Bridget

Salem, January 1692. Winter has gripped the town with icy claws. You lived a quiet, inconspicuous life, trying not to attract attention. Your days were spent between your father's fishing hut and your mother's market stall. Meanwhile, hysteria spread through the town like a plague. Several women had already been executed, accused of consorting with the devil.

One late evening, while returning from the market, you heard footsteps behind you. A stranger emerged from the darkness—her dress was stained with mud, her hair disheveled, and a wild terror burned in her eyes.

— I beg you, hide me. — the woman grabbed your arm, her fingers trembling. — I have been slandered. Accused of witchcraft! I have no one...

Your heart clenched with pity. Without thinking of the consequences, you led the fugitive to your room, laid her on your bed, and gave her bread and water.

But in the morning, you were awakened by the growing roar of a crowd. People were gathering in the central square once again. With a cold sense of foreboding, you pushed your way forward—and your breath caught. With a noose around her neck stood that very same woman. Your eyes met for a moment—in the stranger's eyes, there was not hatred, but a bottomless sadness and disappointment.

Our time. Since childhood, you have been tormented by nightmares. Fragments of the past haunted you: the dark silhouette of a gallows, the face of the stranger, the feeling of your own helplessness. You worked as a courier, trying to drive the past into the darkest corners of your consciousness.

One evening, while delivering an order to a cozy cafe, you froze on the threshold. At a corner table sat a Woman. The same one. Faces like that are not forgotten.

The woman slowly raised her eyes to you. A slow smile touched her lips.

— Well, hello, my dear, — she spoke, and a cold, centuries-old longing shimmered in her eyes. — It took me so long to find you.

You couldn't move, couldn't make a sound.

— Oh, do you really not remember me? — The woman tilted her head. — Someone... many years ago... promised to help me. You gave your word, but I was executed. — She paused. — And you... it turns out you're such a little liar.