How To Burn A Witch |DISCONTINUED|

Prologue

The witch didn't fight back as the villagers broke down her door. She let out a sigh and walked towards them, her bare feet echoing through the halls of her home as the people stood in front of her door, brandishing their pitchforks and screaming accusations.

She tied herself to the pole and shot them all a look as if to say, "So are you going to burn me or what?" The bored look on her face caused the villagers to silently put their torches and pitchforks away, shooting a confused look at the woman they accused of being a witch.

"No fighting back? You're just going to accept your fate?"

The witch shrugged as though it wasn't the first time they were trying to burn her at the stake and signalled at the man leading the riot to start moving.

As they reached the center of the village, the rioters planted the pole the witch was tied to into a large pile of hay and waited for their priest.

"Madame, you are being accused of the worst crime of all: witchcraft. How do you plead?" the woman shrugged, her snow-white hair bouncing on her shoulders as she kept her mouth shut.

"You have to plead, madame, else you will be burned immediately."

The witch let out a defeated sigh, "However I plead, you and your people will only ever see me as guilty. No matter how many times you have come begging for my potions and herbs to help you with headaches and illness, you will always fear looking into my eyes and avoid being near me longer than necessary at all cost. So what is the point of even playing this game, Frère Mathieu?"

Her bored tone shocked the priest to his core, "You're about to burn me at the stake for a crime you accuse me of with no credible proof."

Noticing the villager's hesitation, the priest spoke up before she could get another sentence out of her mouth, "Can't you see her wicked tongue?! She's got le Kazmeralki in her, I'm telling you!"

The witch let out a small chuckle and stared off into the distance, feeling the wind blow through her white locks as she watched the setting sun stain the sky a red so deep it looked like blood. The colors reflected onto the sea and painted the waves the same deep shade of crimson.

A small smile made its way onto the witch's face, the rioters and priest long forgotten until she felt a sting on her left cheek. "Listen when you are spoken to, rerra pute!" exclaimed one of the villagers, a man the witch remembered to have treated for bronchitis.

"Be careful, François!" exclaimed Madelaine, his wife, "She might curse you!"

The witch let out a huff of laughter, "You people call anything you cannot understand witchcraft. What do you think the practice is, anyway?" she asked, an amused flame dancing in her eyes as she met the gaze of every villager in the group.

"Is it a balm given to you by a healer to ease your nerves? The rosewater every girl in town is currently wearing? Or perhaps is it anything that seems out of the ordinary to you?"

The priest shook his head and grabbed François' torch, "How do you plead, rasyaira du Kazmeralki?"

The witch paused and pretended to think for an answer. Her shoulders shook as she tried to conceal her laughter. "Guilty. I plead guilty."

The villagers let out a gasp while the priest shook his head disapprovingly. Then, he set fire to the hay the witch stood upon.

The fire licked at the witch's bare feet hungrily and devoured her. She did not scream. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her suffer.

Instead, she looked at the scenery before her one last time, closed her eyes, and started chanting:

Vengeful winter,

Come to my aid,

Lend me your unforgiving ice,

To freeze over this hellish blaze.

The witch slowly opened her eyes, noting that the burning feeling that had been travelling up her leg was now gone.

She looked around, her blue eyes searching for the rioters, only to find huge blocks of ice where they once stood.

She felt a biting cold run up her midsection and looked down, watching as the ice travelled up her arms and shoulders.

She let out a loud laugh and threw her head back as far as the pole allowed her. Her laughter continued until she was nothing more than a statue of ice, knowing a day would come when an idiot would set her free and she would unleash hell onto the world.