The ropes Eleanor was bound by were beginning to cut deep into her wrists. Last night came swirling back in a mix of terrified and horrific memories.
They had slung her in a cell with all bricks solidly in place. No food, no water, just a section of straw for her to lay for the night. She desperately wished her last living night was spent nicer.
Then, guards had stormed in early, grabbed her and hauled her out to the cucking stool. Fastening her into the chair was a struggle, but they succeeded and she sat mercifully in the wooden chair. The cucking stool was a horrible contraption in both looks and nature.
The wheels squeaked and the long piece of wood holding the chair and linked to the other section which basically connected to the wheels was damp. Had it rained? She didn’t remember that.
Harold stepped forward, and a large crowd was gathered on the lake bank. He wore a gruesome smile and held a piece of white paper.
“The trial of Eleanor Firhall will commence now. This woman is accused of being a witch. She shall be dunked in the lake, if she dies, she is innocent. If she does not then she is guilty and will be burnt.” He turned to Eleanor.
Her heart was pounding hard. The fear of death was now too much of a reality. She was going to die in less than a minute and there was nothing anyone could do.
“Begin!” roared Harold and a muttering spread through the watching crowd. Eleanor searched for Michael. Why was he not here? Then, as she slowly was lowered, she saw him.
His blue eyes were filled with sorrow and hope. They locked gazes and she yelled, her words slicing through the air like a knife.
“Run. Run where the rolling hills turn into nothingness and you’re swallowed by black. Run where you'll live to be free and love to be happy. Run where you will never. Ever. Look Back." Her voice cracked and broke, gasping heavily.
He nodded. She was so close to the water that it began to seep over her toes. Her breathing grew heavier and she felt claustrophobic. All there seemed to be was the sky and the water.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
The water was up to her shoulders, and creeping up her neck. She tried to stretch up, gulping for last breaths. But, as the machine let out a large creak, she was fully submerged.