A/N: For those of you who are waiting for chapters to my other two stories, they are coming (slowly). This story has been floating around in my head for awhile now, so I wanted to get it out and get some feedback. This story starts out during the Salem Witch Trials and I know that some stuff in this story won't be 100 accurate with history, but that's why it's called "fiction." I did a little research to make it as close as I could. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review!

I still do not own the Teen Titans.

Trials

"Good-bye, Sarah," I whisper, placing a daisy upon her final resting place. Bowing my head for a moment, I take the time to say a quick prayer for her soul. I look around, making sure none have seen me. Though it is the middle of the night, I know that I am not safe and begin my journey home.

I enter the forest, being sure to stay off the designated path. The stars being my only source of light, I walk as though blind, my hands held out in front of me. It is a precaution I must take. If any see me, I shall surely be taken away and hanged, just as Sarah was, accused of witchcraft.

These are hard times in which we live, here in Salem Village. Mass hysteria engulfs us as countless accusations are made day after day against friends, neighbors, even family. No one is safe. Just last week, mother was taken for supposedly bewitching the Putnam's cow. A small smile plays at the corners of my mouth. If only they knew the truth.

Sixteen years ago, the day before mother and father were to be wed, a demon, in the guise of father, came to mother by night and lured her into bedding with him. The demon revealed himself to her afterwards and told her that the child growing inside of her would be different from all others. Nine months later, I, Rebecca Roth, came into this world, half mortal and half demon.

Anyone could see that I was not the daughter of Goodman Roth, yet none could prove it. Father still shows resentment towards me and mother, leaving early in the mornings to work in the fields, returning late in the evening to sup and close himself in his room. It is as though I have no father.

My powers began to develop at an early age. Fortunately, no one but mother was around to see me destroy a kitchen chair merely by glaring at it while feeling angry. Mother tried to explain why this was happening. She told me of my true father and how I came to be. I was scared, but glad that I had her there with me.

She helped me suppress my emotions by teaching me what she called "quiet time," allowing my mind to go blank so that I would remain calm. It helped. More powers followed: moving certain objects with my mind and healing others by absorbing their pain.

I do not think of myself as a witch. The villagers seek one who dances skyclad by moonlight with the Devil as her partner, or interacts with black animals that are really the Devil in disguise, or persecutes young girls by making them throw fits in front of the whole town. I do none of these things, nor have I the desire to do them. I am unsure as to what I am.

I have made my way through the woods and enter the house quietly, taking a moment to listen for anything that is amiss, and slip silently into my room. Only after closing the door do I allow myself to light a candle so that I may prepare for bed.

I remove my bibbin and apron, say my nightly prayers, and slide into bed without removing my dress. I need to be up early now so that I may complete mother's chores as well as my own. I blow out the candle and am asleep in minutes, thanking the Lord one more time for allowing me safe passage through this night.

"Rebecca." It is father's voice. I open my eyes to find him standing over me. He is not alone: Captain Jonathan Walcott is with him. I know by the look on his face that he is not here for a social visit. "Get up, girl."

I rub the sleep from my eyes and slowly sit up. "What is the matter?" I ask groggily. "Why do you waken me so early?"

"Stop this tomfoolery," he hisses. "Tis midmorning, yet ye have not risen. Dost thou think thou art royalty?"

I look to the window in amazement and find that he is right. With a quick gasp, I throw off my blanket and stand, searching for my shoes as I straighten my dress. "Forgive me, father," I plead. "I-I did not sleep well and—"

"Save your lies, girl," he interrupts. "Tis not I ye should be asking forgiveness from, but the Lord. Since the day ye were born, I knew ye were a witch, yet proof could not be found. Until now."

A cold knot forms in my stomach. "I know not what ye speak of, father," I say in a deceptively calm voice. I clench my hands until the nails enter my palms to keep them from shaking.

He slaps me with the back of his hand so hard that my head turns as far as it can. I cry out in surprise and pain, bringing my hand up to cover the cheek that was struck as it begins to sting, and turn back to look at him. His face is a glowering mask of rage.

"Cease from calling me by this title," he says in a low voice, taut with anger. "Only my daughter, one born of my flesh and blood, may call me 'father.'" He spits in my face and my body stiffens in shock. "I have no daughter."

He raises his arm, as though preparing to strike me again, and I cringe in anticipation. Captain Walcott steps forward and grabs father's wrist firmly. Father looks to him in surprise, perhaps having forgotten the Captain was there.

"Joseph, this is not necessary," Captain Walcott says. He releases father and turns his attention to me. "Rebecca Roth, you have been accused of practicing witchcraft. Ye will come with me now and await your trial."

"I-I do not understand," I stutter, wiping the saliva from my face with my sleeve. "I-I am no witch. Who hath made these false accusations against me?"

His expression clouds in anger. "Elizabeth Parrish and my daughter, Mary, have made accusations against you. They have seen your spectrum come to them as they sleep, tormenting them by choking and pinching them in their dreams. Ye are also the daughter of a witch and friends with the witch, Sarah Good. Need I continue?"

"No, sir," I say softly. I look around, trying to find a means of escape. I could crawl out the window, but I would need the chair from the corner in order to reach it. That would take valuable seconds that I do not possess.

I could use my power to throw my night table at them as a distraction, yet that would surely prove that I am a witch if I was caught. The doors are unguarded and I could try running, but I know not if the captain has brought others with him. I also do not think that I can outrun him. Even if I did, he need only call "witch" and he will have the entire village after me.

"Will ye come quietly, then, Rebecca Roth, to stand trial at the Court of Oyer and Terminer?" he asks.

I have no other choice. "I will," I answer quietly. I secure my bibbin, but leave my apron behind. Father laughs, hoarsely and bitterly, from the corner where he now stands. I look at him questioningly.

"Enjoy hell, witch," he sneers as the Captain grabs my arm roughly and escorts me to prison.