The sun shines upon the wooden architecture of the village with a casual radiance, highlighting the rotting wood and rusted metal patches that make up the walls of the buildings here. Villagers go about their days naturally, their daily routines engrained into their very being. Fred, probably the most handsome young man in the village, moves about helping his father at the lumber mill, the fishermen have just returned with this morning's catch, and various villagers are patching up the gaps in their roofs in preparation for the stormy days to come.
Lucille Bran sits on her front porch, her eyes distant from the village before her. Her father has always complained about her losing her head in the clouds, but how could she not with the bleak, monotone atmosphere of the village? For most of the girls her age, there's nothing more than the life they were born into. But Lucille can't help but dream of a more lavish life living in one of the great cities with a husband envied by all. Or perhaps she could take her aunt Gladys' path and make a life for herself without a man. Though, that is easier said than done in a world dominated by men.
"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be picking the rice, not daydreaming."
The voice snaps Lucille out of her head, and she quickly turns to find her mother standing before her.
"Come on, Lucille. That rice's for lunch. Your father will be back from the field soon, and he's probably worked up quite an appetite."
"Alright, ma."
Lucille's younger sister Jessica stands by the doorway. She says nothing, but looks at Lucille with a smug look that suggests everything unsaid. The brat has probably already finished up her own chores and thinks she's better for it.
Ben, another village boy, though nowhere as handsome as Fred, rushes into the village square.
"We have a visitor!" He announces, quickly rushing into his home, probably to call his father.
Lucille's father also soon appears, back from the field a little earlier than usual. Being the village chief, he'll most definitely want to meet the visitor and find out the reason for their visit.
The visitor arrives soon after just as Lucille's father steps out of his house, now wearing a fresh shirt and having washed off the grime from his face. He quickly approaches the visitor, a young man, probably not that much older than Lucille, his eyes like an icy lake, his gaze just as cold — calm and calculated. He examined the village intensely.
"Hello. Welcome to the village of Springfield," Lucille's father starts. "My name is Darren. I am the chief of this small village."
Lucille's father, now identified s Darren, stretches out his freshly washed hands. The visitor responds with a firm shake and a casual smile.
"Thank you for the warm welcome," the young man responds. He then hesitates a second, seemingly unsure of his next words. "My name is Grayson."
The name sounds rough and somewhat forced. Darren squints his eyes slightly, having caught on, but smiles and dismisses it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he adds.
"Likewise."
The stranger, now identified as Grayson, is a rather handsome young man, and from the way he is dressed, he is clearly no simple villager. His clothes are a black cloak with deep purple trimming, a matching pair of pants and a beautiful white shirt underneath his cloak. Lucille's heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Perhaps he's some noble son who would finally rescue her from the hell that is village life.