Niavella had always admired the hero.

Even when the bakery aunt cursed her for touching the bread or when the city guards looked at her with disgust, she could keep smiling because of the hope the hero gave her.

A hero straight out of a fairy tale. He was a kind and strong person.

Niavella lived, clinging to the hope that one day, the hero would appear. However, the more hope she had, the crueler the people around her became.

There was only one reason.

Because she was the daughter of a witch. And the daughter of a witch would …