May 9th, 1692
I can barely remember this day. It's nearly lost in a cloud of haze, but I remember a few details, thrown in sharp relief against the fog. The dust motes swirling lazily in the golden shafts of sunlight. The dull blue color of my dress. The smell of sawdust and freshly baked bread. The soft, urgent tones of Tori's voice as she told me that another witch had fallen into the hands of the bloodthirsty villagers.
"You're not serious?" I stopped for a moment and stood still, studying the panicked expression in her eyes.
"I'm dead serious." She stood with one leg pressed against the doorframe, the basket in her hand frozen in midair.
"Well, at least the dead part's something we can predict." I mumbled under my breath, though apparently not quiet enough that she couldn't catch it.
"Jade!" Tori snapped.
"What? I'm only telling the truth." People like to call me a pessimist. They're wrong. I'm just a realist, that's all. Always have been, always will be.
"The coven can't afford to lose another witch. What do you expect us to do?" She demanded, setting the basket down and smoothing her skirt, an old nervous habit of hers.
"Oh, well, I don't know, why don't you say that a little louder for everyone to hear?" I asked in that voice I know she hates. I lean back and wait for her predictable reply.
"I don't talk like that!" There it is.
My recollection fades from there. But I do remember the two of us arguing, for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. But that's not really the important part.