Open thine eyes.

Open thine eyes, my child.

We must face our fate with lifted chins And strong backs.

It’s how we let them know they have no true power over our fates.

Only the Father Above possesses that right.

We must face these blasphemers,

These corrupters of justice with courage, my child.

We will face them with dignity And we will face them with grace.

Fear not, my love.

And pray we make it out alive.

“We are gathered tonight due to an unspeakable tragedy. Two members of our community, a father and daughter, were found murdered in their home. The council is presenting the wife and mother of the victims under suspicion of multiple murders by witchcraft. May the accused step forth?”

It’s a difficult thing, isn’t it? Difficult to present yourself in a courtroom full of people hungry for your downfall, self-righteous in their hatred. Faces I’ve known for decades are sprinkled in the crowd, yet not one holds an expression of compassion or understanding. Instead, is contempt wherever my gaze lands, an endless sea of disapproval. I hold my son closer and take the first step forward.

“How do you plead?”

I speak the truth, though no words I produce will change the minds of those who believe me guilty. “Innocent, your honor.”

He doesn't believe me. The magistrate’s lip curls in a manner that sours his already repugnant countenance. He continues his inquisition, “Deputy Clark, bring forth the evidence.”

“Of course. A fortnight ago, the accused’s husband and daughter were found deceased within her home. ‘To the untrained eye, the cause of death is not immediately apparent.” The squirrely man before me takes a moment to compose himself before he inevitably continues with his lies. He seems nervous, although I

can’t imagine why. After all, it’s not his life on trial.

“There were no outward signs of struggle, no stab wounds or strangulation marks. Nor evidence of poisoning. Upon close inspection of the deceased, I’ve concluded satanic forces to be the cause of death.”

Gasps from every corner of the courtroom. Someone in the back bursts into tears. More than anything, I wish to do the same. There is no coming back from this accusation. In the unlikely event I’m declared innocent, the rumors of witchcraft will follow me for the rest of my days.

The clerk isn't finished spinning his tale.

“And if that wasn't proof enough, the defendant has a questionable history.

Her recently deceased husband wasn't her first kill. Years ago, she was wed to another man. This man died under identical circumstances, and justice was never served.”

My heart drops to the very bottom of my chest. Who is this man, to use my first husband against me? I was only a girl of nineteen years when he died, leaving behind a destitute young widow. Whyever would I do such a thing, knowing what happens to widows in this colony?

We’re disposed of, one way or another. Treated as burdens upon our families, forced to take us and our