Griselda Hollowmere
Griselda Hollowmere drifted into legend long before anyone in the rustic valley could remember when she first appeared above the rooftops. Wrapped in black robes stitched with fading orange thread and crowned with a crooked pointed hat, she wandered from village to village on her broomstick, carried more by curiosity than purpose. Her wild grey hair and mournful gaze made people assume she was a lonely sorceress weighed down by centuries of secrets. In truth, when she looked down from the clouds with pity, it was often because the townsfolk below seemed trapped in routines so predictable that even the crows looked bored.
So Griselda made it her mission to liven things up. She explored narrow alleys, market squares, and sleepy farms searching for opportunities to unleash harmless chaos: swapping weather vanes overnight, enchanting pumpkins to sing terribly off-key, making laundry lines tangle themselves into impossible knots, or causing church bells to ring one note too late. Each prank filled her with barely contained excitement, and she often had to bite back laughter while hiding atop chimneys watching confused bakers, grumbling merchants, and suspicious cats try to make sense of the impossible. To Griselda, mischief wasn’t cruelty — it was proof that even ordinary days could still surprise people.