December 13, 1644
York, Massachusetts Bay Colony

Tell them the truth.

The gaunt, frail-looking woman who'd been sleeping on the hard frame of a bed wakes up with a start, gasping for breath. Her dirty blonde hair is limp and stringy with the days of dirt and grief. She clings to only a thin blanket for warmth.

Bad dream, Adelaide tells herself, wiping away the tears that fall. She can't let the others see her weep.

She needs every shred of dignity, with her stained and battered dress and unkempt hair. Streaks of blood and grime mark her once flawless complexion. Adelaide remembers being beautiful.

Tell them the truth.

Adelaide moans, her face pressing against the cold iron bars. Her bare, filthy feet tremble on the icy floor. "Stop it," she mumbles, almost defeated. "What do you want from me?"

I want to see you both suffer. Tell everyone the truth.

"Shut up, you filthy bitch. Nobody wantin' nothin' from you except some peace 'round here." The voice that answers Adelaide is a different kind of sound, one from an old English hag with white hair standing on end.

The crone's laugh is bitter and cruel. Adelaide cringes, rocking herself back and forth. Comfort, comfort, comfort. Compassion is not easy to find, and the voice won't let her rest.

It has been almost nine months without comfort.

Tell them the truth, or I'll do it for you. I'll ruin everything, and you'll all die.

Sometimes the voice is little more than a petulant child.

Already, the first colourful strains of dawn are rising, and the church bells ring six times. Adelaide marvels at the beauty of it all. From her window, Adelaide can see the slightly rusted old bell looking over the small cemetery, sparsely populated with flowers but mostly forgotten.

It will be her new home soon. Everyone thinks Adelaide doesn't understand, but she knows. Her many attempts at nights of terrified sleep would never let her forget that.

If there were no bars, Adelaide would open the window at dawn, raise her shrivelled wings, and fly into the beauty. She fantasizes about the freedom, the lightness, and she tears up at the glorious nature of the expanse. The world is beautiful.

They're coming for you today. Tell everyone the truth.

The voice is insistent. It always is. For weeks, Adelaide was on her knees praying, crying, and begging for the sound to leave her. When that didn't work, she confessed her malady in a whispered tone.

At first, the doctors showed mercy and concern. "She hears voices, the poor girl. How else would a devoted God-fearing lady end up here?"

The minister shook his head. "Save your pity. Voices are the Devil's handiwork. Fix her."

Doses of laudanum and sweetly flavoured liquids in small cups let her sleep, but every morning, the same voice greeted her.

Tell them the truth. The people will kill you if you don't.

Sometimes the voice was sweet, the cooing sound of a mother to her child. Other times, it was violent and threatening like the white-haired lady.

"The voice never stops."  Adelaide cried to her husband, John. He looked at her with a shred of love but little pity. "Tell them the voice never goes away."

Adelaide knows John told them. She could only see his eyes when her knees pressed against the floor and buckets of cold water left her shivering. Adelaide wept in fear and repentance. His eyes said she was not his wife anymore. In his mind, he'd already buried her.

Eyes say almost as much as voices.

You brought this all upon yourself. Tell the truth. 

After her body had a bluish tint and her spine couldn't hold her, Adelaide was ripped apart by the fires of Hell. At night, she still remembers the sound of her screams.

Adelaide shuffles back to the cot without comfort, staring blankly at the bloodstains on the floor of her cell. She wonders if she hurt someone or someone beat her.

The seconds pass by so fast now. Tell them the truth.

The thin woman shivers uncontrollably, her body convulsing. It's so hard to breathe in the cold, and the cold is everywhere.

"I can't." Adelaide's voice whispers to the walls of the room, the stone a keeper of an eternity of secrets. "No one would believe me anyway. Leave me be."

Adelaide feels the anger, the frustration, the voice punching at her brain, She gasps for breath, coughing with all the force her frame can muster. The sleeve of her dress turns dark crimson, mixing with the dirt.

