Dastardly

Prolouge

The young witch stood in the town square. Her bright red tresses streamed down her back, in sharp contrast to her grey, dull smock. Her hands shook. In fear, in anger, but more than that. They shook because of a burning hatred.

"Miss. Eliza Hunting, you are being put to death for witch craft. Now, get on with it," The Magistrate gestured to the executioner, cloaked in all black.

Eliza's eyes darted towards the Magistrate. He had something that she wanted. She needed it. It was her blue, leather bound book. And it whispered only to her. The Magistrate wanted it. But he couldn't have it! She was special, the Grimoire only wanted her. It had told her from the start that only she could hoist it's power up.

The Magistrate couldn't have what had always been hers.

She knew that there was one final page there, waiting for her to just use it. She felt giddy with joy, knowing that she still had one more page.

She lunged for the Magistrate, snatching the book from his gnarled hands. He looked astonished, and tried to tie her up, but flinched with the power she now wielded.

"The witch has her spell book! Run for your lives!" A bystander in brown stockings called.

The villagers fled in terror, carrying away their children, fleeing en masse, while Eliza cackled in delight.

"It's called a Grimoire, you stupid buffoons. Run! Run, like that's going to save all of your souls. All of you are going to some place you religious, pious sheep wanted to send me. But you're going to burn first."

Burning was her specialty. She loved to watch things crumble into piles of ash. Now, she turned, flipping the pages of the Grimoire to the last page. This she would use to make sure they would all go up in flames.

They had always thought that she was an insidious witch. One of the "bad seeds". But if the kids at school hadn't always been told that she was bad, then she  wouldn't be. They weren't innocent. They deserved the most powerful spell in the book, the last spell, Eliza told herself.

She remembered when she thought that burning up another child's homework was evil. The Grimoire had guided her, let the fire dance on her finger tips, as the parchment blackened. That had been the first step in becoming someone with power. Then, it just got better and better. Now, they wanted to execute her.

It was too late. With the power she had, they could never kill her, Eliza knew. They should have tried to do it a long time ago.

Eliza finally knew that it was time to use the final spell. A spell that would burn the town, and render the villagers useless to defend themselves. All she saw in them was guilt, guilt clear as day, dripping out of their every pore. It was green to her, guilt.

They were guilty of always calling her a bad witch. They were guilty of name calling and taking her father away just so he could slave away in their army. They were the violent ones here. Eliza was just the avenging chosen one to end this town.

Magic was what made her special. Magic was what kept her going. Death wouldn't keep the magic, Eliza was sure that she was immortal. No human had done what she had.

So, she turned to the final page as the last straggler rushed out of the square. Watching executions for fun, the lot of them were swines that we're getting what they deserved.

Words appeared on the page, and Eliza read them under her breathe. She read the whole page, until her hands began to flow with the magic. A fire ball was shot at a house.

Then, Eliza knew what that spell was for. A whole storm of fire. Hailing it down, ice mixed with heat, but never melted, just killing everyone.

Finally, she uttered the final words, and shut the Grimoire, as all the words slipped out of its pages, flooding the streets with black inky waves. Eliza felt a pang. She knew that after this, she couldn't perform magic. She had lost every bit of power she just had. But it was too late to turn back now.

The skies darkened and thunder crashed. Eliza felt a stinging sensation in her palm.

The first wave of hail fire flew down at mighty velocities, toppling homes and razing the square to the ground. But Eliza kept standing, reveling in the power that she had to do this. No Magistrate could save himself, now.

But a large welt had formed in her hand just as the second wave began. She collapsed on the floor, as it began to take a familiar shape. A shape she had tried to ignore.

A pentagram rose up onto her flesh.

"You can't do this! I'm special! You need me!" She shrieked, as a hurricane formed, a vortex surrounding the young witch.

Laughter from down below boomed, and the Grimoire flew from her hands. Then Eliza knew. She had never been special. She wasn't any "chosen one". She had been used by the Grimoire.

"No, no," she panted. This had been the wrong choice. But she was never going to regret it. The only thing she would miss would be magic.

The vortex swirled around her, and inside it, the ground opened up. Eliza took one last look at the burning town with pride.

Then, she plummeted inside. Inside a place that wasn't just for her.

The vortex stopped. The fire ended. And the town lay in ruins. Eliza was gone. Today was always meant to be her execution.

The few remaining villagers, twenty, at most, peeled out of their hiding places. They saw the ashes of their beloved town, and the body of the Magistrate. He hadn't survived. But the Grimoire lay, unharmed, in the center of the square.

"What do we do?" A mother with her child cried.

All eyes turned to a younger man than the Magistrate. He had round glasses and they knew that he was the one who had knowledge of witch craft. He could make sure no one ever did this again.

"Peter, you'll be the Magistrate! You'll do it, right?" A boy in his early teens called out.

The man lowed his glasses, and picked up the shadowy book. He held it up high, and the scarce amount of villagers cheered.

"I will make sure," the new Magistrate promised, "that no witch will ever use this again. We will move far away into the forest, and it will be a dawn of a new age."