Maestra

Eve followed the cobblestone to the heart of the quiet, picturesque little town. Setting down her bag and worn violin case, she looked around at the sleepy square, knowing it would soon be full of colorful chatter, heavily spiced meats, and lively music. She intended to add herself to the tuneful mix but had a stop to make first. She had heard through her travels that this town had recently burned a witch. Morbid curiosity had her moving towards the woods where the witch was rumored to have spent her last peaceful days before being torn out by the townsfolk. The tale goes that she was accused, but no crimes or details were laid before her. She was simply dragged out by villagers, embarrassingly shorned, and burned naked in the town square without trial or jury. 

She made her way to the small cottage that the simple-minded townsfolk had left untouched, likely for fear of being cursed. Like many women of her time, she knew that any woman who went against society or had any knowledge of the world outside of what was assumed a woman should know was often kept a close eye on. At some point or another, if the woman dealt in the healing arts, she was labeled some sort of mystic or witch. Where they often met their end shortly after some fragile town leader was swayed to act and remove.

Stepping into the small, dank space, she could feel the fear in the last moments of that woman's life. Pushing the anger that threatened to break her calm facade, she looked around. Touching the weathered and lovingly used grimoire. Warm with power even still. She began poking through the dried herbs on the table and noticing what was in the cauldron. She could almost smell the sweet healing balm that would have been simmering before she was violently torn from her home. Witch or not, the woman who lived here was a healer and only dealt in white magic. Wiping a tear that betrayed the usual calm she so expertly kept, she looked around again. 

"There will be no magic left at this rate," Eve said as she quietly walked out and shut the door, holding her hand to the aged wood and feeling the power of a weak protection spell that failed the murdered witch. She could feel that this house only saw the work of good until that horrid day months ago. She murmured a blessing to keep the home safe until another witch would come seeking a new start. 

She picked up her violin case and set to the town square; she preferred to play at night. So the day would be spent gathering items she needed for her travels and gathering any information she could from the tight-lipped villagers, not friendly to strangers, about their murder of the white witch in the wood. Amused by the alliteration, she playfully tossed the phrase into a new composition in her mind, weaving the chilling tale into a melody as she gathered herself for this evening's performance.

As dusk settled over the happy little village, Eve took to the center of the town square. It wasn't out of color for someone to play in the evening, especially as the autumnal sun set earlier. To them, she was just another musician looking to make a few coins to get her through the night or to her next stop. She cradled the violin and began to play her sweet, sad song.

As her bow met the strings, Eve's voice hummed an unsettling melody that had the villagers stop and stare. Entranced by her voice, they slowly gathered closer to her. As more people assembled, Eve skillfully weaved into the next melody. She watched more people join their fellow neighbors, and in their trancelike state, she locked eyes with every single one of them.

Slowly, as planned, she began her next tune. Faster and more aggressive than the others, she played as her raven hair flew with the swaying accompanying her malevolent composition. Losing herself in the music, she felt the darkness she beckoned fill the square. Opening her eyes, she saw the villagers become frozen with fear. Smiling, she watched as the dark fog weaved through the crowd. Knowing it was slowly unlocking all of their forgotten ignorant fears and hidden hatreds for one another and the world. 

She paused her playing and watched the villagers shudder in their own horror. Her dark velvet voice rose above the whimpers and terrified moans. 

"I am Eve. The daughter of the witch you murdered." She declared, eyes bright with rage. Picking up her violin and beginning her final tune, she said, "It's time to pay the piper." She said and watched as realization washed over them.

She could feel the fear and panic sweeping through the crowd. With a knowing smile, she knew it was too late. And soon, so would they. Captivated by her music, they could not escape its cruel grasp. Their bodies moved as if possessed as a quiet cloud of doom settled over the village.

Eve played on as they each descended into madness one by one, accelerating with each victim. The beckoned shadows danced wildly and coldly engulfed them all. No one was safe. Driven by their hysteria, friends, sisters, and lovers began accusing each other of witchcraft.

Soon, as Eve continued to play on, she watched as the town persuaded themselves that the only way to purge the evil that had overtaken them was to burn the entire village with them inside it. With chilling calm and precision, the townsfolk stacked mountains of wood around the square. Oil was splattered on every surface, and they soaked their clothes. Smelling the sweet scent of delirium seeping out of her, Eve played their funeral hymn.

Once united by love for their peace, this tiny town and its dwellers became their own executioners. Holding their flames of justice, they began a pyre to cleanse their village and the world of the perceived evil.

As the flames roared around them, too late to save themselves and all they loved, Eve stopped playing. With a chilling whisper, she invoked the spell to be lifted. The horrifying realization of all they were doing to themselves struck them just as the fiery flames began to lick their skin. Eve had released them from her enchantment, but her guided hands of fate had already tightened their grip. It was too late; they were all damned.

Eve packed up her violin, and a path was carved to safety for her and her alone. Her only farewell was the symphony of cries and screams, a testament to her work that had just begun.

She stood on the outskirts of the burning village, a fiendish smile on her lips. Thrilled that her powers were becoming more potent, a mad joy bubbled up inside her at the knowledge she could unleash such a force, manipulating the guilty into becoming the architects of their own destruction. After all, that's what ignorance and blind hate did to humanity from within anyway. She was merely the conductor who pushed along life's orchestrations and let their own demise play out. 

The darkness that she had unleashed stroked her skin like a lover. Leaning into it, she began humming her new tune like a lullaby as she walked away from the inferno, leaving the town to smolder. There were countless villages like this where so many of her sisters had met the same violent fate as her mother. Eve was happy to become the insidious maestra, orchestrating justice with her song.