They came for her while the sun was still high. Proctor Vesle, Constable Varlet, and the town elders. She saw them coming long before they arrived and her sobbing mother begged her to run, but it wasn't in her nature. Someone would have to die today, and she couldn't allow this mantle to fall onto one of her friends.
She made tea and had it poured and ready by the time the men arrived. She could smell the sweat, see the stains in their somber attire, and sense their fear and hate. It no longer bothered her. She knew very well she was signing her own death warrant when she refused the Proctor's advances at the Yule celebration.
"Your time has come, Gwendolyn, daughter of Gerald," he intoned.
His pig eyes glittered in malevolent triumph. Proctor Vesle was not a man accustomed to being den
