The ground quaked as the crowd gave chase, a thundering stampede of footfalls sounding behind her. Agatha's imagination went wild as she envisioned all of the possible horrible things they would do if they were to capture her. She pumped her legs faster, praying that she would make it to the shelter of the forest; there she could hide, there she would be back home, and the crowd would become the trespassers. Lungs burning, she pushed herself further, whimpering in pain as a cramp formed in her side. Her leg muscles were tightening, sending a fiery pain up her thighs.
Something hard hit the back of her head, causing her to nearly tumble to the ground, but she regained her footing quickly. More objects were tossed at her in rapid succession, forcing her to run in a zigzagged pattern in a feeble attempt to avoid what she could not see. Her erratic switch in trajectory did nothing to hinder the more coordinated throwers; their lobbed objects still pelting her in the back.
"Grab her," Someone shouted, their booming voice ringing in her ear.
Agatha turned her head, not slowing her pace, and saw that the crowd had moved closer as she spent all that time zigzagging in her foolish hopes to stay upright. Now, it didn't matter, because she would be caught and brutalized and likely burned at the stake. Goddess, damn that stupid woman and her brute of a husband. All of this over prejudice against witches, against magic. She would get her retribution, make that vile couple pay for their scorn and lies. This was the problem with kingdoms that discriminated against magic, their own fears and jealousy turned them into something far worse than the beasts they thought witches and warlocks to be.
A meaty hand landed on her arm, snatching it roughly back. Agatha yelped in terror, digging her feet into the damp ground as she snatched her arm back away from her capture. She had never had such an appreciation for the sweltering heat as she did when the hand slid from her sweat-slicked arm. Not a second later, branches and brush slapped her in the face and snagged on her clothing. A hysterical sound escaped her, somewhere between a sob and insane laughter. She had made it to the forest, and here she could hide far from anyone who dared come after her.
A thick, ancient oak tree stood to her left, and she immediately dashed over and began to climb.
"I'm not going in there," A man shouted, his voice pitched high.
"You believe all that rubbish, do you, about the forest being haunted?" Another questioned incredulously.
"Well, Conrad, if you don't believe it, then you go in after her," The other man replied.
Agatha snickered as she climbed, her body as tired as her mind. She remained right on the cusp of hysteria, torn between laughing at the men who were not brave enough to enter the forest, and sobbing about her misfortune on this dreadful day. She grasped limb after limb, nimbly climbing until she reached a canopy of copper and yellow leaves. Her heart still beat frantically, and as she took her perch on a branch, her fingers wrapping tightly around the trunk of the tree, the tears began to fall.
Before the stars lit the night sky above the forest canopy, the voices of her pursuers faded into the night as they abandoned their mission and assumed her to be halfway to another kingdom by now. Agatha stayed hidden for long hours, through cramping legs and a numbing rear, until the night sky was pitch black, and she had run out of tears. Relatively certain that it was safe to venture from her hiding spot, Agatha started her descent, her limbs shaking from exertion. Her footfalls were silent, the forest a well-known area for her to move with stealth. Cautiously, she peered through the foliage at the edge of the forest, her heart skipping a beat at shadows that turned out to be nothing more than owls flying through the sky, hunting prey scurrying by on the ground.
With no sign of the crowd, or any stragglers left behind in the hopes to capture her if she left the security of the woods, Agatha rummaged through her pack. Her hand closed around a long, jagged crystal, and she smiled a little, her eyes alight with excitement. Pulling the crystal from her pack, she cradled it in her open palm gently, her thoughts on the woman who had tried to condemn her to death. With her body nearly vibrating with anger, Agatha whispered a spell.
"Goddess, grant me the power to find,
The woman who chose to scorn rather than be kind,
Then show me the way to the one who has the least,
One gains riches, the other a beast."
The pink, jagged, crystal laid flat in the palm of her hand, spinning rapidly before stopping at a slight tilt to the left. Agatha smirked and started walking briskly in the direction the crystal pointed. It took fifteen minutes to arrive at the town just northwest of the marketplace. The streets were paved with cobblestone; the houses all quite large, painted grey, with pointed black roofs, all of which had smoke drifting from their chimneys. The crystal turned sharply to the right, bringing Agatha to the front stoop of a house with the curtains closed tightly, as though to shut the world out. Agatha walked right up to the front door, rapping her knuckles softly against the wood.
Footsteps approached the door from the other side, and she quickly gathered her magic in her hand, hitting Melvyn square in the chest as he opened the door. Melvyn flew backward, completely airborne, and crashed against a wall fifteen feet further into the home. Agatha stepped over the threshold and calmly closed the door behind her, grinning broadly at the sight of Melvyn struggling to bring himself up to his feet.
"I knew it." He sneered as he stood up.
Agatha chuckled a bit evilly at his words.
"There are few ways to know if a man is a coward, Melvyn. One of them is, of course, if he dares to put his hands on an innocent, be it child, woman, or man. Another is if he refuses to speak of his knowledge out of fear of persecution. The last is how quickly that man stops fighting for that in which he believes. You have managed to prove your cowardice in all of those ways today,"
Agatha said, her hand going into her pack as Melvyn glared at her.
"I will kill you," Melvyn roared.
"Yes, yes, sure you will, but for now, you will sleep," Agatha said, waving a dismissive hand.
Agatha pulled her hand out of her pack, raising it to her lips as Melvyn advanced on her. When he was directly in front of her, one fist raised to strike her, Agatha blew the blue powder she was holding in his face. She quickly sidestepped him as he fell face-first onto the floor. She walked down the hallway towards the room at the end, soft light escaping beneath the door.
"Surprise!" She shouted as she threw the door open, sending it crashing loudly against the wall behind it.
Hazel shot up in bed, satin sheets falling to her waist, revealing her pale, naked form. A cry came from a tiny crib situated against the wall beside the bed, and Agatha walked over to the screaming child.
"Such a beautiful babe. A pity her parents are such horrid people," Agatha said conversationally.
"Get away from her, witch," Hazel hissed.
Hazel may have been trying to act fearless, but her wide eyes and trembling hands showed just how scared she was, and Agatha reveled in that fear.
"In a moment," Agatha replied. "First, I wish to give her my blessing and your punishment."
Hazel jumped from the bed, but Agatha was prepared, sending out a blast of magic that tinted the room a brilliant shade of purple as it knocked Hazel back on the bed, holding her there immobile. The baby quieted, soothed, and entertained by the bright light illuminating the room. Agatha chuckled down at the babe and turned her back on the paralyzed woman.