𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟏𝟑. 𝐞𝐱𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟔𝟔𝟔

The morning of the hanging comes all at once.

All four of you were dragged out of the church to the base of the tall willow tree just as dusk was rolling over the valley. They kept you in place with long silver chains that dragged across the earth between you. It was Sarah first, then Hannah and Thomas. You were very last.

None of you spoke much prior to your execution. There were quiet whispers and hushed condolences in the dark of the church, but that was it. Not even Hannah prayed at the altar that once belonged to her father. Part of you wondered if she'd ever prayed at all.

Once or twice you caught yourself staring at the pew that once held your baby sister. The floor beneath the ancient wooden seat was stained dark brown. The ghost of her blood would forever haunt the floors of the meeting house no matter how many witches they hanged.

After hours of potent silence, you fell asleep in Thomas' arms, just as Sarah did in Hannah's. It was the only comfort that any of you could bear to receive. You pretended not to hear their hushed confessions in the dark.

Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Thomas held your hand, being careful of your bruised wrists. You could still feel the shackles around them. Solomon had done them much tighter than Elijah had, come the hour of sunrise. You squeezed your fist around nothing as the man leading you stopped underneath the hanging tree.

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend you still felt him holding your hand. And if you stared at one patch of dirt and focused on drowning out the voices of the throbbing crowd, you could hear him whisper comforting words in your ear.

"It'll be over soon, lass."

If only he had the courage to recognize the situation you were in. But alas, he was the only one amongst you with fight left in them.

They draped a single noose over the thickest tree branch. They planned on hanging you one at a time to draw out their relief after hours of panic and terror. Both theirs and yours.

Elijah came forth and forced all of you to turn and face the people of Union. They began screaming at you, and you knew without the shadow of a doubt that if they had stones on hand, they would have been thrown.

"Witches! Confess!"

"Confess your sins or rot in Hell!"

You glance at Sarah out of the corner of your eye. Her arm was still bleeding, but the blood was black and infected. She would have succumbed to death regardless of the circumstances. She was the only one in your lineup who dared to meet your eye.

Elijah finished undoing her shackles and tightened the noose around her throat, effectively answering the question that you were too afraid to ask; who would be first? 

"Confess," he hissed quietly, launching spittle across her mud-stained face. She spared you one last glance before looking forward past Elijah.

"Never."

He seemed all too happy to hear that. "Then you can rot in Hell," he chuckled, stepping back. There was a crunch of bark ripping off of the tree limb as the rope drew tighter and tighter. They hanged her without warning, right in front of you. Right in front of Hannah.

A few people gasped, and you never felt angrier. You did this! You wanted to cry. You killed Sarah Fier. At least have the decency to watch her die, you goddamn heathens! Do not act as if you are above it.