The
villagers had been gathering in the square since first light. Most of them were laughing, talking, joking,
hailing their friends loudly...several had brought picnic lunches. There were children playing cheerfully,
chasing each other in a noisy game of tag.
To a casual observer the scene resembled a fair or some sort of
holiday--that is, if the observer failed to notice the newly-erected stake
rising from the pyre of wood piled about five feet tall. Both the pyre and the stake had been built
in the middle of a raised wooden platform about six feet high--its boards were
blackened but sturdy enough.
Some of the villagers were somber and were
praying, but the majority didn't bother to pretend that this witchburning was
anything other than what it was to them--entertainment. Many of them didn't believe in witches any
more than Samual Ruark, who was doing last-minute preparations and looked as
cheerful as the others even behind his ceremonial executioner's mask. Who cared if the law wanted to call these
lovely unfortunates witches? A burning
was exciting to watch...one of the few forms of entertainment the hard-working
villagers had available. This attitude
was unspoken of course, but prevalant.
Their waiting was nearly over. At the sound of the guards approaching, the
arms of their prisoner gripped between two of them on either side, the crowd
was momentarily quiet, then swelled with an even louder sound than before as
they roared their approval of the beauty they would see burn this day...truly
she was the lovliest yet.
Atop his nearly twelve-foot perch beside
the stake, Samuel observed Miranda's procession, a fairly short walk from the
prison, and was somewhat surprised to note that she'd somehow managed to mend
the tattered remains of her red gown he'd torn from her so brutally the night
before. It wasn't completely whole, but
it covered her body just enough to be tantalizing. Her neck and shoulders were bare, her breasts to the tops of her
thighs were covered, and the rest hung in strips that only concealed her long
legs in glances, calling attention to them.
Her feet were bare. He
considered tearing it from her once more and burning her nude, then reconsidered. Something about the way what was left of her
garment clung to her curves made her look even sexier. Samuel liked to put on a good show.
He was slightly dismayed to see that even
while approaching the stake she maintained an outward calm, her lips curving
into a smirking smile at the jeering and cheering crowd. He shook his head in bewilderment...this one
was definitely strange...disturbing even.
He felt an odd connection with her this morning--something that went
beyond his usual cheerful cruelty and fleeting interest that lasted as long as
it took each of his vicims to burn. He
felt a stirring in his groin caused as much by memory as anticipation when he
recalled how...volcanic...it had felt inside her. The witch-slut had drawn more orgasms from him than any other
woman had and they were by far the most intense he'd ever experienced. As much as Samuel would enjoy watching her
burn (the true climax to most of his sexual encounters) he couldn't help
regretting that he couldn't keep her for a little longer....maybe one more
incredible night....
Miranda squinted at the sudden daylight
when she was led from the prison. There
was a crowd gathered just outside the prison as well as in the square to see
the witch be led out and follow the procession to the stake. A few of the bolder ones had already begun
the cries of "Burn the Witch!", and were quite startled when Miranda
smiled at them.
When her eyes adjusted to the light Miranda
eagerly gazed about her at all the faces...the laughing ones, the jeering
ones...and met every one of their stares with her own strange and beautiful
eyes. They seemed bluer than ever and
appeared to flash with their own fire.
During the short walk to the square Miranda looked nearly as cheerful as
the crowd.
Only once did her smile slip, then
disappear entirely. Seeing some children
in the crowd, their games momentarily halted in order to gaze at the beautiful
witch as she passed by. Miranda looked
directly at the woman she sensed was their mother. All her outward good cheer and defiance vanished as she spoke to
the woman in a voice that was low but carried to her clearly.
"Please....take the children from
here....before it's too late..."
The woman recoiled in surprise that the
witch had spoken to her, but when she
met her eyes she trembled with real fright.
She could swear there was light spilling from them...bright yellow-white
light, as if her pupils had been replaced with candle flame. Badly shaken, the woman could only nod
mutely as she seized her children's hands and started backing away.
"Tell the others too.....as many as
you can..."
Frantically the mother ran ahead to the
crowd gathered in the square. The
witch's voice had been deeper that time, as if another were speaking thru her. Indeed it had sounded as if two voices were
speaking at once. Miranda allowed
herself a small smile--it was a simple trick of course, meant to scare the
woman into action. She could only hope
the others listened; she wanted no harm to come to the little ones. DAMN these stupid mortals, she thought
bitterly. Was it not enough for them to
revel in their own cruelty? Why did
they have to teach it to their children?
It just made the vicious circle go on and on.
When Miranda and her entourage of guards
reached the platform in the square her two escorts walked her up the steps to
Ruark who was waiting at the top; he would be the one leading her and tying her
to the stake.
