She's a witch....condemned.

It was in the waning summer sun, on that balmy August night that High Hunter Rayne Strawn set his leather clad feet upon the lush soil of the small town. The town was Avenshire a small province in the southern part of the Empire. He was sent here by the High Priest and High Priestess themselves. Rumors of witchcraft had been flooding out of these lands for months now. Finally a member of the Church had arrived to see it through.

From under the tanned large brimmed hat his raven colored eyes did peer. Across the small farm lands that splayed out before him, he looked and saw it. The small town was ahead in the distance. He could see the fires that lit the streets coming to life. He kicked up some dust as he started walking towards the town. Making short work of the distance between him and the town.

Walking into the tow he was greeted by nothing. This was common for his kind. All though human like the majority of the vermin here, he was different; he was a witch hunter, a man gifted in the arts of the occult, and trained by the Church to use them. He was a weapon of the one true God, the God-Emperor himself. He sighed as he made his way slowly to the center of town, where a small fountain set. Drinking from a cupped hand he looked around at the people looking at him.

Rumors of witchcraft had seasoned the land quickly and the Rumors soon became real. Witchcraft did at that form and burst throughout the town. In obvious places evidence of witchcraft lay on the grounds of the town. Instead of green grass, beautiful flowers or lush soil....in the form of a body sprawled out no grass, flowers grew, the soil seemed tainted and killed.

Though everyone and all think that this witchcraft is from the knew family that had just moved in from afar. The knew family seemed different from everyone here in the Empire. They seemed to stay in their homes during the day, coming out of their large home every now and then caring a basket or two full of...who knows what. Many think of evil things...but none speak. Too afraid to speak in front or even in secret, afraid of the witches that lurked in the shadows.

Unlike most, one was different. A young girl, the youngest in the family. Her raven black hair cascaded down her back to her waist. Her skin creamy pale and her lips lushly pink. Her darkened gaze seemed to twinkle and unlike the rest of her family she seemed to make everyone around her giddy with joy. And still, everyone was afraid to be near her.

Marie Hamilton was wearing her favorite moss green colored dress. The design simple yet elegant. She sat alone on the footsteps of the nearby church. Her rosary in her palms hugging it to her chest, Her lips gently and slowly parted as she preyed to the only being she knew that listened to her.

--I hope this is alright...I am a little distracted with my family at the moment. --