Witch's Gambit

Awakened & Afraid

"I'm not a Witch!"

The cry of the young woman seemed to go unheard by the crowd of villagers, letting out cries of their own.

"Kill the Witch!"

"Shame on you, cursing our village!"

"Vile creature!"

"Demon's minion!"

The young woman on the podium was familar to Ailana. The baker's daughter, Sitia. She had always been kind to the other villagers, offering what little she had to those she had left.

It was a pity that any good will was thrown away the second the word Witch was attached.

And all over a dead goat or two.

"People of Cecilio, I give you your Witch!"

The nasally voice of Witchhunter Abaddon brought the cries of the crowd to new heights. Ailana felt her father's hand grip her's tighter. He was one of the few people not participating in the yelling of the crowd, trembling as he listened to them.

Till the very end, Ailana remembered Sitia pleading and crying about her innocence. No one had listened. Not her parents, her siblings, or even her husband. She had been completely abandoned. Yet she continued to plead.

Even when she was put into that terrible Witch killing device. The Boiler, she recalled it like she had forgotten. The already tied up Sitia had been tossed into the contraption and still continued to beg and scream as the top was screwed on.

They truly had to go the full mile and make sure the device amplified her cries.

She remembered watching the water be poured inside of the metal killing machine, the bottom of it being lit, the bubbling sound of the water, and especially...

Sitia's screams of anguish that eventually ebbed into silence, nothing but the bubbling of water taking its place. To the village's delight.

Ailana had been 7 when that Witch Execution had happened. It hadn't been her first, nor was it her last, but it was one of the more memorable ones. One that haunted her. She couldn't be around a pot of boiling water without retching.

At least it hadn't been one of the devices where she could see their face.

Her father would always whisper under his breath after every execution, face grim. "They're becoming more and more savage."

Of course, her father would know the most about that. He had been alive and living in Cecilio for much longer than she had. He had seen many more deaths than her.

He had seen her mother's execution.

It was no wonder they both had been ostracized. The widow of a Witch and the offspring of a Witch. Ailana could not help but scoff to herself at the supposed wickedness both her and her father held in themselves.

Their only wickedness was being witness to these crimes against humanity and doing nothing. The wickedness of the other villagers laid in their methods of killing Witches. Truly, who was more wicked in this situation?

It did not matter who was more wicked. What mattered was who was a Witch and who was a human. Nothing more and nothing less. That was why Ailana could do nothing but silently curse herself as she stared at the corner of her worn room, the dry and loose dirt breaking through her floors. But that was not the only thing there.

Although it was quite small, she could still see the thing she had only seen in books. A small, green, budding plant. All curled up in her corner looking innocent.

Ailana could feel her legs trembling as she wobbled over to the small plant, vision a bit blurry.

This wasn't real. It just couldn't be.

She kneeled down in the corner and gently raised the plant from the loose, light ground. Roots and all. Her hands began to shake as the roots began to circle her fingers in an almost comforting manner. Instead, they brought the opposite effect about. A choked sob came from out her mouth, tears sliding down her cheeks as her thin body trembled and seemed to lose all strength.

She was a Witch. And if anyone ever found out about it, they'd drag her through the streets by her scalp and kill her for everyone to see.

Her sobs couldn't help but grow louder at the thought. What device would they use on her? The Stretcher? The Flattener? The Roaster? Or perhaps The Boiler? What would her father's expression be as he had to watch his only child be killed among the cheering of a crowd?

Ailana felt the little plant in her hand tremble with her, feeling her terror, her anguish. She could only steel herself mentally as her body would not stop its shaking.

She did not know what method of death the people of Cecilio might give to her, but she did not wish to stay and figure it out. She needed to leave.

Or at least die trying.

[ *Stares down at the character I wish to make miserable* ]