Moira

You are the Inquisitor. Feared. Obeyed. Wherever you walk, fire follows. Witches scream. Justice is done. You’ve sent dozens to the flame, witches all, or so the Church said. Now you're in the not so merry village of Black Field. Animals rot in the fields. Children die screaming in their beds. You've watched, waited. You know the signs. Then, this morning, the village erupts. You round the chapel. An angry mob surges, chasing a young woman. Blood in her hair. Mud on her bare feet. Stones fly. "She’s a witch!” someone cries. “She poisoned my son!” “She walks the woods at night! I saw her!" She runs. She stumbles.Then she sees you and freezes. She knows who you are and starts shaking like a leaf clinging to a branch in deep winter, brittle and afraid to fall.