MaliceInWonderland
How fine you look when dressed in Rage
♔ Champion ♔
"Please." Came the wheezing voice, trembling in fear and pain as smoke threatened to suffocate her. "Please… help me."
But there was no one to help Abigail as flames grew closer and closer to her form, licking and lashing against her feet and threatening to catch her shift on fire, all that was left on her after being forcibly stripped.
Abigail was tied to a stake, and being burned as a witch.
She was, in fact, a witch. But, she had done nothing wrong, as many persecuted witches hadn't. The woman lived alone on a farm, keeping to herself. All the local villagers looked the other way about her oddities because she helped them with tonics and salves for their health, curing plagues and blights against their crops and animals as well.
Yet, all of those that had accepted her help even if it came with using witchcraft all fell silent when it came to defending her against the new head priest that came calling. No one came to her aid despite she having come to theirs.
At first the priest was also willing to overlook the fact that she was a witch - if she would repent and become his god-fearing wife and give him offspring. Abigail's ultimate 'downfall' was the fact that she refused his advances. To the godly man, she being an 'unholy wench' just was the fuel for the literal and figurative fire he needed to punish her for her rejection.
The woman started to feel the flames scalding her skin and singeing the hair of her legs. Wheezing whimpers turned to cries of pain as she could start to smell her own burning flesh. She could hear the crowd jeering her pain, and she tried to open up her eyes to stare up at the sky for a feeble attempt to get fresh air. She knew that if she was going to have any chance, dire situations needed dire solutions.
The witch started to mutter a language that rested heavy on her tongue, ancient and powerful. It was a forbidden plea, only to be spoken to the deepest darkness that existed in their realm. But at the end of it as she felt her skin blister and start to split open, she prayed out the last of her summoning. "To the demon Kaelezeth, protector of women, she who takes revenge against the men who damned her… I invoke thee." Came the strangled cough, tears running down her face. "Please… lend me your power."
A powerful wind started to whirl around Abigail, making the flames part away from her form before it could fully catch the torn cloth of her shift, and she took a heaving breath at the smokeless air. Shouts could be heard from around her, but she didn't care. A voice entered into her mind.
"I have heard your call, dear witch." An effeminate, yet somehow also guttural voice came. "I see that you have found yourself damned as well. Worry not, I will gladly grant you my power to suffer these men to live no longer. To make them suffer as they have made you to suffer. I will take great pleasure in it. But you know what I ask in return."
"Yes." Abigail's lip trembled. "You wish to have my soul."
"Yes. But know that you are a bit special, being a witch. Our kind has worked in tandem for many centuries. Know that you will not merely be consumed, but that we can work together. ...Should you agree to this contract between us."
The pain and panic only furthered as Abigail could feel her shift catching on fire, quickly starting to travel up her form. She whimpered, but swallowed the hot, foaming saliva collecting in her throat.
"Yes… I agree to the contract! You may have my soul in exchange. P-please…" She wheezed, her tears now drying as quickly as they could leave her eyes from the sheer debilitating heat. "Please save me. I don't want to die. Not like this. Please."
"I will be your savior." The voice came with a twist of delight on the play on words, taking the role of what should be angelic. "Our souls will now bind. I will free you of your pain… and we will take our revenge through each other. Feel our powers merge, and take back the power that has been stripped of you, dear witch."
The wind that had started to snake around the witch's form suddenly strengthened, and her pain disappeared far more easily than it had started. She could breathe, and she gasped out loud as a result. But something was overcoming her, more than just relief. She could feel the possession before her mind could figure out what was happening, and abruptly the woman's pupils thinned to slits as a smile that was not her own slithered across her features.
She could hear the screams of the people around her, more holy men gathering in attempting to strengthen the fire while others started to ready pikes to hurl towards her. They knew that they had a limited time to take her life before things could backfire, not realizing that it was already too late.
Abigail felt herself starting to laugh, even if it was not her own. As unsettling and panic-inducing as it was to feel out of control of herself, there was something soothing about the fact that she could finally rest. The possession of her form was not fully taken against her will, after all. It felt like being able to submerge herself in cold water after nearly being roasted alive. So she let it happen, taking a backseat in her own form, letting the demoness take over.
