In the End.
I....I love this? Sometimes I write like a pretentious asshole and come up with some fucking gold. This is one of those times. Easily can be turned into a fic.
Warnings: TW: Allusions to torture. Harm against a woman.
Tagging: @novumlibellum
In the end, they say she burned with dignity. It’s the official story. I stand by it...officially. Unofficially....
I met her once. Like most, one meeting was all I needed to be convinced of her divine nature. She was beautiful in the way nature is. Quiet, yet formidable. Her skin as black as onyx, her eyes very much the same. Her hair was always decorated with flowers, beads, and gems. Soft spoken though she was, everyone listened to what she had to say.
In every other aspect, she was unremarkable. Her people considered her an average member of society. She grew medicinal herbs for the village healer, fruits and vegetables for herself, and kept a white cat named Figaro as her companion. What a girl who had no contact with Westerners until her twenty-seventh birthday knew about opera, I could never guess.
By the time I had my own meeting with her, she’d become famous the world over. “The Witch of Africa” was the favorite name of the media, never-mind that she was a girl from Mexico. Her friends called her Camila.
She was a gracious host, greeting me warmly, offering food and drink. We talked about nothing in particular. I learned her favorite color was grey, and that she was fond of sweet things. She had a school girl crush on Idris Elba, and was very fond of piano music.
It was very easy for me, and countless others I’m sure, to fall in love with her in that little hut. Her politeness, her eagerness to please, her curiosity about the words outside of her village. In the end, it was what got her burnt up in the first place...officially speaking.
It’s very easy for rejected narcissists to fall prey to the superstitions of their childhood, so long as the twisted logic fits their wounded egos. I won’t go into that night, there’s no need, the media already turned covered every vile angle of the story. She was burnt up, that’s all anyone needed to know.
Besides, I was there, I know what happened. I know what I saw. It was a ghastly sight, and I sat there, and I watched everything happen. She begged us to stop, but her please fell on deaf ears. We were merciless in our revenge.
She’s dead, anyhow. It’s what I tell myself in order to live with the things I’ve done. It’s easier to live with the belief that she’s dead, rather than facing the truth. She’s alive, and unwell, carrying what we did to her through the rest of her life now. In the end, she didn’t burn with dignity, in the end, she didn’t burn at all.