Warren. Sybil stood in the center of her all so familiar home town, feeling rather sleepy, heavy, and confused, pale eyes drifting over the buildings and sky and trees in the distance with obvious worry. Everything was dyed a light gray or blue, as if frozen in ice, and it was dead quiet. No children, no gossip, no wind or birds or creaking. Just silence. Sybil turned around slowly, feeling the familiar drift of a night gown brush her bare feet, and opened her mouth to call for someone, anyone, but no words formed, just air, as if she was letting out a breathless scream. Her brain groped for answers, but none came, and the thought that she was dreaming never crossed her mind. And then, as if on a cue, she was walking, wandering through the dirt roads of the blued-out town in complete silence. At first, she was calm, deciding that, perhaps, she was just a bit out of it and everything would return to normal soon, but after what felt like an hour of endless walking through a gray-scale, silent town she began to lose hope. And then she caught sight of the church, standing tall and proud against a blue-gray and still sky, and then Sybil felt her heart leap with fear. Shivers racked her body, a combination of fear and anxiety forced her eyes closed, and her mind repeatedly screamed, [i]"No, no, I don't wanna see, please!"[/i] But she didn't know what she didn't want to see. Odd. Eventually, the walking slowed to a stop once again, and Sybil stood, blind and frightened, until something brushed her shoulder. Blue eyes jolted open and stared wildly to her side, and what she found was extremely odd. It was a blue shawl, worn and familiar, floating just above a thin, orange flame. The flame flickered and danced excitedly, and then suddenly spat out embers, which then formed four more flames. Then those flames spit embers and more appeared, over and over and over. Like vines on a house, the flames spread throughout the area until she was completely surrounded. The fires were not hot, and were much to small to even touch her, so Sybil took it upon herself to suddenly break from her stiff, trance-like position to inspect the flames closely. When she reached to touch them they fluttered back a few steps, and being unable to follow them she eventually gave up and returned her stare forward, catching sight of an old-looking house. Millicent Grant's home. It stood like all the other buildings, gray and silent, but Sybil soon noticed something strange about the old thing. Just outside the house was a rather large flame, and it was spitting out thousands of embers, glowing vibrantly against the still background. [i]"If that keeps up, Ms. Grant's house will catch."[/i] Sybil thought for a moment, and then she screamed a silent scream. The house [i]had[/i] caught fire, and it went up quickly and brilliantly, burning hot and loud and bright. Around her, the small flames were suddenly conjoining, becoming bigger, surrounding, devouring, killing. Coolness became heat, and suddenly her flesh was burning and she was still screaming until her mind suddenly set on the blue shawl once more. Something in her head was yelling at her to protect the shawl, keep it away from the fires, it must survive and if it doesn't something bad will happen. Beside her, the cloak floated gently among it's own flame, having yet to be devoured, but just as she turned to reach for the colorful accessory it caught, and slowly ebbed away into ash and ember. And then Warren was nothing but heat and blood and pain, and then a hand clapped over her face and she jolted forward. A cool breeze met her chest and neck and face, and then blonde hair tumbled forward, obscuring her vision. Another hand patted her head three times, and Sybil slowly parted her hair and glanced up to see familiar blue eyes peering back down at her, "Jeez, finally, you've been mumbling all morning. Get up, Dearie." her sister whine, pushing her head forward a bit as she rose up and stretched. Sybil brushed her hair back and yawned, glancing about the tight attic room. The single window was bright and glowing, allowing the morning sun to cast small shadows across the wooden room. Across from her own bed was her sister's, which has yet to be made and still looked as though it was being laid in. The room felt somewhat humid, and the cool breeze from before was suddenly replaced by the feeling of sweat forming under her nightgown. Truth leaned towards her again, brushing a strand of hair out of Sybil's face before grinning, "Start getting ready, 's Sunday." a moment of brief confusion claimed her mind, and she stared down at her covered knees for a moment, thinking about the significance of Sunday until the idea of church finally broke through. "... Right." Sybil finally sighed, kicking off the quilt wrapped around her lower body and standing, heading to her dresser to prepare for the long morning ahead. --- Church was over and done with eventually, and the Barwicke family slowly exited the large building with the rest of the townsfolk, standing silent as everyone sighed against the heat and fanned themselves with tight hands and the occasional note. Sybil stared ahead, mouth a gap as sweat dripped from her her brow and formed underneath the layers of her outfit. Beside her, Truth