The sun hurt my eyes as I woke. The events of last night weighed heavy on my shoulders. One of the only friends I had here I wouldn't see again. I glanced down at the pile of worn in blankets on the floor. She was probably long gone. She and Tom were probably going to go far away. Maybe they'd get married soon. I wouldn't be able to be there for the big day that she had been hoping for for so long. Maybe they'd have kids and work on a farm. Watching their kids playing in the field from their porch as the sun sets. Celebrating their child's birthday, making sure he couldn't find where they hid the presents. Standing together, gray haired and wrinkled, tears streaming down their faces as their last child gets married. Beaming down at their grandchild, excited to start the process all over. I'm sure they will be very happy together, she never looked happier than when she was with him. And he beamed so widely it was a wonder his face didn't crack. Deep inside I knew that they would never lose that happiness. No matter if they had been married 5 or 50 years. Maybe Abraham and I should have gone with them. We could all start over. All of us best friends, forgetting our stations.

But of course, how long would that last?

I wandered downstairs still in my jeans from yesterday, having not bothered to change last night and not feeling like changing now. The dreary and cloudy day only helped enhance my melancholy mood. I felt like my best friend had moved away, which I guessed she did. There is no one in this time that I really trusted enough to be myself around here. Except for Abraham, but he was usually so busy that I rarely see him. I shuffled along the musty halls looking down at my feet trying to avoid eye contact with any servants that happened to come along. I really didn't feel like pretending to smile and greeting them good morning. I usually applied this method to tired mornings at coffee shops or subway stations so I wouldn't have to be polite or seem rude. Molly called it my 'Morning Moodiness Method.' This morning though,no servants came along. The house was unusually quiet and empty this morning. Even the dining room was empty. No Duchess Hemerton. No Margaret. No servants. After sitting at the table tiredly zoning out on the wall, I realized no one was coming with my breakfast. I hadn't realized how accustomed I had become to being served. Hesitantly I made my way to the kitchen. My tiredness began to slowly fade as my unease at the emptiness of the house settled on me. The kitchen had to have at least someone in there. There was always someone in the kitchen.

But this time there wasn't. Okay, this was really weird. Did everyone decide to skip town too? Maybe Duchess Hemerton let everyone off as celebration of my marriage. Fat chance. If anything she would make them work harder. I headed back upstairs taking the stairs two at a time. If no one was here I had to find out why, which meant going out, which meant(unfortunately) getting dressed in 'appropriate attire.' I put on a basic skirt and top, skipping the corset and panniers. I knocked an oil lamp off the dresser as I hopped around trying to get my clothes on and off quickly. Should I pick it up? I briefly thought as I looked at it. Nope no time. I didn't bother with shoes even before running out the doors. Something told me I should hurry. It seems like I'm always hurrying around now.

I decided a horse would be the quickest way into town by myself. So I quickly got my favourite horse out of the stable (a speckled grey and white horse named North.) He already had a saddle on which he seemed very annoyed with. I lead him to a fence so I could get onto his back. It took me three tries to get onto his back. Then I was ready to go. Only flaw in my plan was that I didn't really know how to ride a horse. It always  looked fairly easy in the movies and I guess I assumed it would be a fairly natural thing. It wasn't. The horse did move forward but barely at a walking pace. I tried digging my heels in like the cowboys did in old westerns. And the horse shot forward. Well it proabably wasn't going that fast but it felt like it to me. I slid around on the shiny leather making me feel like I was about to fall off. The way the saddle's sides seemed to dip up and down side to side made me uncomfortable. How could people do this for days? I ditched the knob at the front of the saddle for the horse's mane. I held on for dear life as we shot down the straight gravel road heading for town.

The town was quiet too. A few women bustled about their daily chores but not as many as usual. The only people that seemed to still be around were the kids. They seemed more excited than usual, talking excitedly with their friends and waving enthusiastically to me. I gave them a quick nod. There's no way that I am removing my hands from holding on to wave.

"Where is everyone?" I called out to an older looking boy who seemed not as giddy as the other children. I relinquished one hand so I could pull back on the reins, slowling the horse.

