Old Soul Syndrome |ONC 2020|

Early Fall, 1582

I allowed myself one more moment of despair before pushing to my feet and crossing the room, one hand against the wall to keep my legs steady. Peter was sitting on the ground, a handkerchief clamped to his mouth. My heart lurched at the red stain I could see spreading through the white cloth.

The damp cold in the cells wasn't good for his lungs. His cough always worsened when he was upset.

Daniel was still kneeling beside him, a hand resting gently on Peter's frail shoulder. His face was salt-white when he looked up at me.

It was almost as though he knew what I was going to say.

I lowered myself carefully to the ground, opening my arms and Peter threw himself into me. Shivers wracked his body, punctuated by that dreadful cough. 

"I know you are not a witch, Aunt," he mumbled. "I have missed your tea. Mother does not know how to make it."

Tears once more sprang to my eyes as I began to rock the boy. He had spent weeks most likely listening to his father and grandfather denouncing me as a witch, and yet the first words he spoke to me were ones of comfort. 

"I am so sorry you are here," I whispered. "This is all my fault."

Peter stiffened for a moment, coughed, then shook his head. "It is Grandfather's fault. He told Herr Heinrich that my cough had been worse since you were...were..." Peter shuddered and hurried on. "Herr Heinrich said it was your witchcraft."

My arms tightened spastically around him, making him squeak in discomfort. I quickly loosened my hold. "What did Grandfather do when they came to take you away?" I asked, already knowing the answer. After all, he had only stood silently by when they dragged me from our home.

Peter's betrayed silence spoke volumes.

I rested my cheek against his soft hair, gaze locking on to Daniel. He now had a strained air about him and was already shaking his head.

"You said you could take me from this place," I whispered, taking the handkerchief from Peter and using it to dab the blood away from his lips and chin. "Does that still hold?"

Peter peered curiously up at me, then turned his head to stare at the doctor. I kept my gaze firmly on Daniel, watching as the hope drained from his face, leaving him looking wan and tired. Slowly, he began to collect the various medicines and tools of his trade he had used just minutes ago to bring me back more firmly into the world of the living.

My heart beat hard in my chest, waiting for his answer.

Finally, a sigh gusted from him and he let himself slide down the wall to sit across from us. He rested his arms on his knees, lips pressed into a thin line. "He will not be able to run."

"Nor would I." 

Daniel averted his eyes, looking down as he knitted his fingers together, knuckles turning an angry white. I knew he must be intelligent enough to understand what I was asking. The question was whether he was good enough to do what I hoped he would.

Peter's arms crept around my neck as he buried his face against my shoulder. Tears splashed on my skin as he realized my plan.

"Please?" I said softly. "Please, Daniel. He is only a boy."

His shoulders immediately wilted and he rested his forehead on his hands. "This is cruel," he whispered. "What have I done to deserve this?"

I blinked in surprise, unable to understand his meaning. My brows drew together, nose wrinkling in annoyance. After all, he wasn't the one about to die for a crime he didn't commit.