The Vampire & Her Witch

”Begging is unseemly of a noblewoman, Lady Eleanor,” Percivus said coldly, his voice as clinical as his movements as he finally pulled the tattered robes free and tossed them carelessly into the corner of the cell.

He released his grip on her, and Eleanor immediately collapsed back onto the rough wood and leather cot, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself despite the chains. The thin shift that remained provided minimal coverage, and while it preserved her modesty, it did nothing to protect her from the biting cold that immediately began seeping into her bones now that the heavy robes were gone.

She felt naked despite the shift. Not physically exposed, but stripped of something far more precious than just the garment itself.

Percivus looked down at her for a moment, and there was something almost like satisfaction in his expression. Not the satisfaction of a man who had humiliated a woman, but the satisfaction of someone who had completed a necessary task.

”You should thank me,” he said, turning away from her to cross the room toward the oil heater that had kept the worst of winter’s chill at bay. ”I’m freeing you of the delusion that you ever served the Church with your whole heart.”

He knelt beside the heater, and Eleanor watched with growing horror as he pulled out the stopper in its base and turned the simple device on its side. Expensive lamp oil spilled out in a steady stream, soaking into the gold and crimson fabric of her discarded vestments.

”No,” Eleanor whispered, but her voice was too weak, too broken after what she’d already endured to carry any real force.

Percivus ignored her, his movements still methodical as he ensured every part of the fabric was thoroughly soaked. When he was satisfied, he pulled a small golden sun pendant from underneath his robes, holding it before him as he spoke a simple prayer.

”In the Flames of Purity. Burn,” Percivus commanded, conjuring a small, dancing flame the size of his palm that spilled from his outstretched hand like the golden rays of dawn falling to the earth.

As soon as the Holy Fire descended, the fabric ignited with a sudden whoosh, flames leaping up eagerly as they devoured the oil. The fire was bright in the dim cell, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The golden fabric blackened and curled, the crimson hood seeming to bleed as the dye ran and the cloth turned black and crumpled upon itself.

Eleanor couldn’t look away.

She watched as the robes that she had proudly worn for more than a decade were slowly consumed by Percivus’s Holy Fire. The flames crackled and popped, and she could smell the burning fabric, an acrid, bitter scent that made her throat catch and turned her vision blurry with a misty haze.

Or perhaps that was just the tears.

”You should learn from this moment, Lady Eleanor,” Percivus said, standing and brushing his hands off as if he’d just just ignited a pile of rubbish at the end of spring cleaning rather than burning the sacred robes of a respected Confessor. Then, he returned to his small table and began carefully packing away the remnants of his lunch, cleaning each utensil with meticulous care.

”After all,” he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder, ”it’s the fate of heretics to burn for their crimes. Consider this a preview of what awaits you if you continue to refuse cooperation. The flames will consume your body just as easily as they consumed those robes. And they’ll take far longer to finish their work.”

He picked up his leather case, now neatly packed, and gestured to the acolytes.

”Brothers Niklas and Samlet, take the heater with us when we leave. Lady Eleanor has no further need of it. Let her contemplate her choices in the cold.”

The two young men moved forward eagerly. One of them picked up the now-empty oil heater while the other gathered Percivus’s chair and table. They cast almost gleeful glances at Eleanor as they worked, clearly pleased to see the woman who Percivus claimed had been punished by the Holy Lord of Light now shivering without the sacred robes she’d been profaning.

”We’ll speak again soon, Lady Eleanor,” Percivus said from the doorway, emphasizing the word ’lady’ when he addressed her. ”Perhaps after you’ve spent a few more days in proper contemplation, you’ll be more willing to provide the names I require. After all, I’m certain you’re familiar with plenty of wicked lords who have evaded punishment for their crimes... you just need to part your lips and speak their names and I’ll take care of the rest.”

He paused in the doorway, looking back at the burning robes one last time.

”Or perhaps you won’t,” he added with a helpless shrug. ”Either way, I have all the time in the world. Do you?”

The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and Eleanor heard the sound of a bar being slid into place, locking her inside, leaving her alone with the flames.

For several minutes, Eleanor simply sat there, wrapped in her thin shift and the rough blanket from the cot, watching her life burn. Silent tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks, but she didn’t sob. She didn’t wail. She just sat there and... watched.

The heat from the fire reached her across the small cell, and despite everything, despite the horror of what it represented, despite clearly understanding every message the merciless Inquisitor intended to send by burning her robes, she found herself grateful for the warmth.

The cell was already growing cold now that the heater was gone, and winter’s chill was beginning to seep through the stone walls. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and edged slightly closer to the flames, close enough to feel their heat but not so close as to be burned by them.

As she moved, her shackles clinked softly with each subtle shift, as if to remind her that there was no escape from this nightmare.

”Did you know, Cousin Ashlynn?” Eleanor whispered as she stared into the flames that were consuming the most sacred treasure she owned. ”Did you know how bad it would be to fall into the Inquisition’s hands with a birthmark that made you resemble a witch?”

”And was there a part of you,” she said in a voice that was very small and fragile. ”Was there a part of you that was glad when Owain released you from a lifetime of fear? Because part of me is feeling that now,” she said as her lip began to tremble. ”And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to hold on now that the Inquisition has decided I’m guilty.”

”How did you do it, Cousin Ashlynn?” Eleanor asked. ”How did you face every day knowing that this was the fate that awaited you if you were discovered? Where did you find the courage? And... can you lend me some of it now? Because I need the strength you once had...”