The Alpha's Sinful Affair

“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!” the villagers shouted. With pitchforks and torches in the hands of almost all the villagers, they screamed at the top of their lungs, marching forward to Astrid’s small cottage in the woods not far from the village. Astrid had just given birth. She was lying weak on the floor, almost passed out from the experience of having to give birth alone without help or assistance from anyone. The voices of the villagers echoed throughout the woods as they approached further towards her cottage. “I need to get out of here,” Astrid whispered to herself as she pulled her baby closer to her breasts, wrapping her in a soft white cotton fabric. She rushed out to the front door, grunting in pain as she struggled to run. But unfortunately, it was too late. “Stop there, you witch,” a villager called out. “Where do you think you are going?” “Escaping so soon?” another villager spoke. “Did you think we wouldn’t find out about your forsaken child of the devil?” “Burn the witch, burn the witch,” the other villagers murmured. “Please, I beg of you. I never hurt anyone; I never did anything wrong. I have always stayed away from the village. I promised never to show my face around the community, and I kept to that promise. Why have you all sworn to kill me?” Astrid cried. “You are a witch, you don’t deserve mercy, love, or kindness from any human. Yes, we know of your promise, but that doesn’t explain the strange happenings going on in the village. And we know you alone are responsible. You grand witch,” a villager said as he picked up a stone and launched it at Astrid. The other villagers laughed while some of them picked up stones and threw them at her and her baby. An elderly man emerged from the crowd, his steps calculated as he walked to the front and stopped everyone from throwing stones. “Astrid, my dear child. You know the rules and traditions of this village. You were sentenced to be prosecuted to today with your baby, and yet, here you are, trying to run away, trying to plead,” he scoffed. “You know that is impossible. Your fate has already been decided, and you must come with us at once.” Astrid fell to her knees; her eyes filled with tears. Her voice was trembling as she tried to hold back herself from bursting into tears. “Please, I beg of you, please,” she pleaded. “Take her away,” the elderly man said before he walked away, leaving the villagers to rush towards Astrid as they beat her and her baby and dragged her away. They got to the village square, marched to the execution ground, where they had arranged for her to be burned at the stake. Astrid cried out loud and pleaded with them to release her baby, to allow her innocent child to be free while she suffered the consequences alone. But all her cries fell on deaf ears. She was tied to the stake with her baby still wrapped in her arms. “Burn the witch, burn the witch,” the villagers murmured as one of them walked up with a torch and lit the straws that were arranged around the stake on fire. As the flames engulfed the stake, the air grew thick with smoke and the scent of burning wood. Astrid, clutching her baby tightly to her breasts, gazed upon the sky, her eyes locked on the moon. It was as if she willed the heavens themselves to bear witness to her fate. The sky began to darken, the sun’s rays fading as if extinguished by an unseen hand. The moon, once a silver glow, transformed into a deep, blood-red hue. The villagers who had gathered to witness the execution shifted uneasily, their faces pale and fearful. Some covered their eyes, unable to bear the sight, while others bent their heads, whispering prayers or curses. The wind picked up, carrying the whispers and murmurs of the crowd. “By moon’s dark veil, and blood’s red tide. I call upon the ancient ones, hear my cry! Spirits of earth, air, water, and fire. Grant me strength, grant me power, grant me desire!” cried Astrid. The flames crackled, growing higher as Astrid’s voice rose above the din, her voice carrying the wind. The villagers trembled, sensing that something was unfolding, something that would not be contained by the boundaries of their small town. In the face of such terror, they sought solace in each other, huddling together as the darkness deepened, and the moon hung low in the sky. A bloody omen of what was to come. Astrid’s eyes never left the moon, her gaze burning with a fierce determination, as if she would herself into the very fabric of the night, escaping the mortal bounds that claim her. Astrid continued. “Moon, now blood-red, witness my fate! Spirits hear my cry, don’t hesitate! Take me, hide me, keep me safe. With child in arms, we’ll vanish, unafraid.” As the flames licked at her feet, Astrid’s voice rose to a crescendo, her words echoing through the darkness. Then suddenly, a blinding flash of light enveloped the stake. Astrid’s form began to shimmer, her body dissolving into the light. The flames, the smoke, the very air itself seemed to ripple and distort, as if reality was bending to accommodate an impossible escape. And then, in an instant, she was gone. The light vanished, the flames died down, and the stake stood empty except for the charred remains of the wooden bindings. The villagers blinked, stunned. Their eyes scanned the area as if expecting her to reappear. But she was nowhere to be seen. The baby’s wail, which had been audible just moments before, was now eerily silent. The sky, once blood-red, returned to its normal hue. The moon shines bright and serene. The villagers stared at each other, their faces pale and shocked, their minds reeling with the implication. “Where... where did she go?” someone whispered. “I thought she was stripped of all her powers? How then did she vanish?” another asked. The villagers looked around, bewildered, but there was no sign of Astrid the witch or her child. It was as if they had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of magic, and the haunting question: What just happened?