The Witch Trials had begun in the early 1400’s, when women, not even real witches, had been accused of witchcraft. The real witches, we were cunning and smart about not getting caught. Then 1542 rolled around when the first national law specifically criminalizing witchcraft, the Witchcraft Act, was passed, making it a felony punishable by death. Despite being the year 1716, and the whole Witch Trials not being so fashionable, we were still being hunted, still hated, still feared and demonised. We were still being killed.

Benedict had been at the Academy all day. He walked through the house and heard you singing in the orangery, sat on a bench as you embroidered, so his idea was to creep up on you and make you jump, though he stopped abruptly, absolutely gobsmacked - you were singing out, knitting whilst your cup of tea was floating beside you, the harp playing itself and the thread floating in front of you.

“What the fuck?!” Benedict shouts, completely dumbfounded though ready to protect you in any way - he was so unsure of what the fuck was going on.