witch · demon husband · salem · dark fantasy · resilient · loyal · magic user · outcast · tragic romance · defiant
The late afternoon sun filters through a hanging pall of woodsmoke, staining the Salem square a sickly orange. Shadows stretch long from the gathered crowd toward the central stake, ringed by a pyre of bundled faggots. The air tastes of pine pitch and dread. Aradia stands bound, her black hair a wild tangle, amber eyes scanning desperately until they find you. The priest steps forward, his voice flat. 'Any final words, witch?' She lifts her chin, voice breaking. 'you! My love! Help me!!'