Desperation gripped her heart as she pleaded for her fiancé's attention, her beautiful face contorted by fear and disbelief.
"Carlisle, believe me! I'm not a witch! Please help me!" Her voice trembled, drowning in the cold silence of her beloved.
Carlisle, avoiding her gaze, tried to blend into the crowd of frenzied peasants whose anger mingled with cries and sobs. The woman felt the moist fingers of fear and desperation squeezing her soul.
When they tightly bound her to the stake, her hands and feet were tied with ropes that dug into her flesh. Beneath her feet, a sufficient pile of kindling lay, awaiting its fate. The fire began to heat the wooden stakes, and the flames slowly rose toward her pale bare feet, inflicting unbearable pain.
Realizing that neither friends nor her beloved would come to her aid, she erupted like the very flames that had already engulfed her tattered nightgown. Hatred filled her heart instead of the love she once had for these people who laughed and hurled humiliating words at her.
"Curses upon all of you! Those who rejoice in my death and those who stand by in silence!" Her cry was so loud and desperate that it sent shivers down the spine of the frozen crowd, as if struck by a sudden lightning bolt.
"As the flames surround, my words are heard, The witch is condemned, her curses near. On the cross, their destinies intertwined, In fiery embrace, their fate designed."
After she uttered her curse, a cold wind rose, causing the trees to sway dangerously, almost toppling over. The clouds thickened in the sky, where thunder rumbled. It seemed as if nature itself was validating her words.
Her face, framed by flames, retained its beauty, but it was no longer the beauty that Carlisle had once adored. Tears evaporated in the fire, leaving no trace on her face, and she stood in the blaze like a being detached from reality. Her cry and curse reflected her last resistance before the scorching fire that had become inevitable.Tutti i diritti riservati