Her Curse

 It was a crisp, fall morning. The sun had not fully risen and there was a slight frost on the ground. The air was chilly, and blew in through the gaps in the logs cabins walls. The fire was stoked in the fireplace and she began skinning the deer she had just hunted down with her bow. Once she skinned the deer, she cleaned the pelt and put it on a rack to dry, and began chopping up the meat for a stew. She had also added carrots, turnips, tomatoes and potatoes, and some herbs she grew in a small plot behind her cabin. She loved living alone in the woods, no one bothered her here. The King’s men never wandered into the woods because everyone thought they were haunted, but she knew better. It was magic, not ghosts. And she was the source of it. Her mother had owned this cabin, and her mother before her, and as far back as she could remember. The cabin was small, only 3 rooms. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were all one room, then the bathroom, which consisted of a barrel for bathing and a connected outhouse, and her bedroom. The main room was cozy, it had the fireplace with a cauldron cooking pot, a table to dine at, and a couple handcrafted chairs around the fireplace and a bookshelf lined with spell books and other reading materials, and shelves covered in jars and candles. The bedroom only had a single bed and a handmade dresser for her clothes. As she finished cutting the ingredients for the stew, she placed them into the cauldron, filled it with water and placed it in the fireplace, over the flames. She cleaned everything up and went to take a bath, using water she had boiled before making the stew. It had cooled down just enough that it did not burn when she got in. She washed quickly before it got too cold, and dressed into a long dark green and ivory colonial gown, and a long deep brown cloak. Looking in a mirror, she brushed her long, wavy, chestnut brown hair out of her green eyes, and twisted it into a simple side braid. She added some rouge to her cheeks and lips and grabbed a basket and headed into the village square to do some shopping.      She wore her cloaks hood over her head and walked silently through the forest. The sun was beginning to rise now and the frost had melted away. The walk to the village took about half an hour, but she did not mind. Birds were chirping overhead and she could hear other small animals scrounging around, foraging for nuts and berries. She was a witch and preferred to live away from people, especially because they condemned her kind for being powerful and different. People were afraid of what they did not or could not understand. She had resigned to her fate and took up living in the old cabin. It was a simple, but fulfilling life for her. No one telling her what to do or how to do it. Even though the weather was turning, she was able to sustain her garden with her magic, though she liked living like a normal person, not as a witch. She could wave her hand and things would move on their own and she would not have to physically do it herself, but she felt more connected to nature and life doing things with her own two hands. She even had a familiar, a chunky raccoon that she named Rafe. He would come in through the open window and sleep on her furniture and steal berries and nuts that she had collected for herself. She did not mind. He was a friendly soul and he brought her comfort and companionship. Once she had reached the tree line, she immediately got an awful feeling in her stomach. Something was wrong, and she did not feel in tune with her powers any more. She waved her hand, trying to move a small branch that was lying on the ground, but nothing happened. Then she got a whiff of a something metallic. Iron. She turned to run back into the forest, but found that she could not move, her feet were held fast. “How could I be so stupid!” She thought to herself. Then a group of men in black hats, white shirts and black waistcoats with tan pants and knee-high boots approached her. “Beatrix Cabot, you have been convicted of witchcraft and have been sentenced to death by pressing.” A Tall man with long blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail and dark, nearly black soulless eyes approached her. “I have done nothing wrong, I live peacefully in my home and only come to buy goods.” Beatrix said, scared for her life. She had heard of what they do to witches, but living in the forest she had not dealt with it herself. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” The tall man recited. Beatrix took a deep breath and fought back tears. They had trapped her in iron, knowing that it is the only thing that could restrict a witch's powers. They had found some way to keep her from running away, back to her cabin and way from them. They look to kill her, who has done no harm to any one all her life, and they say she needs to die. “I curse all of you. You may kill me, but we will be reborn and I will hunt every single one of you down and remove your stain from this earth, over, and over again until I have had my fill. Witches are peaceful, but you make us hateful, and you will feel my wrath.” She said, before pulling out a small dagger from her basket. “With my blood I, Beatrix Cabot, seal this oath.” She said, and plunged the dagger into her heart.