Vanquished, that was how they wanted me to feel as I knelt there on the cold flagstone, my head bowed, my hands clasped.

I could hear the echoes of the crowd marching up the street and knew that they would be upon me soon, their torches ablaze, their spirits hungry for blood.

I was to be renounced as a witch, that most reviled of creatures.

My fate was no longer in my hands, I was to surrender that along with my freedom and my life when the mob broke into my sanctuary.

Because I had dared too love too much, laugh too freely, feel with all of my being, I was called a witch. To be tortured, to be humiliated, to be killed.

The great wooden doors crashed open. The mob burst in, their boots echoing on the tile.

Slowly I stood, I turned and I faced them, my head held high, my back straight.

I would not apolgise for my crime, I would not apologise for living. They could extinguish my body but they could not vanquish my spirit.

Comments

Want to comment? Login or Join

Login Sign up

Tommy-Louise (joined over 13 years ago)
Visit Website

The loud chick in the corner.

With the big eyes.

And the notebook in her bag.

No favorites

Story information

License

Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0

Contact


We like you. Say "Hi."