Agnes does not even flinch when the verdict is read back to her.  

Cold raindrops pour down her narrow face, yet her eyes never once blink.  She makes sure they remain steady on the horizon even as her hands are bound so tight behind her back, the rope digs into the pale skin of her wrists and her fingers begin to prickle and go numb. After all, her mother always told her never to let the others see her fear, and she has always been such an obedient girl.

Sharp accusations spring from the crowd to her ears as two burly men grab her by her knobby elbows and begin to drag her away. Her heart races with terror as she recognizes their clamoring voices, her head tilted toward the air like a bird.

“Sorceress!” calls her friend Nancy.

“She-devil!” jeers her cousin John.

“Witch!” shrieks her little brother Henry, waving a pointed finger right at her throat.

Her friends, her family, her people. Just days ago, they promised to love her and whispered good night. Could their hearts have really turned so fast? Tears sting in the corners of her eyes as her fingers find her larynx. She feels it bob up then down again as she swallows. Oh, how she wants to clap in all of their faces, to scream, “Wake up, everyone! I am no witch or sorceress or devil’s vessel, I’m only a girl!” Though, looking at their pinched brows, she doubts they would even listen. Who would take a convict’s oath, a witch’s word, against the law? Against God?

Her shoulders slump forward. She is led through the crowd, across town. Mothers yelp, covering their children’s eyes and ears as she walks past. It wasn’t long ago, she thinks, when she as young as them. Boys throw dirt and pebbles at her arms, her legs, her stomach. They leave red marks on her skin that make her face contort with pain.

So much pain. So much shame, and for what reason? Slamming the church door? Being slightly sarcastic once? All of them simple, mindless mistakes. Anyone else could have been guilty. She’s seen Nancy roll her eyes more than a few times before; why not her, then?

Her blood boils with hatred and fear, threatening to bubble over, but she will not let it. She has always been such an obedient girl. She helps her mother, thanks her father, she even agreed to marry.

And still, she finds herself face to face with the Salem jail, and no one is listening to her.

Her hands shake in their ropes. The men open a heavy, iron barred door, revealing a dark, dirt-floored hell infested with bugs and vermin. Another young girl held in shackles and chains is curled up in the corner, her hair matted, her eyes dull and dismal. Agnes takes in a sharp breath; tainted, foul-smelling air fills her nose.

“Get in, now,” the man on her right barks, giving her back a harsh shove that rattles her bones. It is now that she realizes that, the devil is not within her but in these evil men, in this paranoid town. But Agnes does not fight them; she does as she is told, stepping quietly into the room like a lamb being led to a butcher’s knife.

She has always been such an obedient girl.