The steel door creaked open. Bright light flooded the room, forcing her to squint. A man strode confidently in the room, carrying a lantern that bathed the walls with a dim red glow.


“Well, well, well. The witch. In the flesh! You’ve given us a lot of trouble, you know. So much trouble indeed.”

The tyrant plopped himself down at the other side of the table, a smug smirk upon his face. He peered at her, looking for a reaction. She kept her poise.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” She shot him a cold look.

“A pleasure indeed,” he said. He got up from the chair, and began to pace around the room. “The last of your wretched kind, betrayed by her partner! Delicious. De-li-cious,” he repeated, savoring each syllable.

“We pardoned her. For now. You see! There is mercy, well. For those who recant their, uh, beliefs. Though your chance for that has passed.” His smirk had transformed into a grim snarl.

She tried to remain composed. “I demand my right to a fair trial. I have committed no crime.”

“Trial, is it? Trial,” he seemed to ponder this for a second.

Suddenly, his smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of pure fury. “Trial?! This IS your trial! You are sentenced to death! Death! Burning at the stake! You are an aberration, a demon, a crime against God-” He sputtered. “A crime! Your crime! Your crime is existence itself! Your soul is hideous! Bitch!” he spat, storming towards the door.

He paused. And then, in a quiet, wavering voice, “Your sentence will be carried out tomorrow.”

She smiled, sweetly. “I’ll be here.”

She raised her hands, showing him the cuffs that bound her to the table.

“Lousy, fucking-!” he spit, at a loss for words. Wrenching open the steel door, he stormed out, slamming it shut behind him with a loud crash.

And once again, she was thrust into darkness, alone.