"Good morning witch-slut", he
grinned. His voice was mocking but his
smile was almost genuine...ah...if only...
"Good morning Samuel", she
replied pertly, "sleep well?"
Samuel didn't bother to reply. DAMN this bitch! He decided it would be a true pleasure to burn her and a huge
relief when she was gone. Her strange
bravery was just too unsettling for his taste; he liked his victims crying and
scared and pleading for their lives at this point.
He snatched her from the guards none too
gently then swiftly marched her up the temporary steps he'd constructed to the
stake--it was much easier than a ladder or attempting to climb the stacked wood
with his prisoners. Samuel was a
powerful man but many of the terrified women came to violent life during that
last climb. Miranda of course didn't
fight him, just as he knew that she wouldn't--oh NO...she was way too proud to
degrade herself that way, he thought in disgust. He was so looking forward to her struggles and screams of
tortured agony when the fire reached her--he could hardly wait to see her break
once and for all.
When they reached the stake Samuel roughly
turned her around and shoved her back against it, gripping one of her wrists
tightly. Quickly he grabbed her other
wrist, savagely yanking them behind her
and the stake she stood against. Her
wrists didn't quite meet behind the thick stake, but no matter. Samuel pulled them together as close as
possible behind the wood, tying them tightly--tighter than usual for spite,
first one wrist, then the other in a figure-eight pattern. Moving to the front of the sexy witch he was
pleased to note how her position had caused her breasts to protrude even
further...straining at the thin red scraps of material that covered them. Squeezing one of them playfully (to the
laughter of several in the crowd), Samuel bent over to get the rest of the rope
he'd already expertly cut and measured that morning. Appealing as she looked already he wasn't done tying her. Samuel considered himself an artist with a
rope and a stake and a pretty, doomed girl.
He took his time.
One length was wound around her neck
several times....not too tightly--it wouldn't do for a victim to strangle
before the real fun could begin. The
next length he crossed into an X between her strained-forward breasts, the
remainder circling her waist several times.
Another length was tied around her knees; the last one lashed her
delicate ankles to the stake. Samuel
yanked the last knot as tightly as possible with a small grunt of satisfaction
then arose, standing back some to admire his work. He was quite pleased with the sight of the lovely Miranda being
forced to stand unnaturally straight by her tight bonds....but something felt
strange...wrong. He didn't know
what. Besides being a total fiend,
Samuel was also quite the showman and sometimes after the binding was complete
he would kiss his terrified victim goodbye before descending from the stake, to
the lewd cheers of many of the men.
Miranda was the most desirable of all the women he had burned and he'd
planned to give her a long lingering kiss (and several gropes) before leaving
her side. Now that the moment was at
hand however, he suddenly felt a mad
desire to be away from her. There was
no logical reason for his sudden panic, as she was more than adequately bound,
and he didn't understand why he was passing up a chance to get the loudest
cheers yet, but there it was. He could
actually feel the hairs on the back of his neck and arms rise as he nearly
stumbled in his sudden haste to reach the bottom of the steps.
Feeling foolish, Samuel pulled the
makeshift steps away then he and his assistant piled the remaining wood in its
place. As was the tradition, Samuel
then took the lit torch from another assistant and waited while the village
magistrate came forward and addressed Miranda.
"You have been found guilty of
witchcraft and sentenced to death by fire.
Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is carried
out?"
This was when the condemned usually
declared her innocence (often hysterically) one last time, despite the
confessions tortured out of them. The
crowd grew quiet...all were curious to hear what this one would say...and how
she would say it.
Miranda had been staring straight ahead as
if in a trance ever since the binding had begun, her face devoid of all
emotion, her gaze ignoring the large crowd.
At the magistrate's words she blinked as one awakening, her eyes
sweeping the crowd once more before lifting above their heads and studying the
horizon again.
"I am a witch" she stated simply
in a calm, clear voice.
There was an uneasy collective gasp from
the crowd since no one had ever actually seen a witch admit it while at the
stake. It was a first for the
magistrate too. He cleared his throat
and nodded to Samuel.
"Executioner....do your duty,
sir".
Anxious to be done with this one, Samuel
ignited the brush and smaller dry twigs at the bottom of the pyre, touching the
lit torch to several spots, then tossed it in with the rest of the wood. The dry brush burned eagerly, causing the
small individual flames to spread outward then crawl hungrily upward.
At the sight of the growing flames the
mood of the uneasy crowd lifted, became almost jubilant again. Samuel himself was smiling again, still
feeling foolish for his earlier case of the spooks.
That's when things began to get
strange....
To be
continued....