Gwendolyn

Amelia, stood at the forefront of the crowd, poised on the crude wooden planks that served as a stage for her trial. The sunlight cast harsh angles across her delicate features, illuminating the fear etched into her wide brown eyes as she stood before the gathering; her usually vibrant spirit seemed dimmed, diminished like a flickering candle just moments away from being extinguished. Amelias curly, beautiful hair hung in wild tendrils around her face, framing a visage filled with innocence and vulnerability that sharply contrasted with the accusations that had led her here. 

Gwen’s stomach twisted painfully as she took in the sight of her sister, 

The judge, a solemn figure clad in dark robes, presided over the proceedings with a countenance as cold and unforgiving as the gray sky above. His gavel struck down like thunder, echoing ominously through the square as he called the trial to order. “We gather today to unveil the truth,” he proclaimed, his voice reverberating within the hearts of those present. Despite the authority he wielded, there was a weakness in his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that betrayed the inner turmoil of a man caught between tradition and the burgeoning wave of enlightenment.

“Witch!” a voice shouted from the edge of the crowd, punctuating the tension with a piercing accusation. The crowd responded with a collective gasp, and Gwen felt every heartbeat, every breath consumed by the weight of the moment. With each passing second, her thoughts screamed at her to rush forward, to claim her sister in a fierce embrace and whisk her away from the impending doom, but the oppressive force of the townsfolk held her back.

Under the somber shadow of the ancient oak, Judge Saltonstall addressed the anxious assembly of Salem's townspeople. "We are gathering outside today due to the peculiar circumstances surrounding Amelia's witch test," he declared, his voice unwavering yet laced with an undercurrent of tension. The crowd, a patchwork of fear and curiosity, shifted uncomfortably, their glances darting between the judge and the young woman at the center of the unfolding drama.

"Amelia," the judge continued, his gavel poised in one hand, "it is now time for you to prepare your witch cake. We have already gathered the necessary ingredients—rye and ashes. You shall urinate and bake the cake immediately." As the words left his lips, an uneasy murmuring swept through the crowd, weighing heavily in the air.

Mary Sutton’s father, the constable, stepped forward, his grim demeanor reflecting the severity of the moment. He extended a small bowl to Amelia, an emblem of the bizarre ritual they were about to undertake. Blushing deeply, Amelia stood before the gathered townsfolk, exposing herself to their judgment as she complied with the absurd decree, her heart racing as she filled the bowl in humiliation.

Witnessing this mortifying spectacle, Gwens frustration simmering beneath the surface like a pot ready to boil over. She clenched her fists to regain her composure, her thoughts swirling in a tempest of defiance. "Amelia is innocent," Gwen proclaimed, her voice steady despite the chaos within her. "Once she is vindicated, we will leave this town forever." Yet, beneath her resolve, a darker voice echoed, clawing its way into her consciousness.

"You weak fool!" the voice sneered, dripping with disdain. "Her fate is death if she is convicted. Mark my words, I will intervene." Gwendolyn, the sinister presence lurking within Gwen, hissed with malevolent intent. It was an internal battle, one that threatened to pull her into the depths of despair, yet Gwen fought to remain anchored to her convictions, unwilling to let fear dictate her actions.

Amelia carefully mixed together the ingredients: rye grains, ash, and a small amount of urine. Focusing intently, she shaped the concoction into the form of a cake, a grim concoction known as a "witch cake." With a deep breath, she placed it on a flat, scorching rock positioned at the center of the gathering, where the townsfolk had assembled around her. The sun beat down mercilessly, wrapping the scene in an ironic warmth amidst the chilling seriousness of Amelia's trial. Judge Saltonstall presided over the gathering, his face a mask of authority, while the quiet townspeople, hushed with anticipation and fear, watched intently.

“If the dog identifies the witch after consuming the witch cake,” Judge Saltonstall declared, his voice ringing out clear and commanding, “the accused will face immediate sentencing. As this is Amelia's second accusation, the sentence will be death by hanging. Bring forth the animal!” He concluded with an air of finality that sent shivers through the crowd.

Suddenly, Gwen's voice pierced through the murmurs of the townsfolk, “Second accusation! Hogwash!” Her fierce protest echoed loudly, drawing the attention of the assembly. Mary Sutton, a townsperson with a determined gait, stepped forward, leading Troy, the dog that belonged to Amelia, for the ill-fated test of the witch cake.

“Troy?” Amelia's voice wavered with confusion as she hesitated. Mary Sutton wore a menacing smile; the kind that promised mischief as she eyed Amelia. 

“That's my sister's dog!” Gwen shouted, desperation flaring in her eyes. She struggled against the grip of two burly constables who were preventing her from reaching Amelia. In response, Judge Saltonstall ordered her to be detained for the length of the trial, his voice betraying no empathy.

“This is a set-up, Gwen! You know what you must do,” a sinister voice whispered within her. Gwendolyn’s cruel words echoed in her mind, urging her to act. “That dog is her doom. Kill them to save her… or else.” 

Gwen shook her head vehemently, brushing off the evil presence in her thoughts. She knew this was far from over, no matter the odds. 

Amelia then lifted the witch cake and offered it to Troy, it consumed the cake.The loyal dog she had cherished since he was a puppy. Moving back ten paces, Amelia watched as Troy bounded toward her, tail wagging with joy. The townsfolk gasped collectively, mistakenly believing the dog was pointing out the witch, when in truth, he was merely returning to his beloved owner.

“That settles it,” Judge Saltonstall announced, his voice filled with grim conviction. “Let the sentencing commence. Amelia Hastings, you stand accused of witchcraft. How do you plead?” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed with judgement.