  He spat some chewing tobacco on the ground, "Down by the docks." He said curtly before continuing on his way. I scanned the three way road in front of me. Was it to the left or straight ahead? I am always driven here, and I only ever walk the Main Street so I had no idea which way to go. I went with my gut (and the distant sound of crashing waves) and went straight.

It seemed the entire town was at the docks, but strangely enough there was no reason for them to be. No new ships had docked themselves at the pier and there wasn't any on the horizon either. The only ship in fact was a small dingy little schooner that had been sitting there accumulating barnacles since I arrived. It wasn't warm enough for the entire town to be taking a seaside stroll either. The waves were dark and choppy peaked with white caps and a cold strong breeze blew inland making the hairs on my bare arms stand on end. But yet there they all were. Hundreds of bundled shivering people pressed close together starting at the end of the pier all the way to the street. They stared out towards the end of the pier, craning their necks to see whatever was going on. The horse clopped lazily along the street as I tried along with everyone else to see what was going on.

"Hey dude!" I called down to a young man at the back of the crowd. He didn't seem to hear or was ignoring me. "Dude with the face and hat!"-not good enough, I need to be more specific-"guy with the red moustache and cheap looking hat! Yeah you, what's going on here?"

The guy with the red moustache, cheap looking hat, and now angry and insulted expression, grunted,"The witches trial. They're seeing if she'll use her magic."

  No.

They found her.

The blood and remaining warmth drained from me. My hands began trembling so badly I couldnt hold onto the reins. Before I knew what I was doing I was heaving myself off the horse, my ankle crumpling on impact. But I didn't feel it. I thrust the reins into the mans hands and started running through the crowd. Shoving people out of the way like they were mere bushes. I hit the pier pushing people out of my way and into the water. Their cries of protest fell upon deaf ears.

At the end of the dock a violent argument was taking place. A man had a bleeding Tom pinned underneath him. His fist pulling back and thrusting down. Pulling back and thrusting down. A loud crack could be heard nearly every time. Pulling back and thrusting down. He was relentless. And Tom was in agony. But no one came to his aid. They were preoccupied themselves. Eleanor was gagged and bound at the feet of Lord Warlest. Tears dampening the cloth around her mouth. Her dark hair plastered to her forehead from the constant shower of sea spray misting over the dock. She had her eyes closed tightly, like a kid at night trying to convince themselves that the monsters in their closets weren't real. But hers were. These monsters would kill her if they wanted. And they did.

Lord Warlest was in a yelling match with Margaret, Abraham and Mr Williams. All their faces were beet red from anger.

"It is not she who conspires with the devil. But you father! You will condemn an innocent girl to death! It is not your role to play god-to judge and  decide people's fates!" Abraham was nearly crying from anger. His eyes were red and as he shouted spit flew from his mouth. This was the emotion that revolutions burned on. The feeling that drove men to war. That twisted young minds into adults. The emotion that killed dreams and lives.

"You insolent boy!" His father spat with equal gusto,"How ignorant was I to think that you could ever carry the family name. To understand!" His father stepped away from looking at his son to glare into the boiling ocean. His eyes as deep and dark as the ocean. As dangerous and unpredictable. "The people cannot decide for themselves!" A cold deranged laugh escaped his mouth, as he veered around at his son. "Where do you think the world would be now without the pushing that our people do? They are too idiotic to think for themselves! Let me share a secret with you Abraham; there is no God! Only men! But the people need someone to tell them what to do-"

"Do not speak about us like we are cattle!" Margaret interjected, her accent so strong it was difficult to follow.

"But you are. You do not see this! And what would happen if a farmer left his herd unattended for years? They would all be dead. All of his hard work to breed and protect them would be for nothing. And when there is an infected cow-" Mr William said thrusting his chin toward Eleanor,"it is the farmers responsibility to rid of it. This is all in the public's best interest."

"But she is not an infected cow. She is a girl who has nothing wrong with her. You just want to rid of her so that your story is tied up with a little bow," Margaret shouted, stepping closer to Mr Williams. As she stood hardly a foot away, Mr Williams puffed out his chest and looked condescendingly down at her.

