Shy2Infinity
Professional daydreamer
Chapter 1 - Truth is Fickle ((TW: Death/Discrimination))
She could hear them.
The truths that everyone hid, and the truth ringing clear or false in their voices. Such a fine tapestry that they weaved, in a world of liars.
Witches aren’t evil by default, but they were hunted regardless. No matter their situation, no matter how lonely of a life they lived. Their powers were evil, demonic, and sinful. They weren’t even seen as human, although, perhaps that’s the truth? Who could say? They were monsters, spouted the people. And she couldn’t even tell if that was a lie, it rang true to the people.
“No, we’re not!” Yelled the witches, and even that rang true to her.
Perhaps the truth was more fickle than anyone really thought, to be so easily bought and favored. She didn’t really have a formed opinion to care either way. Monsters or humans, they were all going to die either way. Whether by someone’s hand, or by old age. The truth held sway over her entire life, and she wasn’t person enough to resist the allure.
She just wasn’t allowed to simply be. Her very presence inspired those around her to speak the truth, no matter how grave it was. Her being wasn’t good or evil, it simply was. Just like the secrets she’s learned; the truths she’d inspired. They say when she was born, a piercing light burnt the sky, and a kingdom’s oracle devined her existence…
As the Witch of Truth, a witch whose very presence brought the truth right out into the open.
And she was turned into the most hunted witch from then on. After all, in a world of lies, everyone wanted to ensure that their secrets were never brought out into the open. It was unfortunate. All she - and many like her - really wanted was a chance to live again.
In order to avoid as much trouble as possible, she moved far away, where she would never be recognized. Into a little cabin outside of a bustling city.. Her only companions were the plants she looked after, the wild life, and a little calico that had made her house its home. She hadn’t named it yet. She was still waiting for the perfect name to come to her.
This was where she spent most of her time, tending to the herbs she grew, exploring the forest around her, and playing with her cat. But sometimes, she was forced to go into town. After all, not everything she needed could simply be gotten from the woods.
A cloak kept her form hidden from the outside world, and she didn’t dare utter an unnecessary word to a single soul. Her dark red hair cascaded down her back, twisted into a braid. Blue eyes, as pure as any gem, looked upon the world with dark cynicism. She gripped the folds of her cloak tightly closed as she took those tentative steps into the city beyond, where the many hidden truths ate at her.
She hurried on, unwilling to let herself dally for a single moment. ‘Lest she allow others' truths to surface, and they figure out that there’s a witch in the area. The witchling pulled a handwritten note out of her pocket and peered at it. There were things on there that she needed, such as bread, cheese, glass jars (she was running low on containers), apples, and more. This was the lower half of a page she’d ripped out of her journal, and it still had her name written across the top: Lunelle.
“Welcome, dear! My bread’s fresh hot out of the oven!” The baker’s smile widened at the sight of her, her eyes twinkling in joy. “That’ll be--”
She nodded, giving a forced smile of her own as she handed off her money. Most of the people in this town tended to be kind, to those that looked human. But she knew, if given the chance, they would turn on her. It’s happened time and time again, to those more trusting than she. Witches tend to be the most trusting, the most naive, when they’re first brought back from death.
No one quite understood why they were allowed to live again at all.. She’s met some witches that could remember having been dead, but the memories were blurry at best. She was one such witch. All she could remember was a gentle hand and a sad smile…
Reality intruding was like a blast of cold water, as the lady set the still warm bread on the counter in front of her. Luckily, she hadn’t seemed to notice any of the inner workings of her mind. After grabbing the bread and wishing the woman a farewell, she prepared to leave, when a shout outside caught her off guard. She turned to survey people hurrying past the windows, loud chatter making her heart beat faster.
“Oh, is it time already?” The baker muttered, pressing a hand to her cheek.
“T-Time? Time for what?” She heard the truth, before it even left the woman’s lips.
The woman looked at her, a frown making her face bitter. “Why, for the execution of course! Someone’s found a witch, it seems.”
Her heart thumped harder in her chest and she turned to leave, but the woman’s mouth opened again and with her next words, her stomach sank.
