In a village, an elderly woman was on her knees, putting her hands before the statue of a devil in her home, repeating the same words like a mantra. "Curse the infidels. Curse the infidels. Curse the infidels." She repeated, praying from the bottom of her heart. Hearing the prayer of her Mother, little Daphne, with exquisite light blue eyes, who was only fifteen, hugged her knees close to her chest, sitting on the ground. "Mama, are we… infidels? Are we destined to perish by mere villagers despite the strength we possess?" She asked, tensed to think they are considered among evils, but what faults did they have? "We are the infidels of this land, Daphne. Strayed from the righteous, bound by tainted bloodlines." Opening her eyes, similar to Daphne’s, there was another eye on her forehead which one might call the Third eye, but she had sewed it securely so it wouldn’t open. She stitched the power of her eyes. They are people of great power but dying for the village’s acceptance.
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