to merge with him, just to avoid the eyes of the animals that were already approaching the church.

• Stop trembling, sorcerer. I will not let you into my church.

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