“You know that there are some people that keep witches as workers, instead of killing them? Truly a barbaric practice! I say the knights should just break into those places, and kill everyone! Even the witch sympathizers! It’d snuff out the witches and stop everyone from taking in those monsters!” The baker’s mouth snapped closed and the magic dispersed. She laughed shakily and put a hand to her lips, face coloring as she turned sheepish. “Ah… I’ve never spoken that much about them before, I apologize. But you agree with me, don’t you?”
The world seemed to narrow into a pin point focus. Her breathing came faster as what she really wanted to say traveled across her tongue like acid. She swallowed against it, reaching up to grasp her throat. She could have choked on it. The word that escaped in a whisper was harsh enough that she wanted to snatch it back. “Yes…”
Even though she was no longer looking, she could feel the woman’s glee. “I knew you would agree! You’ve always seemed like such a rational girl.” Every word was sharp and pointed, like a needle; stabbing right into her back. The woman’s smile was no longer kind; it was cruel, a lie.
She didn’t bother to answer the baker again. Instead, she left. But instead of going home like she very much wanted to, she followed the crowd. Every step was weighted with the harsh knowledge of what she would find. Whispers echoed around her, but she knew it wasn’t everyone speaking aloud; they were all silent. No, she was listening to what they really thought.
“An execution? Finally!
“Kill them! Kill them!”
“When will they hurry up with this? I’m done with waiting.”
She stumbled once, twice, and thought about turning back… But some odd part of her pushed on, unable to stop its own curiosity. Finally, they were there and her body almost seized up.
There was a gallows, upon which a witch stood. She was staring into the crowd with a look of defiance on her face. Despite how she must know that the crowd wished ill upon her, she didn’t show her fear. Or, perhaps she didn’t feel any?
It took her a moment to notice the crowd’s chants:
“Die!”
“Kill the witch!”
“Hang her!”
She looked around rapidly, recognizing the touch of her magic as it brought the people’s thoughts into the open. It was like a domino effect, when the first person had spoken, more and more people joined them. Perhaps the witch recognized the chanting for what it was, because she searched the crowd for a moment - until their gazes locked and despite the chanting, Lunelle heard her words clearly.
“Ah, how ironic.” A small smile crept across her face, and she couldn’t read the emotion there.
A man to the witch’s side unrolled a scroll. “This witch has been sentenced to death for freely participating in witchcraft. They’re a monster, not even fit to be considered alongside humans.” The man took a moment to pause and sneer towards the woman in question. “Their entire existence is a crime, and with this hanging, let their sins be purged!”
“Let their sins be purged!”
The yell surprised her. She winced and shrunk back, looking around quickly for an escape. There wasn’t one, not really. If she left suddenly, someone might think that was suspicious. So she looked back up towards the gallows, but someone was staring at her… A person she hadn’t noticed before. A gruff looking man with a scar over his eye. While one eye was closed, the other was disturbingly clear. He wore the fancy armor of a general - someone very high up in the guard. His lips twisted into a sneer, the longer he watched her.
“I don’t think it’s my sins that need to be purged,” the voice was a surprise after so much chanting blood lust. It was calm and measured, far more than the people that surrounded her. Her gaze raised to the witch once more, to see that she was staring out over the crowd. “You’ll never kill us all! There’s more of us than you all seem to think, and we will rise. It doesn’t matter how many of us die,” the longer she spoke, the angrier her tone of voice grew. “There will always be another! And we will destroy you for killing our brethren!”
The witch’s eyes flicked to hers, and she realized with startling certainty that those words weren’t meant for the humans, but for her.
“This isn’t the end. So long as there’s still another one of us, we’ll get up and keep fighting. We didn’t endure so much frustration, heart ache, and death just to be eradicated now. Search for the light, and you can never be wrong.”
Before she could think over those words, the executioner seemed to grow impatient. A vein leaping out onto his head, he reached for the lever and pulled. She gasped and bowed her head, pressing her hands sharply to her ears. Despite that, she couldn’t block out the noises of the crowd around her, cheering for the witch’s death. She doesn’t know how or when she leaves, only that she numbly carries herself to the city’s gates, groceries held close to her chest.
That witch’s last words rang over and over and over in her head...
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