Impure bewitchment

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about a witch dealing with the cruelest spell: love.

Submitted: July 15, 2016

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Submitted: July 15, 2016

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The execution. The pyre. The scars. Relentless fever with cursed sighs. A mass of disintegrating bones which cannot hold my pounding heart anymore. My fine dress, my curled and silken hair. Nonsense. Clothes will be burnt in black hot bits of ash. Hair, just a way to catch your love and now it keeps the flames high, like pieces of torn newspapers. I see your fading light as I get closer to the blinding light of my punishment. Never used magic. I swear. They misunderstood my intentions. I would refuse to have an affair with Satan. They're shouting my name as though it were a death hymn. A way to conform their unsteady thoughts and assure some securities up in the air. My mother is weeping. I wish her tears could smother the stake. What horrible faith people built their lives on? What foul rage could make me die like a weary poor beast? This burden is too heavy for my shoulders. They implore pity. So do I. But no one seems to hear my wails. The world has gone deaf. The world wants to fill up graves with pure victims and virgin corpses. I promise. I'll be seeking for justice when I am no longer petrified in my tomb. I'll break my nails scratching at your door. I'll be singing mourning chants to your beloved. I'm sure. I'll start another fire. You can't stop me. I long to purify this sick and interrupted existence with revenge. Shall we sail to Heaven right away and show that God still has my back? Since I'm not a sorceress. Only a lover, consumed under the crimson anger of hypocrisy. The only spell I cast was making you adore my hopelessness. Is love causing heresy?


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