And take over, she did. As the possessed witch continued to laugh, the fire that was once a threat now became an ally, starting to be sucked up in the wind that was quickly becoming a cyclone, and the more that the force gathered, the hotter it burned. But not to her body, at least. But to everyone else's.
The elements combined to become a tornado of fire that expanded larger and larger. The crowd started to try and escape, but that too, was useless. Lines of flame spidered out from the original pyre faster than any mortal could run, and soon connected into a massive circle that surrounded them all, trapping them. The panicked screaming only got louder, and soon the same people that jeered at the woman for being a witch and cheered for her tortured death started to beg for mercy and forgiveness.
They wouldn't be given that mercy, and as a result, soon the cylindrical inferno further expanded, trapping people between two walls of impossibly hot blaze. It was a slow, steady increase; torturous and allowing those to feel their own slow, horrific death. The pikes that were attempted to be thrown at or stabbed into the woman's immediately ignited and burned the hands that attempted to hold them. The holy men's supposedly blessed water started to boil into steam, useless.
Abigail's hidden subconscious stirred as she let her body be a mere puppet.
"Kaelezeth?" Her voice asked in her subconscious.
"Yes, dear witch?"
"Can you save the Head Priest for last?"
"What a lovely idea. I think we'll pair quite well with each other. To celebrate our contract, I'll let you finish him off yourself."
This plan was followed, the flames summoned and controlled by both the demon and the use of the witch's powers incinerating groups of people at a time within the expanding walls of fire without hesitation, yet with a select amount of intricacy.
Among the charred corpses and even blackened skeletal remains was left the man that was the catalyst for the entire event.
Having freed her body from the stake she was tied to, her replacement was in the form of the priest who had not only ruined everything she held dear, but attempted to take both her body and then her life.
Sitting down upon the ground and hands resting upon her badly burned feet and legs, the possessed witch merely waved a hand to rekindle the flames at the foot of the stake, watching the holy man beg for his life and cry in pain as he gradually experienced what she did, keeping the flames low as to take as long as possible.
Both beings could see through one set of eyes, a smile upon her features as they watched the man burn alive. Together.
But there was no one to help Abigail as flames grew closer and closer to her form, licking and lashing against her feet and threatening to catch her shift on fire, all that was left on her after being forcibly stripped.
Abigail was tied to a stake, and being burned as a witch.
She was, in fact, a witch. But, she had done nothing wrong, as many persecuted witches hadn't. The woman lived alone on a farm, keeping to herself. All the local villagers looked the other way about her oddities because she helped them with tonics and salves for their health, curing plagues and blights against their crops and animals as well.
Yet, all of those that had accepted her help even if it came with using witchcraft all fell silent when it came to defending her against the new head priest that came calling. No one came to her aid despite she having come to theirs.
At first the priest was also willing to overlook the fact that she was a witch - if she would repent and become his god-fearing wife and give him offspring. Abigail's ultimate 'downfall' was the fact that she refused his advances. To the godly man, she being an 'unholy wench' just was the fuel for the literal and figurative fire he needed to punish her for her rejection.
The woman started to feel the flames scalding her skin and singeing the hair of her legs. Wheezing whimpers turned to cries of pain as she could start to smell her own burning flesh. She could hear the crowd jeering her pain, and she tried to open up her eyes to stare up at the sky for a feeble attempt to get fresh air. She knew that if she was going to have any chance, dire situations needed dire solutions.
The witch started to mutter a language that rested heavy on her tongue, ancient and powerful. It was a forbidden plea, only to be spoken to the deepest darkness that existed in their realm. But at the end of it as she felt her skin blister and start to split open, she prayed out the last of her summoning. "To the demon Kaelezeth, protector of women, she who takes revenge against the men who damned her… I invoke thee." Came the strangled cough, tears running down her face. "Please… lend me your power."
A powerful wind started to whirl around Abigail, making the flames part away from her form before it could fully catch the torn cloth of her shift, and she took a heaving breath at the smokeless air. Shouts could be heard from around her, but she didn't care. A voice entered into her mind.
