Silver Moon, Crimson Blood, and Orange Flames

Scotland, 1563 Witches Trial.

¶The Crescent moon stood dauntlessly in its peak, damping what remained of the cold night and her fierce haunting breeze. Its light glinted off the well at the middle of the town, carving its image perfectly upon the water's surface, crowning its presence with a boldly instigated silver aura: fierce, demanding and kingly.

The dry cold air pierced into her pale bare skin, cracking up her lips and sending shivers down her back. Most of her cloth were torn in disarray, and what remained of it shaded only her groin, but her breast laid bare. Her ankles and wrist ached from the shackles and chains that married them together, with purple bruises and sores that bulged from being dragged and beaten around town.

She was a Duchess in shame, but that didn't matter.

For some reason the moon was beautiful. She smiled as she stared at it, oblivious to the shouts and choruses of the town's people. She had made peace with her reality and had given into fate, as she watched the towns people stack up woods: creating a pyre, one meant specially to hold up her head. She sighed and watched a lit torch thrown against the thick branches; its flames consumed violently into the woods.

The uproar went on for hours, the inferno was hotter; blazing violently in its crimson and orange glory. Smokes and ashes rose with the wind, and the crackle from the woods that supported the flames echoed, roaring on and on.

"Kill the witch!"

"Burn her alive!"

"She's an abomination, a blasphemy!"

"The Devil's incarnate must not be allowed to live."

"Away with the woman!!"

She knew today was inevitable. She tucked her feet into the ground, fighting back tears. She understood that they were afraid; it was their basic instinct: the nature of men to fear and despise the unknown.

The same Humans she protected and saved, were about to end her life on a stake.

As she watched the already drafted future unfold before her, she drifted slowly in thoughts, drawn into the memories of the past; reminiscing four days before, that led to her present quandary.

She remembered that morning, the sun's first ray brightly prickling into her closed lids, forcing it open. The chilly breeze that rode soothingly, brushing against her fair skin in an eerie sensational manner. Through the window, she noticed a snow flake dancing rhythmically to the wind's pipe.

Winter was here.

She Rolled over the sheets, yawned and got her foot into a slipper: leather soles with fluffy exterior from sheep's wool, and walked over to the coat hanger that held her gray silk robe, which swept behind her as she tightened the sash, fastening it to fit with her curvy waist. The wind viciously slammed itself against the window, causing it to fling open in response to the wind's pounce, sending in a rushing wave of cold gust.

She needed a thick buffalo fur coat to shield off the cold, but getting that wasn't her top priority; shutting those open windows were. She dabbled in steps over to the dangling windows, and forced it close, turning the instant to respond to the knock striking the door.

"Come right in!" She said, ushering in the person behind it.

"Milady, I come bearing your breakfast." Having turned the door's knob, a female made her way in. She was a bit older than the duchess, beautiful; red hairs with freckles. She had on a black dress with white trims, over a full skirt a bit below knee length, and a white half apron, having ruffles underneath; an outfit threatening to choke her up. A worn out lace headpiece, cuddled the bun her hair had folded into. Long black stockings just below the knee, held firmly her thighs, accentuating her High heels. She made few steps forward from the door, with the duchess as her goal.

"I'll have it by the bed." The duchess gestured to a table, standing firmly to the right of the bed. She watched the servant drop it. Upon noticing a note in the tray, the duchess inquired what it was, hoping it wasn't something of urgency. Well it was.

After the maid responded, stating that the letter was a matter that required attention; A Letter From King Caladas himself, She appealed the maid read it out immediately.

"An urgent request from the King: King Caladas IV." The maid read out the words on the envelope's surface, and pulled out the sheet from within and continued. "King Caladas the fourth, demands that the Duchess Ailith Serely Doucette of Morgith, make an appearance at the Royal Court, by noon in three days."

She was skeptical. She hurried to the maid's side to confirm its legitimacy, and she found the King's seal, well inked and imprinted; A serpent. There was no denying it, the letter was the King's.

    ¶The trial was in session. The Duchess Ailith Doucette, stood pluckily right at the center. She first observed the congregated royals and noblemen, and then the Priest: Father Benedict, who stood motionless in front of her, wearing his black ankle length alb, a chasuble and a Long narrow stole - about six inches long - over his neck. Many say that Father Benedict, has the King wrapped around his fingers, others say he puppets the strings behind closed doors and controls the whole kingdom from the shadows. But with him in front of her, the thoughts of it sent shivers down her spine.

They all awaited the arrival of King Caladas.

The nobles and royals stood in attention, ushering in King Caladas the fourth. The sparkling jewels of gems of sorts, were vast in array upon his fingers, from thumb to the last, and upon his head rested a voluminous golden crown; tilting downward to the left. The royals and noblemen sat, right after the king.

"Proceed with the trials" These were the King's first words, as he gestured 'commence', having his right hand raised above his head.

The Father Benedict took two steps closer towards her; cleared his throat, and began his speech.

"Lords, nobles, my Liege." he bowed curtly at King Caladas, and raised his head the instant, and continued his speech. "This courts is in session, to try the duchess Ailith Serely Docette of Morgith, who has been suspected of the practice of Witchcraft. God so love us, and forbids the cursed act, and anyone intertwined with the activities of the Devil, must not be allowed to spread such gruesome belief."

