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Witch's Curse
Abbadon’s young mind began to swirl. “Witch!” they cried out. “Burn her!” Tied to a large wooden stake upon countless stacks of wood, she glared down at the people the 13 year old girl had once called her friends, neighbors, even her family. “Set the fire!” One man shouted as another walked forward with a lit torch. Abbadon held her breath tightly as she watched the man approach with what would soon end her life. What’s wrong with being a little different? She squeezed her eyes tight as tears ran along her cheeks. All she had done was cry out after her cat when she was accused of calling out the name of her “possessor!” Her eyes flew open suddenly as she became aware of a hot feeling towards her feet. She struggled to loosen her bonds and break free, all to no avail. When the first flame licked her foot, she let out a blood-curdling scream. The crowd, for a moment, was dead silent. However, as soon as the silence began, it ended. “Enjoy Hell, ye damned witch!” one man cried. Their shouting continued as the fire reached her ankles; she continued wailing.
The agony she was enduring was pushing her to the point of unconsciousness as the flames licked her waist, her legs burned away. As if the pain wasn’t enough, she was also experiencing huge amounts of blood loss. She decided to lay her head down in a peace of heat, but something in her mind sparked. Doom. Doom to all those who had done this cursed action to her! Her eyes flashed black as she let out one last scream, swearing her return to end every miserable soul on this damned land. Her facial features fell as her head did. She would be back, maybe not tomorrow, next month, or even years from now. But one day, she would return and take every last one of those people to Hell with her.
Black
Abbadon opened her eyes to see just that, or, so she thought she did. Her vision focused as she found herself in front of a man in a white suit, hair long and brown, sitting in what looked like a throne of sorts. He looked happy, almost peaceful. He smiled graciously upon her, eyes gleaming with joy. As she opened her mouth to speak, she realized she could not. Her mouth was forced shut by what felt like a strange force. She looked around her and noticed she was in what looked like a hall of pillars made of flames. She shivered at the sight of fire, unsure why, and looked back toward the man in the suit. He lifted his head slowly as he said, “Ah, Abbadon. You were a good young girl, you led a good life. Do you believe you belong in this place?”
Her mouth seemed to be released from the force as she opened it. “Is this Hell?”
“What do you think?” the man said, leaning forward.
“Does this mean I perished? What became of me?” She was nearly falling over her words as she spoke.
“Don’t you recall?
Her mind was suddenly flooded with her memories at his words, anger flooding once more through her veins. Her eyes switched black again, but this time, permanently. Fire, screams, and hate filled her mind. “Yes,” she said.
“Yes, yes to what?” the man asked.
“I do belong here,” she muttered, anger ringing from her voice.
“Welcome, my child,” the man said, and she recognized him to be the devil. Herself, a demon.
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