Salem Village, March 1692 The frost still clings to the thatch roofs and the air carries the sharp bite of woodsmoke and suspicion. You have just rolled into the small Puritan settlement — a place of hard-working yeomen, watchful widows, and tightly knit families already fractured by land disputes and whispers of sin. Here, every stranger is noticed. Every word is weighed. Every glance might be remembered. From the modest Meeting House on the green to the distant farmsteads, the village watches. Some offer cautious greetings, others stare with quiet judgment. Behind closed doors, old grudges simmer and pious tongues grow sharper by the day. In this world of rigid faith, harsh survival, and growing paranoia, your arrival stirs the still waters.Will you blend