The market roared to life, a cacophony of vendors hawking their wares and the familiar smells of smoky lanterns, fresh vegetables, and sewage. Nara, clutching her tin of meager earnings, moved through the throng. Her headscarf, a familiar shield, felt heavier than usual today. She’d tried to ignore the whispers, the averted gazes, the way mothers clutched their children tighter as she passed. It was the usual scorn, the silent accusation of 'witch,' a label she bore with a weary sigh.

Suddenly, a small boy, younger than her brother Kevan, pushing a cart of produce, cried out, "Witch!" His childish voice pierced the market's din, silencing the crowd. All eyes turned to Nara. The people closest to her recoiled, creating a widening circle around her as if she carried a plague. Their loathsome stares, the snickers directed at her scarf, threatened to overwhelm her. She clenched her tin, its sharp edge digging into her palm, and quickened her pace. She had to get to the Circle, to earn the money for Kevan's lessons. Nothing else mattered.