[u][b]Efferea.[/b][/u]

As Young Tom pushed her away she stumbled over the hem of her skirt, catching under the heel of her shoe and tumbling towards the broken glass, shielding her head as she fell rump first onto the remains of broken bottles hurled by the drunkard she managed to prevent serious injury as another bottle shattered and rained down glass which pattered against her skirts and shirt. As he prattled off his hate she lowered her arms and brushed from her hair and bonnet shards of glittering white, brushing them also from her skirt, it didn't feel like she'd been cut, luckily and so she carefully put down one hand to pull herself back up to her feet. Brushing the remaining dirt and glass from her skirt she felt an odd twinge in the palm of her left hand, glancing to it she could see the red already beading under the surface and sighed lightly with a faint pout. 

She had, on the whole, completely ignored the entire finger pointing ritual, a drunk man stirring up the suspicions of the towns folk. These accusations always disappointed her, whenever the word 'witch' was spoken aloud out came the peoples true ugliness, even if it were true they showed no shame or remorse, they became nothing more than beasts. The girls gossiping earlier reminded her of a native story Red bear told her, the boisterous, pompous boy flaring up his chest like he was a prize turkey looking for a hen to peck. Was this how god really wanted his people? Fighting among themselves, whispering behind each others backs, turning friend against friend and family against family, had everyone they'd had these 'witch trials' for even [b]been[/b] witches? It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, such deep thinking was for men and those of the cloth not for girls like her and yet she seemed to be one of the few with a level head here.

It didn't matter Van Dale would bring the people back to their senses, fair and true he was in her eyes, he'd taken her in when her parents died before the question had fully left the elders lips on where she would go. He'd saved her hours of uncomfortable silences and worried glances, uncertain murmurs and quiet excuses, the people here were good people most of the time but tragedy and devilry bought out the worst in them. A smile appeared on her face, small and sweet as Van Dale announce that people ought to calm down and so she took to looking at her palm and spotted the small slither of glass sticking from it now caked in red as blood slipped between her fingers. As she gently gripped the slither though her heart froze as the people questioned his judgement, he was fair and just but that worked both ways and he would not allow his faith in god to be questioned. 

Sure enough as she looked up he spoke of leading the charge himself and her face crumbled, her smile disappeared and she clearly fought back tears as something akin to disappointment filled her eyes. Efferea knew she should be scared of witches, perhaps even hate them, she should be gossiping with the women and standing behind Van Dale and ready to charge into the woman's home, drag her out and see the devil for herself. All she could feel though was pity for Millicent and incredible sadness, if she was a witch she had a horrible fate awaiting her and hell for her actions was the least of her worries, if she was innocent she would get to watch everyone who'd ever smiled at her or wished her a good morning turn against her, anyone who'd ever shown her compassion become the first to throw stones against her and even if she survived the trials long enough she'd see the people she'd watch grow up sneer and jest as she died. There would be no tears for her, no compassion, no face among the crowd to offer her strength and courage for what she was going to go through, just a sea of hate and snapping, barking dogs. 

The first tear rolled down her cheek before she could stop it or swipe it away, these trials were ripping her home apart but she couldn't openly support Millicent now that even Van Dale was turning against her, she'd be the next target for trial if she tried to talk sense into her guardian. She could hear Ursula and Sybil muttering between themselves now, 'you know what they say about witches' they'd say, giggling inanely to each other as if they were so smart and so virtuous. God taught forgiveness and understanding not hate, hate was how Jesus died, hate was how every war had started, hate turned people black inside and made them sick, if Millicent was a witch she deserved to go to hell for sleeping with demons and finding succor in Satan but she still could only feel sadness and pity for the woman not hatred. Never hatred. 

"Excuse me, I suddenly do not feel too well." She half muttered to herself, pulling the splinter of glass from her hand and dropping it to the ground, "I think I'll go pray." Her head lowered now so she could hide her tears that were not solely for Millicent but for their entire community, everyone in the town was a part of her family, especially since she'd lost her true parents and it broke her heart every time she had to witness this. Damn Satan and his witches to the seven hell's they belonged in, she was sure he was getting more entertainment out of their suffering than god was getting gratitude for their work in his name. Gathering her skirt in her undamaged hand to avoid tripping a second time she hurried away back up the path to the church trying to put this whole business out of her mind. She'd have to clean the wound first and wrap it and then maybe she'd go to her room and pray for Millicent's soul and the souls of the town while she was at it.