Illness is what happens to liars. Tell them the truth.

She didn't dare to complain about the voice again, not after the third time with the frozen holy water and hellfire. She wouldn't survive many more purification rituals.

"Victoria!" Adelaide's voice calls out weakly. "Please. They took my daughter."

"Crazy whore, you need to shut up before the guard gives you a-beatin'. Think he cares you're gonna die? There's no innocents in prison." The crone spits on the ground.

What about me? Tell them the truth.

Adelaide collapses on the bed silently, lifeless and emotionless. She is at peace until another spasm of coughing shakes her body, the blood spattering the floor.

She sees the man approaching the cell and blinks. It's not John. John is severe but doesn't dress like a Puritan minister. This man is exactly that. He stands tall and wears a large wooden cross. She can see disdain as he covers his face with a handkerchief.

It's wooden to stab you if you're a vampire.

Adelaide laughs. Sometimes the voice has a sense of humour. "Sister Adelaide, I see no amusement. I come as your spiritual guide to help you make peace."

The coughing starts again, and Adelaide chuckles. "Suppose it's a race to see what way our Lord wants me dead."

Tell them the truth! If you don't, I will haunt everyone.

"NO! I die, you die too. That's how this works."  Adelaide's lips press together, and the man moves to grab her arm. She is too feeble to fight as the Bible falls onto the blood-stained floor. Her wrists twist without feeling.

Adelaide smiles as she sees the sun, lungs exhaling blood as she stumbles. "I, Mrs. Adelaide Cornish, confess my sins and beg for absolution."

Do not lie. Tell the truth.

The feeble woman doesn't hear the jeers as she shuffles painfully, and she doesn't feel the rotten fruit and other waste hurled in her direction. "I confess to being a sinner, I am a blasphemer, a gambler, partaker of alcohol, and I am a woman of loose morals who has been with a man, not my husband. For these sins, I humbly repent and beg my soul is delivered into the loving arms of my Father."

The minister nods his head. "Your confession has been heard, and for these sins, God grants forgiveness. Is murder not a sin?"

Adelaide freezes as the scaffold is in sight, the noose looming ominously. She trembles, wondering how many steps are left for her in this world.

Tell the truth. Please.

The voice screams as Adelaide walks up the stairs to the platform. "Murder is a sin, but lying to our Father is greater. I am a humble woman but I know that much. My conscience is unburdened."

You are a coward and a liar, and you deserve to suffer.

The voice spits at Adelaide, causing her to double over in a coughing fit. "I...know..."

Adelaide gasps as two men carry her to the scaffold, for a moment, as weightless as she fantasized.

"May your spirit be delivered to the hands of God, Sister Adelaide."

The minister moves away, and she sees the figure of John with his red-rimmed eyes. A golden-haired girl clutches him. She is like an angel, Adelaide thinks until her gaze lands on the girl's small hand.

Please, Mama. Please tell them.

The voice begs as the rope scratches Adelaide's throat. Victoria's perfect hand mocks her. Adelaide sees it so clearly, the angelic girl pushing the pillow down upon Anne's face in the crib. Anne was too small to move and unable to cry, but her eyes were peaceful.

"Run! Get out of here!" Adelaide's voice was panicked when she screamed at Victoria. The sound was loud enough to wake John. He was the one who found Adelaide next to the crib, pillow in hand.

Adelaide was in shock, staring blankly at the bluish-purple angel, her youngest daughter.

Now she could only hear the voice, the baby girl who'd never know justice.

"Have you any last words or confessions, Sister Adelaide?"

I will never forgive you.

The voice weeps with bitterness, sounding defeated. Adelaide's eyes stare at Victoria's soft, girlish hand.

"I...can't."

It is that simple. Adelaide spreads her tattered and bruised wings. Looking at the sky, she finally flies into the pinkest-orange sunbeam she sees.

The world is beautiful.

Word Count: 1497