Prompt: Burn the witch, they shouted as they tied her to the stake. She just laughed as fire was her ally, not an enemy.
As the witch laughed towards the dark sky, the flames rolled over her body like water; flowing up her arms, cresting over her chest, streaming over her collar and up her neck. They poured into her open, smiling lips, endlessly emptying into her insides. Not burning flesh, nor hair. The conflagration became nothing but charred, dry wood and the witch, unharmed, standing upon the unlit block.
The crowd held their breath. Eyes wide. Jaws slacken. The torchbearer was uncertain if he ought to relight the kindling. They watched and waited until the witch faced them. She inhaled the smoky air, her chest and belly bursting at the gown’s seams. Then, smirking, exhaled. A fiery maelstrom erupted from her lips, unfurled and flooded the very air, consuming all in its path. The crowd weren’t quick enough. Man, woman, child; all those who cursed and raped and forced her onto the pyre were now their own, one of bone and flesh.
When all was ash and dust, bones bleached black and innards no more than fatty pools of gore, the witch stepped down from the block. Gingerly, she walked around them, beyond their homes, and disappeared into the darkness of the woods.
Read the previous prompt, “Where He’s Truly Meant to Be”
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