That was his nicer way of stating the fact that the duchess must be killed. He turned from her and faced the impatient spectators awaiting the judges verdict; in this case, King Caladas sat upon that seat as the judge.

"My fellow lords, we cannot allow this blasphemy any longer; we mustn't pave the way for Satan into our lives. She, along with those of her kind, will cause us great misfortunes; plagues, chaos, war and even the wrath of God. The Devil will ruin our life's and fa-"

"Kill the Witch!"

Father Benedict, had barely formed his words, when someone shouted from amongst those seated.

"Burn the Devil's spawn!"

"Burn the witch!" and again came another. These sorts of words were echoed all through the courtroom.

The duchess stood speechless; it was her trial, but she could not defend herself.

The King cleared his throat, causing the upheaval to cease. He turned his gaze from those seated, to the woman in the middle.

"Duchess Ailith Serely Docette, wife to the Duke: Sir Fredrick Horington of Morgith -" The king made certain most of her titles were called out. "- are the charges stated against you true? Are you truly doing the works of the Devil?"

From the look in his eyes, she could see fear. She turned to the priest, noticing the obvious smirk that shot across his face. She was a witch, and there was no more Devil than the man holding the crucifix in front of her.

"True my king. I do practice the arts of sorcery -" gasps and murmurs went about in the court, until it seized and birthed a dead silence.

"- but I am nothing but a healer. My portions have been used for many folks' wellbeing as well as yours Milord. I hold no ill will towards you nor the members of your court, neither have I any wrong intention towards the citizens of your great kingdom, and -"

"That is false my king -" Father Benedict interrupted her from going any further with her speech. "- she is trying to brainwash all of us here. If she is left to live, milord, she will usher in great destruction to the Kingdom of Graèboa. I propose we end the Devil's plan immediately.

He bowed, and turned to her, brightening up with a smile. Chatters went on in the court, arguments were heard, and disorder was setting in. King Caladas stood from his seat, ending the chaos. And as it ended, he began what the seat demanded.

"Duchess Ailith Serely Doucette of Morgith, are you guilty of the charges laid out against you; do you practise the arts of witchcraft?"

"Yes Milord, but -" she tried defending.

"Then, here is my judgement. Upon nightfall of tomorrow, you shall be burnt on a stake, at the town's square. You'll be given a chance to make peace with whatever you worship, before nightfall tomorrow, in your prison cell."

He passed his judgement, turned to his right, and exited the courtroom. She watched him as he left, praying that the last two hours were nothing but a bad dream. She pinched her moist salty skin, in an attempt to wake up, but it was futile.

Father Benedict walked over to where she stood; he came close enough, within ears length, and whispered to her.

"With this, you will never oppose me, ever again. My masters will never free her from her prison. Guards!-" he called out "- Show her the way to where she will spend the night"

The guards rushed each of her arm, pushing and kicking her towards the door. She could've done something; disappear, kill them all, escape, but she was duty bound not to.

¶Those memories flooded her mind - the trial and Father Benedict -as she stood facing a greedy furnace, whose intentions are to consume everything it touches. Tears flickered as it dropped. From where she stood, she could feel the immense heat from the flames, scorching her pale soft skin.

The moment was nigh.

Father Benedict approached her from behind, holding out a crucifix and reading out the scriptures.

"The Lord loves holiness and eschews evil.

Genesis: And God sent me before

You to preserve you a prosperity in the

earth,

And to save your lives by a great

deliverance.

So now it was not you that sent me hither

But God -"

He moved towards the blazing inferno, and came to halt in front of her. He continued reciting the scriptures from the bible he held.

"- As smoke is driven away, so drive them

Away:

as wax melteth before the fire,

So let the wicked perish at the presence of

God."

He closed the pages of the bible, and slipped it under his arm, held out a bottle of Holy water and pointed his crucifix at her.

"Be gone you Devil!"

He repeated several times and sprinkled the holy water at her. He stopped at the seventh time, and gestured that she be brought forward.

"Toss her into the flames, let her evil end with her." He cried out, as he watched her gobbled up, and forced at the furnace.

She had no form of resistance. She calmly let herself into the fire.

The flames were brutal. It quickly ate at the rags she had on, and launch unto her flesh: consuming her fair skin, running over it like melting rubber, exposing her red fibrous muscles. She screamed in agony, but there was no saving her from her demise. She watched the joyous townspeople, chanting and shouting: merry at their own downfall - not hers. She turned to the priest and saw the same mischievous smile he earlier had, swimming all over his face.

"Curse you Benedict, curse you! I will make null your plans, I will turn void your mischief, I shall never let you walk free upon the earth. Midara Requiem!"

She screamed from within the flames; her eyes turned green as she said the spell with her dying breath, and finally she went numb. The flames consumed her, and began its banquet on her bones.

"May She find peace. Amen!" Father Benedict said solemnly.

"Amen!" And the townspeople responded.

All that was left of her were nothing but her Ashes, which swept away with the raging blizzard that ran through hours after the town's spectacle.