Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Tim Burton and Geffen. Lyrics belong to Jack Off Jill.
A/N: Okay, so technically they didn't burn witches in America, they hung them instead, but bear with me.
Witch Hunt
By Sinnamon Spider
Dead girls dance, they burn and twirl
Witch hunt, witch hunt, burn this girl…
He has never told her.
He doesn't dare. It's not that he does think she'll believe him; she who spends her days with a poltergeist at her side.
No, he simply cannot bear to tell her that once upon a time, he was the cause of her death.
He knew it the minute he laid eyes on her. That pale skin, those huge dark eyes, those delicate features; the only thing that had changed was the clothing.
Even the name was similar. Lydia…
Not a far cry from Linnea.
Linnea, the beautiful Puritan girl who slipped out of her village to meet him in the woods, to exchange forbidden embraces and whisper words of love in his ear.
Linnea, who watched in horror as he sunk into the quagmire, his hand clawing at empty air the last she saw of him in life.
Linnea, who heard his eerie voice, who felt his ghostly touch, who spoke to empty rooms and smiled at their replies.
He watched, helpless, from behind a tree as they tied her to the stake. Her screams ripped apart the dark night. When the fire died down, she was nothing but a dark smudge on charred wood.
She haunts him now, retribution for her lost life. Present in the sad smile and ever-loving heart of a young modern girl, her love for him has not lessened.
And they don't burn witches anymore.
But when Lydia speaks to empty rooms and smiles at their replies, he cannot help but fear for her.