His Word? Or Mine?

I could not have picked a more exquisite night to die. Of course I did not pick it, but I shall not waste these precious final moments worrying about the semantics of it all. 

The fate of my life has been stolen from my clutches and taken by a man, so that he could twist it to fit his own agenda. Society allows him to do it too - because after all I am just a woman.

Since our first breaths, girls are told we are here to serve our husbands and bear his children, but that is all we will amount to. I have spent the majority of my life preparing for my duties and blissfully agreeing to such things. The night my father told me I was to wed Henry, my heart almost burst with joy. We grew up inseparable. Where one was the other was shortly to follow, and as we grew older I heard the whisperings. The people of the town knew we were a match to be married before either of us ever did. Henry’s not like the other men from the town - or at least he never used to be. It was just two summers ago that we were declared man and wife. I remember him gazing at me with hearts in his eyes, mirroring my own. Such a rough man, yet always treated me as gently as fine as porcelain. It is humorous how things can change in the blink of an eye. We are often too late to see the signs. As it turns out, if a woman fails to serve her purpose she is cast aside and not worthy of such gentle treatment. A porcelain doll no more and instead one made of rags and held together with string. 

The twine that binds me scratches against the soft flesh of my skin. The wood behind my back - splintering at every angle - keeps my head raised, leaving me powerless to take my gaze away from the spectacle in front of me. From where I stand, it is clear as day. The dashingly handsome young man looks at me with love and light in his eyes no longer. Instead he clasps the hand of another, comforting her from the horrors that lay before them - the one they are responsible for. A foolish part of me waits for him to remember but he averts my gaze to find hers instead. 

With a deep inhale, my nails bite against my palms and my wrists strain against the rope that holds me at bay. The rage I have kept contained for so long slowly starts to bubble to the surface, but I remind myself, not just yet. I silently curse the new pairing that stands before me. They show not an ounce of remorse for the things they have done to get here. The woman he stands with bristles before my stone-hard glare. Just like she always has. She knows it well. It is the same stare Mother used to give us as young ones, as she scolded us for our pointless bickering. She must not recall the amount of times I threw myself to the wolves to protect her from the lashings those bickerings would cause. My efforts wasted, as she stands there by his side, acting complacent. Once again, I am the sacrifice and she stands idly by allowing me to be fed to the wolves once again - one final time. There is no hope of her coming to my rescue, not now that she reaps the benefits of my demise. My stomach roils at her cowardness, as she now refuses to look at me - her older sister. Her lips remain locked tight as Henry begins to drag her from person to person, spewing the lies that aid his agenda. 

I can’t stand it anymore. Shimmying my shoulders ever so slightly, I loosen the binds enough to fill my lungs with a deeper breath. The usual aromas of sweet breads and stale ales are ever present, but it can not mask the reeking smell of the unwashed and filthy townspeople who stand before me - judgement cast in their eyes. I draw mine up and away from them and the sight almost brings a smile to my face, despite the circumstances I find myself in. The white light of the full moon casts a luminous glow over the inky black sky and the stars shine just as brightly. Full moons are an exquisite thing to behold and She stands steady in the sky, letting me know that She is here with me tonight. The artistry of it all soothes me like a balm to my soul, keeping the red hot fury at bay - for just a while longer anyway.

Let them all think what they want! Let them mistake the holding of my tongue as an admission of my guilt. I will allow my husband to rejoice in the fact that he has won for just a little while more. But make no mistake these people came here to see a show, so a show of a lifetime is what they shall get. 

My thoughts come to a halt and my line of sight is broken from the sky, forced to return in front of me, when the rattle of boot buckles crosses the ground to the side of me. That’s my queue. The show’s about to start. My body jitters with anticipation, gooseflesh crawling up my spine. 

I bow my head and try not to choke on the curly strands of raven hair that hide my face from the growing crowd. My shoulders rise and fall rapidly, and awkwardly from the position I am forced to stand in. I even throw in a whimper as the mayor begins to rally his townspeople using his serious, deep tone. 

“People of Orrenvale -” his voice booms across the crowd, “we meet here tonight to cast judgement upon the evil that infects our beloved town.” 

A round of cheers and applause erupts and I fight the urge to keep my eyes where they are, instead of rolling to the back of my head. I stand in silence as he continues his rambling. 

“Our beloved Henry has come to me with worry in his heart for this town. The woman that stands before us has tricked us all! Henry, it is not just your burden to bear.” The crowd falls to a whisper as he continues his heroic monologue. 

