You stand at the window of the apothecary looking out into the main square of Mystic Falls, watching as a witch and two vampires are being burnt at the pyre. The crowd jeers in excitement and horror, the shouting and screams coming muffled through the glass. Your own disgust manifests itself as bile in your throat and a glare from your eyes. A hand reaches to your shoulder from behind you, giving it a reassuring squeeze: your mother. "Don't torture yourself, my love."
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