let out a loud whine and threw her head back, staring up at the brilliant sky with sun-strained eyes, the blue shawl around her shoulders fluttering, "Hot, hot, hot! It's hot, right, Syb?" she cried, shaking her sister's shoulder roughly. Sybil smiled slightly and nodded, fanning her sister with an outstretched hand. Mrs. Barwicke turned suddenly, giving the older sister a hard slap on the back of the head, "Don't make a scene. Your father and I are heading back home to start work." she told the two, standing tall despite the obvious sweat that gleamed on her forehead, "I expect you home within two hours." and then she was gone, pushing through the crowd quickly with her much taller husband in tow. Sybil turned to glance up at her sister, who stared at the back of their parents with narrowed eyes. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, though, the familiar sound of drunken speech cut her off short, and the two turned to find Young Tom Young, throwing bottles at Millicent Grant's house, shouting out accusations of the old woman being a witch. Truth, obviously interested by the scene, moved forward slightly in the crowd, blue eyes wide with excitement. Meanwhile, Sybil stood painfully still, feeling a strange and painful sort of deja vu at the sight of Ms. Grant's house. Finally, Truth let out her low, girlish laugh, pulling her shawl hood over her tightly tied hair as she turned to a girl on her left, muttering a quick, "Ya hear that? Millicent is working for Satan! Think it's true?" Sybil broke out of her trance and opened her mouth to protest against her sister's rudeness, but was quickly over powered by the crowd's murmurs of concern and curiosity. Some simply thought it was just Young Tom's drunken behavior, and others earnestly believed the mysterious old widow was guilty of witchcraft. Henrik, who was standing nearby while waiting for his brother spoke with a loud, stern voice overshadowing the other villagers’ murmurs, "It matters not. The council shall investigate it and it is up to the magistrate to decide her fate." Sybil turned her wide eyes to the man, but remained silent as Ursula, the fiery Livingstone girl, let out an incredulous scoff at the glacial Magnusson heir. “Let those pompous wretches handle this? Why, so we can condemn another woman to death?” The redhead hissed. Henrik snickered as he heard the young Livingstone from the crowd - "These 'pompous wretches' are the ones who run this city. You should spend less time sleeping and more time coming to the city assemblies.” "You're a filthy piece of work, Henrik! You're prepared to hand a possibly guiltless woman over to arrogant dolts who don't even care!" Ursula argued. Henrik could feel the blood rushing to his head. He glared at Ursula, but before he could rebuke, Ezra was already on his way out from the church and was gazing at him intently, as if telling him to calm himself down. “I doubt the council will listen to the words of the town drunk,” he scoffed. “Yes, and that poor woman has already been through enough. She’s lost her husband and has no one to help her,” Ezra’s voice was rather soothing compared to the rest of the crowd. Sybil felt herself nod, only slightly, and Truth scoffed at the argument, turning to converse with a small group of girls as the others continued. He glanced at Ursula and flashed a smile, "Arguing with Henrik again? You should know by now he's a stubborn old moose," he quipped. Ursula returned the grin, her lips curling at Ezra’s presence when she remembered the situation and it slipped off. “He’s a vile toad; someone should put him in his place.” “Why you ignorant little-,” Henrik almost shouted, but Ezra grasped his shoulder and pulled him away, “Henrik, we’ve much more important things to deal with. Your father is expecting a report for this month.” Henrik eased his tense shoulders and started to walk away with Ezra by his side. Ezra turned and waved at the crowd, “Oh, Ursula. Be careful not to trip and hurt yourself when looking for herbs today,” he winked as he signaled to her their secret code. Henrik glanced at his cousin and shook his head as he grimaced. “My dear cousin,” he said in a low voice, “do be careful when choosing the women you associate yourself with. You are, by blood, a Magnusson after all.” “I will the moment you stop being so picky about your choice of women,” Ezra retorted as he smirked. “In any case, I think it’s worth investigating Miss Grant’s house,” he continued in a more serious tone, “Tom Young is known for being quite bothersome, but he has never accused anyone of witchcraft.” “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such things,” Henrik cautioned, “else you might end up being accused yourself.” “We wouldn’t want that on our hands, now would we,” Ezra sarcastically replied. Henrik already knew that Ezra would not heed his warning, but he spoke nothing more of it. Sybil watched the two men off with curious eyes, but once out of sight she returned to glance around for her sister, who had vanished into the gossip as she normally did. Meanwhile, the Pastor and Efferea were approaching Tom Young, obviously trying to calm the drunk down. [i]'Oh dear.'[/i] her mind sighed, [i]'looks like something troubling is about to happen.'[/i]