It was a very late bitterly cold evening outside of the village of Povost. The people were gathered to watch a young woman named Gretel wearing thick brown coat and shabby green dress with white frills standing barefoot on a wooden stool that was sitting on a bale of hay. A rope was strung around a tree with the noose around her neck. The people were shouting, “Kill the witch! Kill the witch!”
Tears were rolling down her face as she felt the insults towards her. The village leader walked up and stood at the edge of the hay bales in front of her.
“Gretel,” he said, “you are guilty of witchcraft.”
“I am innocent,” she wept.
“So,” he quickly interrupted, “you continue with your lies. I condemn you to a brutal death.”
“I am not a witch,” she pleaded as two men carrying torches approached her. “You have no…
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