Crescent Shaped Soul - Amethyst of Deception

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Townsfolk gathered at their town's marketplace on a gloomy, cloudy autumn day, yet not to do their everyday shopping, but a much more wicked purpose. The young witch, hood concealing her identity as well as well as that old rag possibly could, was amongst the people gathered around the stake. They were chanting, “Burn the witch”, as they waited for the carriage in which the accused witch was brought to her soon demise.
The young witch frowned. If only she had proceeded to kill Marshall's heir that decade ago, maybe this wouldn’t be her mother brought to the stake now. To add insult to the injury, it had turned out that the hunter's wife had been pregnant with twins, two more witch hunters which were after her kin's head. Even if they were only a mere ten years of age now, they'll follow their father's footsteps all to soon, once that old man will finally drop dead.
Her brother, standing next to her in the same hood and sensing her boiling disdain, placed a hand on her shoulder, in an attempt to calm her as much as possible. “Cassie, “ he said compassionately, “don't beat yourself up over this, it's nothing you could have prevented.”
She scoffed, brushing his hand off her shoulder. “Maybe. But it doesn't change the fact that that's our mother that will stand in the flames. I could be next, and yet you just want to run off with your friend there and study some scrolls mother has given you.” The young witch tightened her hood around her. “We're her children. It won't take long till Marshall tracks us down too. Save your breath, brother.”
Just then, another cloaked figure appeared behind the two siblings, taking his place next to the young man. “Hey, Sirius, Cassiopeia,” he greeted the two, the former mentioned nodded back at him, while the latter didn’t respond at all. “Sorry if I'm late. I couldn’t bear to let you two alone in this situation.”
“It's alright, Caelum. You're on time,” the young man responded, adjusting his own coat just a little once again, as it was slipping off his head.
She shot him a glance. Caelum was no witch, unlike her brother or herself. He was the only remaining son of the town’s puppeteer. So how could he possibly understand what she’s feeling, losing her mother. Her eyes crinkled at him bitterly, and she turned away from the younger man.
The man that joined the two wanted to ask if his sister was alright, but he knew to judge the situation better. She was the oldest of the three of them, and the most worried, for both her little brother and him. They had offered her to come with them, yet she didn't want to go anywhere. She just wanted to protect her mother.  Even the distance between the siblings spoke volumes, Sirius didn't seem to care much about this ordeal anymore, just that he wanted this to end. Yet Caelum saw the conflict in his eyes. He wanted to carry out their mother's wish, to study the scrolls which his mother had left him.
His train of thought was interrupted by the witch hunter standing up to speak to the people that had gathered with their torches and pitchforks. It made the young witches blood boil, to see him all proud, standing there and riling up their fellows. He announced the arrival of the witch he had caught.
There, in the back of the carriage, sat the witches mother in a long, white robe, somber expression painted on her face, having long accepted this fate, almost as if she had foreseen it. The young witch wanted to run towards her, to help her mother, to get her out of this and maybe even get Marshall down in the process, but she was stopped by her brother, who didn't want her to get caught.
The accused witch was led up the stake, the dry wood and straw poking her bare feet. Her long, black hair had been cut short, wrecking the once beautiful woman's appearance even more.
Marshall took one of the burning torches from his wife, who was holding their two sons away from the stake. Once the witch was securely bound to the stake, he approached her, a smug smile on his lips as he held the burning flame infront of her face, scorching off some of her remaining hair,  “Any last words, Barbara Astrados? Do you stand by that Rhymia's powers, for she has cursed your soul?”
The witch didn't attempt any resistance, and simply answered to the hunter, “I wish for the world not to remember me as Barbara, the name you have given me, but as Aelia, the name I carried since my birth.”
Hunter Marshall shrugged, indifferent, maybe even just a little disappointed, “Very well then.” And with those words, he stepped down from the pile, and let the torch fall, igniting the stake, flames dancing their way upwards to Aelia's feet. The crowd around them erupted in cheers, their previous chanting resurfacing.
The burning witch stayed quiet, not screaming or crying in pain like her kin did, but instead staying as quiet as the night.
Her two children, who were watching, eyed her closely. The young witch turned to her little brother, even if he wasn't as little anymore, and hugged him tight, feeling his tears dampen the fabric on her shoulder, while her eyes started to water too. Even Caelum placed a comforting hand on the other boy's shoulder, offering some solace.
The oldest girl of the three patted Caelum's shoulder, even if he wasn't part of their family. She’s always seen both boys as her brothers, even if not in blood. Caelum was the youngest of the three, then her brother, then herself. They didn’t have a big age gap, which let her sympathise with them more.
All noise suddenly seemed to fade into the background, only the rising fire falling into her eyes. Everything felt surreal, maybe in fear, maybe in despair, she couldn’t tell. her ears were ringing, so loud it was deafening, her pulse through the roof. Her eyes were following the people who were extinguishing the fire, her mother having been eaten up by the flames till nothing remained. The young witch would later come to realise that the duration of the fire was too short to burn a body.
Yet all that was echoing in her ears, almost in her mother’s voice was,
“Flee, Cassiopeia, FLEE.”
…
Before Cassiopeia could comprehend it, she stood in her old home again. The moon seemed to cast an unnatural purple glow on the room. Perhaps it were just the dirty windows needing cleaning. The room felt muted, the fire that used to crackle beneath the cauldron having died down. The potions on the shelves, once emitting an ethereal glow, became dull, their effects faded into nothingness, all that remained was a foul mix of water and whatever ingredients had been added.
The scrolls Sirius had been talking about were gone from the upper shelves. He must have taken them. All he left was a note, attached to a black brooch, in a golden casing designed with wings. She shoved it aside, and took the note, unfolding it carefully. Unlike other folk, witches weren't illiterate. This was to have the ability to read their spell books and came in handy when getting rid of the documented evidence of their witchcraft. But sometimes, while trying to blend in, it was more of a curse than a blessing. Cassiopeia shook her head, reading the note her brother left her,
“Dear Cassiopeia,
I will try to keep this as short as possible. I wish to honor mother’s wishes, and so, I have taken the scrolls she’s left me, and going to study them. Caelum came with me, so don’t bother trying to find him. This is what mother foretold us.
I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye in person.
Love, your brother,
Sirius
Ps: Mother also told me to leave you this brooch, saying that you’ll need it someday. That’s all she said about it. And that you should flee to the monastery near the border. They hide witches such as yourself from hunters”
The young witch crumpled the letter, and threw it into the remaining embers beneath the cauldron. She couldn’t grasp why he’d leave her in such a dire situation, knowing she’d probably be the next on the stake.
In an attempt to distract herself, she pinned the brooch on her robe, just a little to the right from her collarbone. The black middle part contrasted with her white hair flowing down her shoulders, but in comparison to her old and worn robes, it felt refined, a little solace in the situation.
Returning to her room, she took what little clothes she had, her spell book, and shoved a few potions into her bag, while still being careful that the beakers wouldn't break. In her hurry, she accidentally stumbled over the remaining embers beneath the cauldron, scattering them over the old, wooden floor. “Curses,” the young witch muttered to herself, before making her way out.
The full, glowing moon illuminated her way, it's fine white light guiding her through the darkness. Halfway through the town square, she heard yelling coming from the direction of her house.
Sneaking behind a nearby tree, she saw her neighbours outside, calling for help while other men were carrying buckets of water, to her house. Cassiopeia thought she might have to gag, seeing fire once again.
But perhaps it was good that that house would be reduced to ashes.
Noone would remember her being a witch. Noone could find the needed evidence.
Until the past would catch up.