She strained to look the monk in the eyes
Witch hunt
The ropes that bound the Corinne to the rough, splintered wood of the rack sang out as the cruel torturer gave the crank another half-turn. The helpless girl screamed in agony, her taut body straining as she was horribly stretched.
“So you see the folly of resisting the will of Mother Church, and her blessed Witch Hunters, slut,” said the so-called monk standing beside the rack. Brother Jamison was a new recruit to the Witch Hunters, but he had taken to his work with genuine enthusiasm. The women of Corinne’s village had never expected the Witch Hunters to come so far north, and so had been taken by surprise when the town crier announced a delegation from the Cathedral was making an appearance at harvest time.
Corrine, like so many of her friends, never had a chance. A single woman living in a remote village, she was easy prey for the Witch Hunters, who declared her and most of the other attractive young women to be “suspected witches” within a day of arrival.
“Please, let me go!” gasped Corinne. She strained to look the monk in the eyes, her dark hair hanging limply behind her as she squirmed. “I’m innocent!”
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