“Tonight! We shall watch Abigail burn like the witch she is!” The gaggle of townspeople jeer and holler in response. 

My molars grind together and my jaw tightens at the audacity of it all. I stand before these people today, my wrists bound and my reputation in ruins all because my husband uttered the word, witch. Does he have any evidence of this fact? No. But he is a man and I am a woman. His words mean everything while mine are not worth the air it takes to utter them. 

My dearest Henry wanted a new wife - my sister to be exact - and decided that this was the quickest way to accomplish that. The best part? Well, his hands remain clean. 

The rotund mayor bathes in the attention from his spectacle as the crowd shows no signs of quieting anytime soon. My eye twitches and my fingernails draw blood from my clenched palms, as a familiar timbre speaks above the crowd… Henry. He joins the rest of the sheep, shouting to burn me for my non-exist crimes, for practicing magic of the darkest forms. The time is nearing closer. I can feel it in the energy that courses through my veins, excited to play my part - the closing act. 

“Do you not have anything to say for yourself, witch?” Mayor Terrance growls in disgust. The crowd hushes, waiting for some form of explanation. I’m sure some anticipate the moment I break out in Tongues and fly off on my broomstick - oh what a sight that would be. 

Finally, It is time. 

Slowly, my head rises to meet the stare of all that await my answer. The guilty facade forgotten and in its place the picture of pure evil they all want to imagine me as. Parents cover their children’s eyes and husbands pull their women in tighter as they feel the effects of my chilling smile and withering glare. And, I ready my reply, tasting them in my mouth first. 

“You all know that I am the girl that bakes fresh bread every morning. You all know that I lay flowers among the forgotten graves. You all know that I look after your children. I have been nothing but a dutiful wife. You have no proof. You are willing to let me burn to ashes and float away on the wind, as if I had never existed. For you to trust his word and not even ask for mine is a crime worse than any other. I have a few parting words to a few special people. To-” 

I am interrupted, “Burn her already -” 

“Silence!” I scream deep from my belly, before I continue. 

“To Henry and my dearest baby sister, I wish it to be that you are blessed with a beautiful child. However -” 

I drawl on, “I curse that everyday you will look upon that child’s face and see me, and you will be reminded of the person you sacrificed to have her. She will be made in my image and haunt you for the rest of your days. Do not mistake her kindness for a pure heart, for she will be your downfall.” 

Oh I relish in seeing the blood drain from both their faces as they realise there are consequences for their actions. They know that I don’t need magic for this to manifest. Their guilty conscience will haunt them, no matter whose face they look at. My smile widens, feeding on the terror in their widened gazes and I continue the rest of my performance. 

“To the rest of Orrenvale. I curse that your lands lay barren and the waters from the well dry, slowly, knowing that your extinction will loom near but never quite give you the sweet reprieve of death. You will be reminded of me everywhere you look. I will be the shadow in the night haunting your dreams but out of your reach.” 

The people tremble before me and I rejoice in their horror evident in their stares and some of their soiled clothes. The feeling is delicious but my time is running out before the mayor decides to cut my dramatics off by fire. 

“You burn me here tonight under the full moon as She casts judgement down upon you. You will all remember the name Abigail Adams! It will be the name your children and grandchildren whisper under the full moon, right before they vanish from your very eyes. You have been warned.” 

Mayor Terrance must finally snap his attention back to the small fire that burns, prepared to light the wood I stand on. He uses all his effort to not fall over as he takes the torch and bends to light the kindling. The smoke fills my lungs and the fire that grows beneath my feet warms me to the bones. The crowd starts to quiet down in relief as the flames flicker beneath me. 

I glance around one final time before the act is finished to find my sister and the man I once loved huddled together. But I don’t miss the way Henry’s face still remains as pale as a ghost. I sigh in relief before I cast my gaze up one more time towards my friend in the sky and whisper a familiar passage from a book I was never supposed to read. 

In one moment, the burning inferno engulfs my boots and in the next I stand behind a great oak in the forest just off the cusp of town. It takes a second for the realisation to occur before women, children and men alike let loose like banshees. 

I let loose a cackle and it echoes and dances on the wind; only sending the town more berserk with fear as they realise what they have done; of who they have made an enemy out of. 

The fallen leaves crunch beneath my feet as I carry myself away from the town that gave me nothing and took everything. They will spend the rest of their lives checking every noise they hear and flinching at every shadow that appears, waiting for the day I return to them. 

I never said I wasn’t a witch but to trust the word of a cheating man over mine? Unforgivable.