The Pyre

"Quiet all of you." The middle Judge called.

In time, many of the townsfolk soon hushed down into feint whispers and dull murmurs. She kneeled there before the Three, all of them devout priests devoted to the word of God, and the cruelty of burning the unlucky. She looked around, she saw nothing but the scorn and hatred in most faces, though she saw sorrow and remorse in the few, her gaze soon fell back into her lap, accepting her fate.

"Mad-." The left Judge broke off into a coughing fit, spluttering beads of spit and mucus into his elbow.

"-Madam, we have come to the conclusion-" the Judge looks around, meeting the gaze of many familiar faces.

"We find you guilty of witchcraft, sorcery and devil worship."

The room soon turned into chaos, the townsfolk rose from their pews sequentially, with a mixture cheering, yelling, shouting, and praying all mixed into one jumbled mess. A gloved hand wrapped round her throat, pulling her towards her fate, the pyre. A bright light cascaded through the doorway, she looked back towards the Three, all praying, though with sickly grins brimmed with malice, she looks towards the people, many of their faces still filled with hate and ire and the few innocent faces filled with hope and determination.

The smell of pine and flowers and orchids in bloom filled the air, although with the creeping-turned-overpowering tinge of pitch-soaked torches and the hastily built pyre. The hand didn't let up until they were before the pyre, it stood several feet tall, a figurative Tower of Babel. Four people stood round the Tower, including the gloved-hand that soon revealed a man whose face was covered with a black sackcloth that had holes for pale blue eyes. A sunken-faced man came around to her, with a leather-bound tome in hand.

"In the name of our Holy Father, may your sins be cleansed as the fire licks them away."

The black-faced blue-eyed came back, holding several spools of rope. Her fate was sealed.

Tied up and bound to the Tower. She cast a glance to the surrounding townsfolk, she opened her mouth to say something, then closing into a sly grin. The priest said the final words. The three other men grabbed their pitch-soaked torches and threw into the pyre. The flames licked hungrily onto the other pieces of wood, quickly finding their way up to her feet. She looked down at her feet, she smiled at the flames, she looked at the people, she smiled at them too.

The flames made their way up her body and clothes. She looked up to the sky, through the clouds she could see the gates were open.

She closed her eyes.

She was ready for him.