Listen. This is my first thing that I have ever published on my own. There are some things that I tell anyone before they read a story of mine. If the grammar is incorrect, it is supposed to be that way. I write things as if I were saying them alloud. So there are fragments, and run on's. But hey! Who gives?! Not me. I don't have to think until I go back to school in August.

Disclamer: I own nothing. I am a poor college student. I have no money. Don't hate me.

****************************************************************************************************************
I. Joan

Turn.

Running. Always running. Fighting.

"Why won't you help me?!"

Trying to break down the door. To get in.

To kill.

"I have served you. Faithfully! Please, help me!"

Pounding on the old building. She knows it will not hold much longer. The villagers accusations of Witchcraft. They don't understand.

The stone stays silent.

She had saved them. Led armies to free them. In return, they will give her death.

The door breaks. The men of the village pour through. The torch light dancing and creating shadows on the wall.

Toss.

"Please! I beg you!"

The yells of the townsfolk engulfs her hearing. A witch. Heathen. Spawn of the Devil.

The clergyman begins to speak the Last Rights.

How did the priest get the blade? She had it only a moment ago.

"Why have you abandoned me!"

Fire.

* * * *

Sara Pezzini practically jumped out of her bed. Her breathing is labored, she is drenched in sweat, and freezing. She no longer bothers counting the number of nightmares she has had since she had possessed the Witchblade.

3:45 AM.

At least she got a little over three hours this time. Still not enough. Never enough.

"Who needs to sleep anyways?"

Obviously she does.

3:46 AM.

"Might as well try."

She finally fell asleep, and into another nightmare. Unaware of the figure in black on the roof of the building across from her. Watching her sleep.