Eleanor had been told, repeatedly by her father before that fateful day, that she must not cry. She must not speak out. She must not call out or try to talk to her mother. Her mother had told her in the years to this point, that this day might come.

They lived in dark times where powerful men had started rounding up women. Accusations of witchcraft and worshipping the devil. There was no fair trial. The women just had to pass a test. A test impossible to pass, for if they survived, they were a witch and burned at the stake. If they passed the test, they were no longer alive.

This method of controlling women spread from the cities, to the country towns. Finally coming to Eleanor's hometown. There had already been many such tests. Her town's favourite method of testing was the dunking stool.

Today, her mother was being "tested". Her mother's crime? Speaking boldly, correcting the town magistrate when he misquoted scripture.

Eleanor held on to her father's leg, at the tender age of 5, her innocence already torn from her by the actions of some of the men in her town. Today, her innocence was shattered as she watched the town magistrate dunk her mother into the river. Eventually, her body floated to the surface.

"Witch!" the magistrate cried, as his helpers dragged the body to shore.

They laid her on the ground before all to witness. Her body was listless and pale, unmoving. Eleanor willed her to breathe, hoping she inherited witchcraft to save her mother.

To no avail.

Her father had turned to alcohol from that day. He had a lot of anger as well. The cute way her mother and father used to call her "El" because she was a "hell of a fierce child", was now out of anger when her father would call for her when he was drunk.

"El, you demon child!"

Every day she would escape his anger, and head down to the river. Townsfolk would see her go, and everyone assumed she was going to mourn the loss of her mother. No one commented as they felt for the poor child.

Sure, she did mourn the loss of her mother. That is not why she heads to the river though. Every day she would wade into the water, and continue walking along the bottom to the deepest part. There she would sit, holding her breath for as long as she could.

Regardless of the season, every day she would be there, fortunately the townsfolk only noticed it occasionally, and other times they just assumed she was elsewhere avoiding her father as most of the townsfolk did.

At the start, she could barely hold her breath for a few seconds. Panic would grip her, and her lungs, those of a child, were not built for such undertakings. She persisted, however. Even through the cold of winter, breaking the ice to get under the water. Her first winter when she had broken the ice and gone under, the ice had shifted or she lost her bearings.

Her opening was gone, she fought the panic while her lungs burned for oxygen and started walking down the stream until she found another spot where she could break free. Gasping, and shivering, she lay on the edge of the river, her entire body felt on fire from the deprivation of oxygen.

Over the years, the rigorous training she put her body through also strengthened her immune system, never catching so much as a cold. However, this worked against her, when at the age of thirteen, all the children of the village got ill, and more than half died.

Except for Eleanor.

This drew some murmurings and whispers in her direction. Unsettling glances in her direction. She ignored this and continued her training.

That was until the magistrate paid her and her father a visit one evening. Her father and the magistrate had talked at length. Until the magistrate came to visit her in her room. It would seem that her father's love for alcohol was stronger than his love for her.

The magistrate informed her of their decision. They were to be wed. He reached out to touch her while she lay terrified in her bed. As he neared her, she jumped out of her bed and ran to her dresser.

The magistrate chased her. Demanding she obey him.

Eleanor spun back around and thrust a knife in his direction. When he threw his hands up she kicked him between the legs. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain as he crumpled to the floor. She then brought the knife to bear against the skin of his neck.

At that point, her father entered.

"El! No! Put down the knife!" he cried.

"How could you?" Eleanor screamed at him.

"It was this, or he said he would declare you a witch."

Eleanor dropped the knife and ran, crying from the room.

Her father called out to her.

"El!"

Screaming at him as she left their cabin.

"Don't you call me that! You don't deserve to call me that anymore!"

She burst out of the cabin, into the waiting arms of the magistrate's men. They seized her, restraining her while she thrashed and struggled against them.

The magistrate stumbled out, still doubled over from the blow, managing to call out.

"Arrest that witch!"

Eleanor stopped struggling, staring at the magistrate, a sudden calmness had come over her. The years from her mother's death had all led to this. She was ready.

As usual, there was no trial, she was held in the prison cell until morning. A crowd had gathered already as she was marched to the area where her mother had been murdered. As she approached, the murmurs amongst the crowd erupted.

"Why is she not scared?"

"She's walking freely to her death, with her head held high?"

"That girl was always off."

She ignored them all, not even glancing in their direction. Her gaze was directly upon the dunking chair. She came to a stop just before it, the magistrate standing next to it.

"Eleanor, you are accused of witchcraft. Do you admit you are a witch? Admit it, denounce your devil worship and you will be granted a swift, merciful death."

Eleanor did not speak. Her gaze upon the dunking chair. She felt calm and determined.

The magistrate started again.

"Eleanor, you are accused of witchcraft...."

She cut him off with a glare.

"So be it." The magistrate signalled for his men to place her in the chair.

"Eleanor, you are charged with witchcraft. You will be dunked to test whether you are in the services of the devil. If you float, you are a witch. If you stay at the bottom, you are not and therefore saved in the eyes of the lord."

With that, the magistrate signalled for Eleanor to be lowered into the river. Once at the bottom, Eleanor slid off slowly onto the riverbed and waited.

What felt like an eternity, yet she knew was only about five minutes, the dunking chair was lifted out of the water. She wished she could hear the gasps of shock when it rose empty. She watched as they all crowded to the edge, trying to catch a glimpse of her, the murky depths at the location concealing her body, particularly as she was not moving.

She watched as the bodies started disappearing from the water's edge. She knew she didn't have long, between the people leaving, and the men dragging the river to recover her body.

She started moving along the bottom of the riverbed, downstream to her escape, risking being spotted as her lungs were burning already.

For what felt like an eternity, her entire body now on fire as it screamed for oxygen, she made it around the bend and out of sight. Slowly she raised her head above water level and calmly breathed in deeply so as to not make any gasping noises.

She then went back under and continued her journey underwater, her pace quicker now as to put distance between her and the town. She knew sooner or later, the alarm would be raised that her body was nowhere to be found.

The magistrate would use this to confirm Eleanor was a witch after all. She did not care, as she was close to freedom, and escaping from the hellish life she had known.

El was filled with pride, knowing her mother was looking down on her "hell of a fierce child" with love and pride, as she started the first day of her new life of freedom.