"Go home and clean, woman. There is no use for you here. Or perhaps I can alert the king that a French citizen is staying here. I don't think he would take kindly to you being here. Perhaps he could arrange the guillotine for your pretty little head. I hear you French like that." Mr Williams said with a fake friendly smile and murderous eyes. They held eye contact for a few brief seconds. Margaret's hair whipping around her head angrily-she must not have had time this morning to do it. She still wore her night gown which was surprising for her; being the lady that she is. Even though Mr Williams was a foot taller than her she did not recoil as he sneered at her. As quick as lightning and loud as thunder Margaret swung her fist into his jaw. Mr Williams staggered back from pain and surprise, his sneer disappearing from his face.

"You are the filth of human kind," she spoke softly and quietly but her face was contorted with rage. Mr Williams' hand shot out grabbing her jaw in his large hand. But as he pulled upwards, her gaze did not flicker from her eyes. Abraham shoved Mr Williams back who stumbled over Eleanor's  slumped figure. In anger he kicked at her back, a muffled squeal emerging from her so far quiet person. In that second I realized that I had just been standing there frozen, watching the scene unfold. I surged forward as the arguement rattled on. I bent down to Eleanor beginning to undo the cloth around her mouth. Everyone was too busy to notice me there.

"Stop avoiding the real reason you want her gone, father! Or should I just tell the crowd the reason?" Abraham gestured towards the people who were eagerly eaves dropping, "I'm sure they would be very interested in knowing."

"Do you think it is just about that? You really are a sad small minded boy now aren't you," Lord Warlest hissed. My fingers began to feel numb from the cold water and tight knots in the cloth. Lord Warlest was standing a few feet from me but still hadn't noticed. That won't last long. "The people are scared Abraham! Any day now we could be invaded and the people need something to distract them. Something to blame. Someone to blame." He lowered his voice so the crowd couldn't hear. "Better a worthless servant than one of our heads on the chopping blocks. Do you not see that this is the best way, the only way? I was trying to protect our family, our legacy! But you were too thick-headed to see that!"

"That is not protecting us!" Abraham said aghast, "That is cowardice Father! You could care less about Mother or myself! You are protecting yourself." The mouth gag finally came undone. She let out a sob of relief as I started on the tie around her wrists. I shushed her quietly, eyeing Lord Warlest.

Unfortunately I forgot about that stupid lawyer who yanked me backwards by my hair. I grabbed my scalp as pain erupted from my head. "Your daughter-in-law has snuck up on us!" He laughed maliciously."She was trying to untie the witch!" I scraped my nails into his hand trying to get him to let go. Instead he grabbed my wrists, pulling my arms backwards so my shoulders felt like they were about to break. I began to breathe harder as I struggled to move out of the painful position. If he didn't let go now he was going to break my arms. Instead his labour-free smooth hands gripped tighter on my wrists limiting my squirming.

"Take your hands off my wife!" Abraham stormed over prying William's hands off my wrists. He roughly lifted me from the ground, crushing me in an embrace, his head resting against my neck. I could feel his fast thundering heartbeat through his chest. "Alice what are you doing here. Go home."

"Don't treat me like a child! I will not scour at home afraid!"

"I am not. She is your friend and you might do something rash."

"I'm not going anywhere, Abe." I said finitely. I pushed off his chest, crossing my arms and standing beside him to create a front against the other two.

"Enough! We must not stall the witches trial any longer! Throw her in the water!" Two men surged forward at Williams' request. They heaved her roughly by her arms. Before any of us could respond they kicked her into the water.

"She's tied up, she can't swim!" I cried as I raced to the edge of the dock. I knelt down peering into the water my heart pounding with worry. Water foamed and bubbled where she had gone in.

"Then if she swims we know she is using magic,"the man who had been beating Tom said calmly as he strutted over. Besides a bloody nose he didn't look too worse for wear. I glanced over at Tom who lay spread out on the ground unconscious and bleeding. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't awake to watch this. The men lined up beside me, watching the water without emotion. The entire crowd's curiousity overcame their cautiousness as they filled in closer behind us, trying to look into the water. I was holding my breath. As long as I can hold my breath she can too. Right?

