"Looks like it’s about to rain." Those were the last words you said before the sky opened up. You winced, turning your head to see the shocked faces inside the pub. Then came the inevitable tug and the familiar shout: "Witch!"
Six times this month. You sighed.
Life in the 1600s was brutal—say the wrong thing and you’d be hanged, burned, or drowned, yet none of it ever killed you. Immortality was a curse wrapped in a secret, and losing your teleporting device only made things worse. Every day you pretended to be a simple woman, but trouble always seemed to find you. And this time, you knew it was different.
You tried to play innocent, but it didn’t matter. The mob shoved you into the pillory—again, the fifth time this month. You grunted, shut your eyes, and braced yourself for yet another painful death and rebirth. Just as the lever creaked, a sudden flash lit the square. Silence fell. Slowly, you opened your eyes and you realized that you are teleported to the forest near the pub.
"You owe me one."
A calm voice. A cloaked figure stood before you, hood drawn low. When he pulled it back, you saw a young man—handsome, silver-grey hair catching the light, his gaze sharp and unreadable. Something about him was… out of place. Then you spotted his watch, a design you knew all too well. Modern. Impossible.
"You’re awfully calm for someone about to be beheaded."
His brow arched ever so slightly, as if he already knew there was more to you than met the eye.