“Innocent,” Amelia responded, her voice firm, yet tinged with the slightest tremor of fear.

“Amelia shall hang by the neck until you are dead,” declared Judge Saltonstall, a finality in his tone that sent a wave of dread rippling through the crowd.

Enraged, Gwen, driven by desperation and indignation, head-butted the guard restraining her. With a swift motion, she struck the other guard, freeing herself momentarily. Channeling an ancient energy, she raised her palms and forcefully separated the crowd, creating a path toward her sister. 

Once clear, she summoned her wand, the familiar weight comforting in her hand. With a single word, “De,” she conjured a spell that extinguished the fire on which Amelia had cooked her witch cake. Arriving in front of her younger sister, wand raised in defense, Gwen spoke softly but decisively, “It’s okay.” 

“Gwen, you shouldn’t have done this," Amelia replied, her spirit seemingly crushed under the weight of impending doom. 

Gwen's heart raced, a wild drumbeat thrumming within her chest, as she frantically scanned the chaos surrounding her a maelstrom of accusations, fear, and malice roiling through the air like the thick autumn fog that clung to the ground. The oppressive weight of the townspeople’s glares bore down on her, each pair of eyes penetrating, judgmental, branded with the unsparing mark of suspicion and hatred. She clutched her baby sister, Amelia, to her chest with trembling hands, desperately trying to formulate a plan to escape this nightmare, to shield her innocent sister from the impending doom that seemed to close in like a noose.

But unbeknownst to Gwen, the shadow of Alexander Sutton, the father of the girl mary loomed ominously behind her. The air around him seemed thick with malice, a predator watching its prey. In a swift and unforgiving motion, he struck her from behind brutal and unexpected his strong hand colliding with the back of her head, sending her sprawling face-first into the dusty earth. The world spun wildly, darkening around the edges as consciousness slipped away, leaving her vulnerable and exposed at the feet of the scornful townspeople of Salem, who whispered fervently about witches and evil, viewing her as nothing more than a perpetrator of dark sorcery.

In that instant, Gwen felt a disconcerting shift in her reality, transporting her into a vivid dreamscape an escape into a spectacular field of sunflowers, their golden blooms majestic and swaying gracefully in the gentle breeze. The warm sunlight enveloped her like a mother’s embrace, casting a soft, ethereal glow on the scene, reminiscent of her childhood days spent frolicking amidst her family's blossoming garden. The air was sweet and fragrant, filled with the heady scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the turmoil she had just left behind. But just as she began to lose herself in the golden beauty of the moment, a shadow loomed over her sunny reverie, and she turned to find herself face to face with Gwendolyn her sinister doppelganger, an uncanny mirror reflecting her darkest fears.

“I told you to kill them! I warned you!” Gwendolyn hissed, her voice a slithering whisper that sent chills coursing down Gwen's spine. There was a wicked glint in her eyes, filled with contempt and malice as she stood defiantly, clad in dark garments that fluttered ominously like the wings of a raven. “Now, we, along with Amelia, are destined to hang. Wake up, you weak fool!” Gwendolyn's words unraveled like a cursed spell, heavy and foreboding, suffocating the warmth of the sunlit field. As if solidified by Gwen's despair, Gwendolyn's hand swung through the air with vicious intent, delivering a sharp slap that caught Gwen completely off guard, the reverberation of the impact jolting her awake.

With a panicked gasp, Gwen's eyes flew open, her heart racing with a chaotic mix of confusion and fear as reality crashed down upon her like a tidal wave. She blinked against the harsh light, heart sinking as her gaze darted around to take in the horror of her surrounding, a noose around her neck, a hellish tableau painted in shades of grief. And then, the cold, paralyzing truth seeped into her consciousness: Amelia was gone. A chill crept through her body, tendrils of ice curling into her bones as she absorbed the ghastly scene before her; Amelia lay lifeless, her once vibrant face now an agonizing shade of pale, bruises marring her delicate neck, the unmistakable signs of hanging doing savage justice to the innocence that had once radiated from her being. The violence of death had stolen away the sister she adored, silencing forever the laughter and love they had shared, leaving a gaping void that would never be filled she did not even have the chance to savor a single goodbye.

Sorrow enveloped Gwen like an impenetrable, suffocating shroud, dragging her into the depths of despair, each breath a reminder of the precious life snuffed out before her time. But that feeling, shackled to the ground by the weight of grief, was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by an insurmountable wave of rage that surged within her, rising like a tempest ready to unleash fury upon the world. The sight of Amelia's fragile body ignited a ferocious fire in Gwen's heart, transforming her grief into a fierce and unquenchable resolve. How could they have done this? How could they have taken away the only person she had ever truly loved, the anchor of her very existence? In this harrowing moment of anguish and betrayal, Gwen vowed to unleash her wrath upon those who had wronged them to become a force driven by vengeance. Gwendolyn was born.

Gwendolyn loomed over the lifeless body of her sister. The air was heavy with the weight of injustice and betrayal. Gwendolyns lust for carnage to those who murdered her sister over took her actions. The imposing figure of Judge Saltonstall, clad in austere black robes, bellowed with an authoritative voice that echoed through the somber square, "Gwen Hastings, you have been accused of witchcraft. How do you plead?"

Amidst the hushed murmurings of the gathering crowd, Gwendolyn let out a menacing cackle that sliced through the tension like a knife. Her laughter resonated with a ferocity that sent shivers down the spines of those present. "Guilty," she declared, her voice dripping with defiance. "Go ahead and hang me!" As she spoke, determination flickered in her eyes like embers ready to ignite, portraying an inner strength that belied her seemingly resigned words. it did Not turn out well for the prudes.