#witch trials

[charnel-grounds]

“Portrait of a Witch on Trial”

(likely a historical depiction of the Loudun Possessions or the Salem Witch Trials)

anonymous, 19th century, oil on canvas

[ratective]

they must’ve served cunt at the witch trials

[gcmonsterappreciation]

False accusation fear-mongering is just dressed up modern witch trials.

[clandestinewhore]

𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚢́𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚞̊, 𝟷𝟿𝟽𝟶

[motharaya]

The Burning Of The Versailles Witch MY NAME IS CELESTIA LUDENBURG GODDAMNIT!

Check the eyes for a prize

[kitzatara]

Absolute Zatanna

She’s so pretty pretty, with the stars and the flirting with Diana.

Her hovering over Diana in what I assume is an astral form, reminds me of the kinda of powers people accused “witches” of in Salem or other trials. The belief that they could send their spirits from their bodies to torment people, or haunt their dreams. I love it.

This will be in Absolute Wonder Woman 14!

[cruelromantics17]

BODY AND SOUL

A/N: I made this short love one shot based on what I saw in a book these days. I guess I'm in my gothic love era again. I'M A POEM WRITER, hope you enjoy it, there's been a while.

Read this listening "Nothing Matters" - Last dinner Party

...

Trigger warnings: death, post life, burning alive, inquisition.

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

And I will love you like nothing matters.

Whatever our souls are made of, it does not matter. They are the same: you and I, as one.

The day you depart, I shall follow. To live without your love is the worst of poisons — it is like tearing my flesh with blazing embers, or asking a devout Catholic to spit upon the cross. I would rather slit my wrists and let the blood carry me away than never again feel you breathe.

I pray to God that He takes me first, and that He makes your heart flourish once more, for you were born for life. May the sun feel your warmth and the moon your passion; may the autumn leaves feel your tread, and may my bones, already turned to dust in my post-mortem, celebrate that once I breathed your air, felt your skin against mine, and set your inner fire ablaze, making your lips desire me and making myself your home.

A week later, a stake was driven through Theodore’s heart. The Inquisition had taken him. His body was cremated in a public square; his flesh turned to ash while a crowd of the faithful spat into the fire in righteous denial. The bishop delivered his infamous sermon while you, now a widow, paraded toward the flames in your black veil, radiating the mourning of a lost life that never found forgiveness.

Your gypsy eyes, once vibrant and filled with passion, now dull and hollow, met the crowd for a final gaze: your closing show.

Known for your madness and lack of fear, the public turned to you, sensing damnation in the air. The judging crowd cast their malice around, anticipating the tragedy etched into your eyes.

Before the pyre that consumed what remained of Theodore's cold body, you did not weep, you did not scream; you only laughed.

A whisper upon your lips, almost sarcastic, pragmatic, such as only he would understand. You walked with the dignity of an untouched virgin, and before any guard could react, your feet gracefully stepped into the flames that begged for your attention.

Then, silence.

The black veil was now nothing more than something that barely existed — it was the first to burn. Then your dress, carmine red, like a true gypsy. And before you could no longer speak:

"Theodore, may my soul find yours. And to the crowd: watch my body burn!"

And so, your last breath slipped away. There, under the judgment of men of corrupt faith, your ashes mingled into the air. The crowd fell silent, most of them drifted away, but those who remained realized that the Inquisition had not killed two lovers, born sinners, but had instead liberated two souls that

neither the sun, the Church, nor the burning fire could ever part.

Death did not take them; it merely guided them. Their souls, now eternal, can finally meet in peace. Their peace is their home. Two pagan sinners who let love blind them.

Bad Poetry of my Soul

03.06.2026