Jealousy. Ferocity. Passion. She struggled with all as she stared out at the crowd. They blamed her. Doubted her. Scorned her even. Yet, they had no clue. No sense of the truth. She’d never tell them. Wouldn’t admit how much they rushed to judgment. They believe d what they wanted without hesitation.
Now, here she stood, angry at all she lost and grieving for what taken from her. Her child, now being raised by the friar and his wife. Stolen out of her arms in the name of God and all that was holy. Because clearly, she was not.
He was here, the man she loved. Yet, he chose to stand beside a woman that offered normalcy and prosperity. She could provide him neither. Despite his cowardice, she loved him still and hoped that afterwards he’d realize the error of his ways.
The heat intensified and the crowd’s anticipation flooded her sensibilities. The fear stabbed at her with as much strength as the ropes that bound her to the post.
They gagged her mouth, refusing her the courtesy of any last words. But she didn’t need sound to get her message across. They would suffer for this choice but not because of any actions she took. Their hatred and closed-minded perspective would lead down a path of misery until they succumbed to the pain and frustration. She wouldn’t haunt them nor curse them for eternity. She pictured her daughter and said good-bye.
The smoke filled her nostrils, and she coughed through the handkerchief. The crackling grew louder and the first touch of fire scourged through her every muscle. The pain seared not only her skin and clothing but her spirit too. “Make it quick,” she pleaded. “I’ll move on to a new life. Just hold on, it’s almost over.”
The sky blazed in an orange haze, and her spirit flew home.