They burned Orla on a Tuesday. Called it justice. The crowd nodded the way crowds do when they're too afraid to speak and too tired to feel.
Róise watched. She did not look away.
Something had been wrong with the land long before the execution. The soil darker than it should be. The water tasting of rust. Animals found drained and pale, veins black as ink. No one wanted to say what it meant. It was easier to find a witch.
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