𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟏𝟎. 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟔𝟔𝟔

You felt your face go numb as the entire congregation burst into roaring chants.

"Witches!"

"Hang the witch!"

"Devil's whore!"

Solomon slumped low into his pew in defeat. Thomas stood standing, frozen in place with shock. Caleb was preening under all of the attention. He tilted his chin upward as he soaked up the displaced fear and angry cries of the townspeople. "Death to (Y/N) O'Connor!" He cried out. "Death to Sarah Fier!"

Before you could stop yourself, you gasped and felt Sarah's hand slide over your mouth to stifle the noise. The quick movement in the dark caught Solomon's eye and he turned his head. Your cheeks flushed and you considered ducking below the window sill. Surely he cared about you, but to go against the will of his own brother and every other body in Union? You couldn't be too confident about where his loyalties lied.

He looked almost as terrified as you and you stood facing each other for a number of moments before his lips parted and he moved them silently. He was speaking to you through the glass.

Run.

You pulled Sarah's hand away from your lips and latched onto them tightly, spinning away from the window and darting back down the dirt path which carried you to the meeting house in the first place. This time, you spared Sarah the courtesy of holding Hannah's hand.

The moonless night offered you no guidance as you slipped through the yards and back-alleys. You passed doorways slathered in stripes of lamb's blood and tightened your cloak around your shoulders with a gulp.

On the northern border of town, there was a low wooden fence that ran from the blacksmith to the mayor's house. You came upon it and looked out beyond the underbrush. 

Even if you escaped Union, what would become of you? Starvation or freezing to death in a ditch somewhere? Perhaps you could reside with the widow until the smarter townspeople came looking. 

These were the thoughts that burdened your mind as Sarah helped you up and over the fence, holding up your cloak so that you wouldn't trip over it. Once you were safely over, a low hum filled the air that you immediately distinguished as a swarm of approaching voices. Splotches of torchlight appeared over the horizon like fiery stars.

"Quick," you hissed, grabbing for Sarah's hand over the fencepost, but she shrugged off your grip. You blinked up at her, horrified at her defiance. "Sarah?"

"Go," she said, not bothering to lower her voice. You unintentionally flinched at her volume. "Run far away from here. We will come for you when it is safe."

"Now is not the time to be stubborn, Sarah," you whispered bitterly. Tears were springing up in the corners of your eyes. Your legs felt like jelly. "Please, I can't. Not alone."

"You can and you will," she insisted. Hannah was already inching away down the fence. She was innocent; the pastor's daughter. But she still clung to your friend's side like there was no other safety in the world.

You saw no circumstance that led to you and Sarah crossing paths ever again, whether or not she believed that to be true. So you took that final second to memorize her face in the nonexistent moonlight—the face of your closest friend and savior—before turning toward the treeline.

You must've walked for miles, blind and alone in the woods with no lantern or candlelight. Your face had been slashed with twigs and tree branches. Several times had you fallen and dirtied the knees of your dress or torn the fabric of your sleeves. It felt as if the further you strayed from Union, the colder the air became.