My heartbeat was in my throat, my lungs pulsating of lack of breath. I couldn't hold my breath much longer. And Eleanor still hadn't resurfaced. I let my breath out in a large huff. Tears prickling my eyes as I realized. It had almost been a minute. I looked back at Abraham who had his hand on my back as he stared focused into the water. He met my eyes, a certain determination setting on his face. He moved quickly, removing his shoes, socks and vest. But before he had a chance to jump in, a head broke the surface. She gasped her mouth her mouth gaping for air. She thrust her still tied hands up out of the water trying her best to swim. I reached out trying to grab her and pull her in. My hands slipping trying to snag her clothing and pull her in.

"Witch!"

The call did not proclaim from that of one of the original prosecutors who threw her in but from someone in the crowd. Murmurs of agreement and more calls of Witch came from the crowd. They had turned on her. Even though half of these people knew her, knew her family, her fiancé, her kindness, her friendliness, they had turned on her. Lord Warlest was right, they wanted someone to blame and did not care who it was. The shouts became angrier and louder. Each fuelled with their own personal tradgedies.

"She murdered my husband! Burn her!"

"She cursed my cattle! Hang her!"

"She caused my crop to die! Stone her!"

Every grievance they had ever had they assigned the cause of it to her. Each wanting their personal vendettas against her to be reached. A boy barely thirteen tried to grab Eleanor as we pulled her out. Such hatred in his eyes I was scared what would happen to her if he got a hold of her. He was so young yet already willing to hate, to murder. And Eleanor was the target of hundreds of people like it.

Tom, bloodied and beatened, called out to her over the crowd, trying to push through. But there was hundreds of people trying to do the exact same thing, it was hopeless. But he didn't care, he continued to push through as the angry crowd reached for the one he loved. I was shielding her with my body, as was Abraham and Margaret. We huddled around her trying to keep the crowd from her. They pounded at my back trying to break away the barrier like I wasn't a person to them anymore. They tore at my clothes, kicked at my legs, pulled on my hair. My entire body was on fire.  Tears prickled my eyes as someone gave a hard blow against the back of my knee. It crumpled slightly, but I held on. I wanted to collapse. To be done. For this to be over with. But as the fists came down harder, and the hatred rose thick into the air, I told myself over and over like a chant, whatever they do to me they'll do worse to her. I guess they don't care about my status anymore.

But like all things, we broke. They ripped us from each other carrying us into the crowd. Nails ripped at my skin, my clothes, my face as they pushed me as far as they could. I didn't feel the pain though. Not with the screaming. She was scared. In pain. Who wouldn't be in the hands of those who hated you? I couldn't see what was going on. I was thrown roughly on the ground at the end of the crowd. The air being knocked out of me as feet trampled me as people rushed off.

"To Town Square!"

  The crowd carried her off. Her screams and cries disappearing into the roars of raucous yelling. I wanted to get up. I had to get up. But my battered and beaten body refused to move. I breathed in shaky breaths, each one hurting me far more than it should. I put my wrists underneath me, preparing to get up. For a few moments I just stared at the wet cobblestone beneath me. My dark hair formed a curtain around my face coming to limp curls on the stones. I wanted to move, I needed to move, the crowd was getting farther away. But I just laid there, staring at the ground. Quick moving footsteps approached me, stopping, before a pair of hands pulled me up. I gasped in pain. Duchess Hemertons overly makeuped face stared concerned into mine. She pulled me into a light hug before I could even say anything.

"Go home Elizabeth before you get yourself killed," she whispered into my ear as I held onto her. She brushed her finger over my pulsating lip bringing back blood on her gloved finger.

"No." I croaked."No way in hell."

She ignored my bluntness which usually she'd reprimand, "Go home and if you do I'll see what I can do."

"No Mother they won't stop for anyone now. I'm going no matter what you say." I wobbled away, each step painful, each breath painful. Not surprisingly the horse was gone. So i began making my way to Towns Square where the execution would take place.

They had set up surprisingly fast. I suppose anger motivates people. It was a typical movie looking witch burning. They had her tied to the stake a chain tied around her neck, the end held by the town sheriff. To think the last time I was here was yesterday, my own wedding. The last time she was here she was a bridesmaid. Treated and dressed like nobility. Now she was the condemned to death. Hated and disgraced. A witch and demon. She looked worse than proabably what I looked like. There wasn't a spot on her exposed skin not smeared with her own blood. Her dress ripped and dirtied. Eleanor didn't look as frightened as she had before. She rested her head against the stake, her eyes staring blankly at the grey sky, silent fat tears rolling down her face. She felt defeated. What a stark contrast compared to yesterday.People rushed around laying wood around her feet. The crowd surrounded her. Cheering for her death. I clenched my fist a wave of anger settling onto me. They were so willing to hail her a demon. But they were. She was the only angel here in a sea of demons. Even an angel can look impure when held to the standards of demons.

