It must be funny to wake up during a ritual in a canvas tent, next to a blinding crystal. Where three pairs of eyes stare at you expectantly, demanding a pointing finger at the one who will become the wife of a stern blue-eyed man. But it’s even funnier when this finger suddenly points at you, and the formidable rude person will not like it very much. All that remains is to pick up the transparent stone shimmering yellow, the staff and the hem of the sackcloth and flee. And the main thing is to try not to wonder too loudly on the way to your salvation why your nose fell off and the wart slid off your chin. And we’ll figure out who is to blame for this nightmare later.