She watched in horror at the scene before her. Never had she seen such heresy! These people had been her friends, at one point. She was a regular churchgoer; the Lord had been always a priority of hers, followed by being a good person. What had her neighbours called these people? Witches. The woman watched in disgust as the "witches" approached the gallows. The woman watched in horror as her dirty feet moved, almost mechanically, ever closer to the gallows. Witches. The word itself sounded ridiculous.

"Alice Parker!"

Alice had been her friend! This was simply not possible! Closer still she moved toward the gallows, but the woman ignored the words the warrantor spoke then. She glanced sideways through her dirty, tangled hair, and she knew that trying to run would be futile: guards stood to either side of her, ready to catch anyone who wandered away. She was forced to stand here and watch as her friends - and even those villagers with whom she had grown up and with whom she was not exactly friends - were executed for superfluous, nonexistent crimes. What in the world was going on?

"Oh!" she cried out, moaning in agony and fear and, perhaps, pity for herself and her friends. "Oh!" she called out again, more profound and painful. It wasn't unlike the sound the others were making around her, though she had been ignoring those sounds before. Now that she had joined their lament, it was difficult to not take notice to them. Tears streamed down her face, glistening with mud and tears from her earlier endeavors. She saw in horror - such horror from which, despite its vile nature, one cannot look away - as her friends necks were abused. This simply could not be true.

"Mary Parker!"

Alice and Mary had been sisters, the woman painfully recalled. Both of them had been her friends since childhood; they would play about in the garden, help one another's mothers with household chores, invent secretive games about which only the three of them would know. None of them would ever be able to get together again and enjoy the simplicities of life, the woman knew. She felt sick to her stomach as she watched, her wet eyes full of terror, confusion, wrath. Never again would she enjoy her friends -- Mary, Alice, or anyone.

"Wilmott Redd"

No! thought the woman, sobbing harder and shaking from shock and anxiety. "No!" She had screamed it this time, caring not about the guards beside her. She was the only person left, and she knew that things would never again be the same. She knew that she would never raise another child; she would never make her husband happy again. "Please!" she begged. "Please, Lord, have mercy upon my soul!" She would never be able to ask for forgiveness or for guidance from the Lord, and she knew, as the next few moments came – as her name was called aloud for the entire town to hear – that she would die unhappy and unhappily.

"Margaret Scott!"