"I have heard your call, dear witch." An effeminate, yet somehow also guttural voice came. "I see that you have found yourself damned as well. Worry not, I will gladly grant you my power to suffer these men to live no longer. To make them suffer as they have made you to suffer. I will take great pleasure in it. But you know what I ask in return."
"Yes." Abigail's lip trembled. "You wish to have my soul."
"Yes. But know that you are a bit special, being a witch. Our kind has worked in tandem for many centuries. Know that you will not merely be consumed, but that we can work together. ...Should you agree to this contract between us."
The pain and panic only furthered as Abigail could feel her shift catching on fire, quickly starting to travel up her form. She whimpered, but swallowed the hot, foaming saliva collecting in her throat.
"Yes… I agree to the contract! You may have my soul in exchange. P-please…" She wheezed, her tears now drying as quickly as they could leave her eyes from the sheer debilitating heat. "Please save me. I don't want to die. Not like this. Please."
"I will be your savior." The voice came with a twist of delight on the play on words, taking the role of what should be angelic. "Our souls will now bind. I will free you of your pain… and we will take our revenge through each other. Feel our powers merge, and take back the power that has been stripped of you, dear witch."
The wind that had started to snake around the witch's form suddenly strengthened, and her pain disappeared far more easily than it had started. She could breathe, and she gasped out loud as a result. But something was overcoming her, more than just relief. She could feel the possession before her mind could figure out what was happening, and abruptly the woman's pupils thinned to slits as a smile that was not her own slithered across her features.
She could hear the screams of the people around her, more holy men gathering in attempting to strengthen the fire while others started to ready pikes to hurl towards her. They knew that they had a limited time to take her life before things could backfire, not realizing that it was already too late.
Abigail felt herself starting to laugh, even if it was not her own. As unsettling and panic-inducing as it was to feel out of control of herself, there was something soothing about the fact that she could finally rest. The possession of her form was not fully taken against her will, after all. It felt like being able to submerge herself in cold water after nearly being roasted alive. So she let it happen, taking a backseat in her own form, letting the demoness take over.
And take over, she did. As the possessed witch continued to laugh, the fire that was once a threat now became an ally, starting to be sucked up in the wind that was quickly becoming a cyclone, and the more that the force gathered, the hotter it burned. But not to her body, at least. But to everyone else's.
The elements combined to become a tornado of fire that expanded larger and larger. The crowd started to try and escape, but that too, was useless. Lines of flame spidered out from the original pyre faster than any mortal could run, and soon connected into a massive circle that surrounded them all, trapping them. The panicked screaming only got louder, and soon the same people that jeered at the woman for being a witch and cheered for her tortured death started to beg for mercy and forgiveness.
They wouldn't be given that mercy, and as a result, soon the cylindrical inferno further expanded, trapping people between two walls of impossibly hot blaze. It was a slow, steady increase; torturous and allowing those to feel their own slow, horrific death. The pikes that were attempted to be thrown at or stabbed into the woman's immediately ignited and burned the hands that attempted to hold them. The holy men's supposedly blessed water started to boil into steam, useless.
Abigail's hidden subconscious stirred as she let her body be a mere puppet.
"Kaelezeth?" Her voice asked in her subconscious.
"Yes, dear witch?"
"Can you save the Head Priest for last?"
"What a lovely idea. I think we'll pair quite well with each other. To celebrate our contract, I'll let you finish him off yourself."
This plan was followed, the flames summoned and controlled by both the demon and the use of the witch's powers incinerating groups of people at a time within the expanding walls of fire without hesitation, yet with a select amount of intricacy.
Among the charred corpses and even blackened skeletal remains was left the man that was the catalyst for the entire event.
Having freed her body from the stake she was tied to, her replacement was in the form of the priest who had not only ruined everything she held dear, but attempted to take both her body and then her life.
Sitting down upon the ground and hands resting upon her badly burned feet and legs, the possessed witch merely waved a hand to rekindle the flames at the foot of the stake, watching the holy man beg for his life and cry in pain as he gradually experienced what she did, keeping the flames low as to take as long as possible.
Both beings could see through one set of eyes, a smile upon her features as they watched the man burn alive. Together.