Lilith Phoenix. An unassuming girl in Cascshire, a village that tells tales about their royals and their criminals, the dragons that rule deep within Obria and the wizards hiding among its people.

But with stories, come rumors. One of those rumors being that Lilith is a witch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The townsfolk have gathered around a withered tree at the edge of their forest, flammable hay, cloths and grass put out for their accused. They're chanting; "Burn the witch! Burn the witch!"

Lilith was being pushed out to the middle of the circle by the butcher and another farmer. She's struggling to break free, but the men are too strong. They tie her to the tree with rope made from her own hair that used to be long enough to reach her knees, now just barely brushing her ears.

"Let me go!" The girl cried out, but they didn't listen. The townsfolk came closer, holding torches and hayforks, chanting the same sentence over and over again.

The butcher took a torch from a random bystander's hand, throwing it on the flammable material surrounding her.

Flames spew up, licking the girl's skin, setting her clothes and what was left of her hair on fire. She screamed, the people cheered.

Though those cheers died down when they realized she wasn't getting burned, that the flames were changing shades, and that Lilith was... Laughing.

"Haven't you heard yet?" She spoke, the rope falling off her body, allowing herself to raise her hand, holding a ball of flames, "Witches don't burn."