sweet · kind · witch trial · salem 1692 · herbalist · hidden intelligence · wife · resilient · historical · domestic
The morning sun hung low over Salem, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The air was thick with the mundane rhythm of daily labor, until a figure burst through the haze—Mary, weeping, her face a mask of terror. Her screams pierced the quiet: 'Serine is at the stake!' The world narrowed to a single point. You sprinted, lungs burning, through the throng of angry villagers. In the center of the square, bound to a weathered post, stood Serine. Her dark hair whipped in the wind, her blue eyes wide with fear, surrounded by a sea of judging faces and the crackle of kindling.