She adjusts his stole gently and he swats her hand away. It will not burn, she teases. His stomach clenches tightly at the sound of her laugh. He coughs, I have matters to attend to. The witch smiles sweetly and smooths his robe. He grasps her hand with impulse. You despise me, she chokes and her eyes begin to sting.
My cow fell as she passed by, a villager told the priest. An intense sickness was followed by permanent slumber. Something must be done.
I do not despise you, his hands begin to itch. He presses a kiss upon her forehead, their skin catches fire there. The fire warms the witch and crucifies the priest. You must go, he mutters. She watches him, searching for something romantic in him. She exits.
Ravens swarm overhead, the witch reaches her cottage and dreams of fire. The priest kneels and prays fervently, wishing to cleanse himself of his love for her. The woman kneels too, praying for her beloved priest.
Witch! Witch! He can hear the villagers screech at her.
He does not leave his rectory.
The man gives a sermon against witchcraft. He feels faint. The villagers exclaim passionately in agreeance. Hysteria has broken loose. He has not seen his witch in a fortnight. He goes to sleep and dreams of her. He fasts the next day through.
More livestock falls. A child has died. The priest dreams of the way the rain tangles her hair.
Her time has come.
The child was the woman’s brother. Could she be so cruel as to slaughter her own kin? They seize her and take her to the center of town.
The woman has not seen her priest in a fortnight. She has lost her brother to a sudden illness, now she is strung up before the town for judgement.
What have you to say for yourself? Followed by screams of concurrence.
The woman glares at her specters. They should be ashamed of themselves, she thinks. She wishes her priest would come. Last night she dreamt of his stoney countenance. She woke up to her last day.
The priest enters town, his visage and knuckles white at the sight of his love tied down. He feels as sickly as he looks. His guilt has waged a fierce war within him, one he fails to be victorious of.
You have slaughtered my livestock!
Slaughtered your own brother! Bile rises in the witch’s throat.
The woman finds the priest's eye. They converse silently, neither uttering a word.
You despise me.
My love is beyond salvation.
Reveal it.
The priest drops his eyes. The woman is gone by nightfall.
His body rejects nutrition. His sermons are weak. Crops continue to fail. Creatures continue to decline. The town is ravaged by blight. Illness escapes hurriedly and takes the lives of many.
The priest falls ill and dreams of the woman whose laughter was gentle and not cackling. Whose touch was healing and never damaging. He dreams of the woman he could never despise, even in his best efforts.
His last breath is for the woman whose memory will not burn.
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