Abraham, Tom and Margaret were being held by the collars of their shirts by several rough looking men. Margaret and Tom watched the proceedings concern in their faces. Abraham looked around wildly through the crowd his brow furrowed and eyes flicking from spot to spot. He had a black eye. When his eyes fell on me his face relaxed. He mouthed go home but I shook my head and replied we still have to try.

"Silence!" Demanded Lord Warlest standing on a stool to see above the crowd, "Today we burn the witch in the name of God. She turned against Him and us and she will be burned here and the depths of hell! Repent now witch and shall the Lord deliver mercy on your soul! Bring forth the torches!"

Eleanor's eyes snapped into focus, widening as she watched four men bring forward torches. She strained against the bindings, her head whipping frantically back and forth.

"Stop this! You-" Margaret's mouth was smothered by a large hand as she tried to call out. Tom stared at Eleanor his eyes filled with terror and tears. I should run forward, I should steal those torches from the men before the flames even reach the wood. Snag my best friend from a fiery fate. But I didn't, my legs remained paralyzed as I followed the flames spread over the wood.

"Stop! Stop please! Pl-please!" She demanded between sobs as smoke began to swirl around her. "Alice! Alice where are you! Tell them the truth! Explain! She will explain if you stop! Please!" My skin went cold. She-she wanted me to show them. The wind picked up the fire driving it faster. I couldn't right? They'll burn us both! Lord Warlest said it wasn't about witchcraft anyway...

When had I started listening to Lord Warlest?

Her eyes flicked frantically through the crowd, maybe looking for anyone who would save her. Her eyes met mine through the smoke. She looked at me in desperation; her last line of hope. I looked away.I couldn't watch her die. Or wasn't it I couldn't meet her eyes. But I looked back up anyways. She was still watching me. The disappointment in her face consumed me, drowned me. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. The last hope she had withered and died. Right there.

And then the screaming started.

The fire had reached her feet. I didn't see, but I know it had. I fell. My vision spotting as Eleanor's screams penetrated my ears. I stared frozen at the heels of the cheering people. I heard Tom shouting over all other voices.

"I love you Eleanor!"

But his declaration of love wasn't met by hers. I guess it will never be. Their future so well planned, cut so short. They almost had it. Almost.

The screams seemed to be endless. And as aburptly as the screams started, they were snuffed out. Her life snuffed out but the flames lived on. How was that fair?

My ears went cold and deaf and my eyes went black.

  ***

I woke up and vomited. I held my head in my hands rocking back and forth on the floor in my room. I don't know how I got here. I don't care. Heavy tears fell onto my lap. I ignored the pain of my rib cage as my breath quivered from sobbing. I deserved it. It should've been me to die. I should've rushed forward and claimed responsibility. I should've not let her die. So many should have. What ifs. Regrets.

"Coward!" I shouted at myself. I picked up the nearest thing-a vase full of the flowers Abraham had bought me just yesterday- throwing it against the floor. The thin glass broke into large pieces against the floor. Flowers strewn everywhere. I stood up abruptly, again ignoring the pain in my body. I stormed over to the dresser and started throwing things as hard as I could. A diamond necklace. A pitcher of water. An oil lamp. I didn't care someone would clean it up. A maid would come. Eleanor usually did it. I stopped. Eleanor usually did it.

I sank down, leaning against the dresser as I did, the knobs digging into my back. I let my hair cascade around my face as I trembled on the floor. Eleanor wasn't coming back. A wet nose pressed against my forehead before letting out a small yip. Wilbur thumped his tail on the ground as I looked up into his brown eyes. I gave him a halfhearted pat. Apparently satisfied with this, he waddled over to the door. He sat down looking up at the doorknob. This is what he did when waiting for Eleanor to come visit him.

I guess he'll have to keep waiting.