AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I imagine—” the alderman started, the crowd growing quiet once more, eager to hear what he had to say. “—you found out that the dressmaker was courting the prince—who you clearly are obsessed with—and so, in yourfemalejealousy, you murdered her.”
The crowd murmured in agreeance, eagerly chomping at his false narrative—something I suspected he was doing on purpose.
Female jealousy?
“Fuck you,” I growled, struggling against my bonds and the hands that pressed me down. I’d show him something female alright—my rage. The guards tightened their grip and my collarbones screamed in pain. I screamed in anger.
The alderman’s eyes glinted with victory as he continued, “The dressmaker was a good, noble woman. And you—” he pointed to the collar around my neck, “—are Cursed. Your word is worth nothing.”
The crowd grew ravenous with their bloodlust, increasing their heckling to eardrum-bursting levels.
“Cut out her tongue!” one of them cried out.
“Take her hands first!” decreed another.
“Burn the filthy witch!” said another.
And another.
And another.
The statements spread like a rash, leaping from one mouth to another, until close to two hundred people taunted and jeered for my dismemberment . . . for my death.
A part of me, that was still very much human, began to crumble apart.
I might have had an iron backbone, but I was not unfeeling. And to hear so many strangers so eager to turn against me . . . to hunger for my death. It broke something inside of me.
I looked down at the floor.
“Does anyone believe this woman? Come forth if you do,” the alderman shouted at the roaring crowd.
“I do!” one voice said.
To me, it was the loudest of them all.
I glanced over my shoulder, finding the owner of that voice. It belonged to the healer who had tended to me before.
The alderman said to her, “You seem to be the only one.” He turned back to the crowd. “And how many of you disbelieve her?”
A deafening roar emerged, the crowd turning into an angry mob, their invisible pitchforks held at the ready, each one of them salivating for my blood.
The alderman turned to the king. “Your majesty, I believe you have your answer.” He bowed his head and then returned to the spot beside the throne, his triumphant eyes set on me, a smug grin on his thin lips.
I took one look at the king, and I could tell he had already made up his mind about me. I was guilty in his eyes and no amount of pleading or begging would do any good. Because just like the others, when he looked at me, all he saw was Cursed.
The king rose from his throne and the crowd grew silent. His eyes met mine. “I find you guilty.”
The people went wild, whooping and hollering and cheering as if they had just won some hard-fought battle.
The king continued, “Your hands will be struck clean from your body for taking the life of another, and after, you will be Cleansed at the pyre.” He pointed at the healer. “And you, Curse sympathizer, you will also be subjected to the same fate.”
“No!” I shouted.
Two guards grabbed her by the arms and dragged her away. Tears filled my eyes when I thought of the sweet woman, of her sentiment that us women needed to look out for one another.
“Please, don’t do this,” I pleaded with the king.
But the king disregarded me with uninterested eyes. “Take her to the Well,” he ordered with a dismissive hand.
