The first thing I became aware of was the stench. It smelled like a Port-A-Potty had overturned in the summer sun and no one bothered to clean it up. I gagged at the cloying odor. Sounds filtered through and I tried to focus. I could see everything, but it was a little hazy. I heard someone crying and I turned my head to see who it was or at least tried to. Panic set in when I found that I couldn't move so much as a finger. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.

A hand came down on my shoulder and I looked up to see a man's face staring down at me with grim determination. His eyes held both sorrow and acceptance.

"Why Papa, why do they do this?"

The question came from me, but I hadn't asked it. What was going on? Where was I?

"I do not know, daughter." He pulled me to him in a tight hug. "We must be brave this night, child. It will be over and done with soon enough."

"I am afraid, Papa." Fear knotted in my stomach.

"As am I, daughter, as am I." He stroked my hair. Understanding hit hard and fast. He wasn't talking to me. I was trapped in this girl's body, his daughter. I couldn't speak or move. Kay's dream. I had taken it into myself. This was her dream. She had dreamed of being burnt at the stake. What had I done? No, please no. I screamed and struggled against the invisible bonds that held me, but to no avail. I was good and stuck. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Someone took my hand and I looked up into hazel eyes filled with warmth and sadness. Long, wheat blonde hair hung in limp dirty waves around her face. She couldn't have been more than eighteen herself. The girl's thoughts softened. This woman was their mistress, their Coven leader. Crap. I was staring into into the eyes of Sara Anne Bishop.

"Laura Elizabeth, do not fear this. Death is a natural part of the circle." Her words, gently spoken, did nothing to calm the fear rolling inside of the girl. Or me.

"She is only twelve, Mistress." This came from Laura's father.

"We are to burn, Mistress," I heard her cry. "We did nothing! Why?"

"Why?" another man growled. "Because we have been betrayed by our own, that's why! Are we to sit here and do naught, Mistress?"

"Tis naught we can do, Robert," Sara told him softly. "If we were to use our gifts then they would not only condemn us, but what is left of our families as well. Is that what you wish, for your wife and infant son to suffer our fate as well?"

"No, of course not, Mistress, but there must be something..."

"There is." A burly man pushed his way forward. "We may not be able to stop this, but we can..."

"No, George." Sara interrupted him. "We will not."

The man snarled and took a step forward. Sara arched a brow. He flew backward and hit the wall. She'd never even moved or made a sound, but she'd managed to throw him several feet. The girl had some serious skills. Even I was impressed.

Footsteps interrupted the conversation. The sheriff's men had come for the prisoners. Strong arms enfolded me. Laura began to cry hysterically and clung to her father. I was crying myself. I could feel her pain, her terror, her helplessness. It wasn't fair. It had never been fair. How could they do this to these people? I had never understood the horror of this night. Now I was about to witness it first-hand.

We were herded out of the jail cell and marched into the night. A line of long poles stood upon Gallows Hill, kindling at their bases. They were going to burn us. All the others had been hanged, but not us. Our Coven had seen to that.

The entire village had turned out to witness the burning. Gleeful jeers could be heard among the mob gathered as we walked towards the men waiting for us on the hill. Faces full of revulsion and hatred stared at us. They started to throw things as we passed.

Something struck Laura's head. I could feel the wet, runny juice slide down her face, my face. A stone thudded into my back, nearly knocking me to my knees. Laura's father kept us upright. The stench of peat from the torches burned my nose.

I felt every stone, every slimy trail of rotten food slide down her face. Merciful Fates, I wasn't simply observing through her eyes. What happened to her, happened to me!

I was going to burn.

Wake up, wake up, wake up, I begged silently. Please wake up.

Vicious fingers tore Laura from her father. She clawed at the hands holding her and kicked out. I tried to move, to help her fight, but I was frozen, a prisoner in her mind. She twisted and bit, but it was of no use. The man who had pulled her away from her father laughed and struck her across the face. We both cried out at the pain as lights exploded behind our eyes.

Laura was forced to one of the poles that had been shaped out of the trunk of a tree they'd cut down. Ropes bound her hands and the man started on her feet. Dizzy, she frantically fought as the man worked to secure the ropes. She managed to pull a foot out of his grasp and kicked him in the face. Blood poured from his nose and he rose up, enraged. He pulled his hand back to strike her, but was stopped by Sheriff George Corwin.

"Cease, Henry. Let us get this business done with." He looked grim and not at all pleased. We were not making this easy for him. All along the line, many struggled to free themselves, but more men came to subdue them. Fighting was a pointless gesture. These men, women, and children had been damned by the good people of Salem. A mantra of 'burn the witches' echoed through the summer night from the crowd gathered. Laura shook with fear. It blinded every other emotion.

He began to read out the death sentence. I couldn't focus on his words. I tried desperately to wake up. I started making spells up, but nothing worked. I begged and pleaded with the Elements. There was no escape from this nightmare I'd trapped myself in.

Laura screamed in blind terror. That jerked me back to attention. A torch had been thrown into the hay used as kindling among the wood below her. It caught fire quickly. The heat and smoke hit her in the face. I screamed with her. Screams echoed up and down the line of burning poles.

"Papa!" she cried, the skirt of her dress catching fire. Real terror set in for both of us. The heat of the flames intensified, gaining strength as they licked their way up the cloth. Agony bloomed as the fire ate through the cloth to the skin underneath. It caressed us as it spread, climbing its way up our body. The smell of burning skin assaulted our nose. We couldn't breathe. Our skin swelled and blackened as the fire charred it.

We were dying.

A scuffle broke out. We could barely hear the shouting over the screams of the others as they burned. Our throat was raw from the smoke and our own screams. There were no tears left, the heat drying them. Someone tried to break through the crowd, but fell before he reached us. We heard Sara cry out and we managed to turn our head to see her staring in a rage born of grief and helplessness. It was her betrothed who had fallen. To our left we heard someone chanting. No. No, not that. It was forbidden.

Sara began her own chant, but the pain overwhelmed us. Laura and I could no longer bear it. The fire consumed us...