The torches flickered against the cold stone walls of the courtyard, casting long shadows that seemed to twist and mock me. My heart pounded, not with fear of the flames that threatened to consume me, but at the thought of what they believed about me. A witch. A word so vile, yet so easily spat by men who feared knowledge, who feared the mind that dared to understand the human body, to heal where they could only condemn.

“They say you consort with the demons,” one of the priests sneerers, gripping my arm with a strength that would have crushed a lesser woman "Your experiments, your studies… it is unnatural. You will answer for your sins.” he says

I struggle, but their grasp is firm. I’ve only ever wanted to help,” I whisper, my voice trembling but resolute "Is it a sin to save lives? To ease suffering?”

They laugh then, a cruel sound that echo off the stone You will pay for this knowledge, witch!”