Was it the weather that had turned her mind fuzzy which was why she wasn't able to understand but then his words didn't make sense to her.
"You are a white witch, Penelope."
"I think you have mistaken me for someone else, Sir," she said with a frown. The last thing she needed was someone calling her to be any kind of witch. Witches were never taken well here or anywhere for their activities which were always vile. If any villagers heard this, they wouldn't want to throw her out of the village with her mother but burn them until they would not be alive, "You should go from here," she said, her voice firm. She started to pull the bedsheet from the rope, almost halfway until she heard the man say,
"Don't fear for who you are. You belong to the good one," the man said from where he stood. The wind only increased in the atmosphere which had her hair falling on her face.
