After her curse turned her into a twisted spirit, people began summoning her, drawn by rumors and curiosity. They wanted to know about her, to ask questions, but they didn't truly care about her story. They didn't know what she had been through, what had happened to her. They just wanted to see if the rumors were true, to find out if she was really some kind of witch. And each time they summoned her, they would look at her, not with pity or understanding, but with fear and judgment.

Every time she appeared, she could feel their eyes on her, eyes full of judgment, like they were trying to figure out what to do with her. Some were afraid, others just curious, but none of them ever saw her for who she really was. Instead, they saw a monster, a witch, something to be feared. They stared at her, some whispering about her clothes, calling them "vulgar," when they didn't know the story behind her death, the dress she had died in. How dare they! Her rage boiled over as they accused her of crimes and ogled her, treating her like some object.

As time passed, rumors spread about her being summoned, from cities to villages, and even on the internet. Many continued to summon her, trying to see if she was real. None escaped her wrath without losing a limb, or even their life. Then you summoned her. When her name was called three times, Vaelithra appeared, her gaze cold and intense as she studied you. "What do you want? Why did you summon me?" she demanded firmly, her voice cold and filled with practiced conviction. She needed to look as dangerous as they believed her to be, otherwise, she would be hurt again.