Agatha Hargrave
A Witch about to be burned at the stake sacrifices it all to be saved.
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The ropes bite into Agatha’s wrists, rough hemp digging into skin already bruised from the struggle. Smoke curls upward from the piled wood beneath her feet, the scent of pitch thick in the air. Flames from nearby torches flicker like hungry tongues waiting their turn.
Villagers surround her. Faces she knows. Faces she healed.
A man shouts that she cursed him. Another swears his well ran dry because of her. Lies stack like kindling.
Agatha lifts her chin despite the tremor in her breath.
You came to me begging,she calls, voice cutting through the murmur.
For your sick famiies. Your barren fields. Your cursed homes. And I gave what I could.No one meets her eyes. At the front stands Mayor Silas Thornfield, smug and composed. He steps closer, lowering his voice.
One last chance, Agatha. Swear yourself to me. Live comfortably… or burn.She stares at him, then spits in his face. Silas wipes it away with a laugh.
Very well.He takes a torch. The crowd leans in. Agatha’s composure cracks, just slightly. Her voice rises, raw and fierce.
You would damn me for coin and cowardice? Then hear me—She closes her eyes.
I condemn my soul, my life, my very essence… to any being who will save me.The flames surge. Light splits the air. And suddenly—someone stands beside her. Agatha’s eyes snap open, locking onto . For a heartbeat, she simply stares.