_{Story by [Linderel].
Written for a contest on WritersCo.}

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"Call me the wind, I will blow with the fury of a hurricane, call me the sea, I will lap the shore with gentle tongues, call me the earth, I will shield the seeds in my womb."

These were her last words to me, to the people of this town, before the sentence was carried out. Moments later, she did not speak, did not breathe. A child - her daughter? - clambered to the platform, crying, clutching the leg that dangled just above her unkempt head. We all looked away, slowly scattered and drifted to our homes, soon forgetting what we did not want to know. Forgetting the words, the nonsense oaths, that would soon become reality.

Three days after her mother's death, little Elisa sat by the town square, gazing to the skies, tilting her head, as if listening. No one asked what for - she was ignored, left to her own devices, as none of the people wanted to be connected with her - yet she stopped each and every person walking by, tugged lightly on a sleeve or hem. She showed no fear, and looked at them with bright eyes.

"My momma's in the wind, she's whispering to us all. Can you hear?"

That night, not a soul slept peacefully. Those words were merely those of a child, but the child was a demon, herself, and could have made us nervous simply by greeting. She was a quiet sort of girl, unnaturally so, and seemed always like she knew too much. It was something in her eyes.

That night, we asked ourselves what vengeful spirit we had created or set upon the town, summoned unwillingly by killing the body, its vessel. We never once thought of the deeper meaning behind her words, never understood. We only knew what has been taught to every soul in this town since its dawn - the sinister will behind the green eyes of a witch.

So whenever storm winds tore at our houses, whenever waves crashed to the shore, taking with them a life, whenever the harvest was poor - we cursed the spirit of Elisa's mother, later, the spirit of Elisa herself, after she uttered her mother's dying words on her tenth birthday. Her, too, we let the ancient law claim on that very day.

The flames burning in her green eyes were so much brighter than those licking her clothes, her pale skin. She never cried, only repeated her mother's words.

That was the day I realised that there were no other monsters in the town but us.

Call me the wind, I will blow with the fury of a hurricane, call me the sea, I will lap the shore with gentle tongues, call me the earth, I will shield the seeds in my womb.

This oath will be on my lips, too, when I go. Please, until then - protect us and forgive us our mistakes, little Elisa.

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/ Passages
/ [Linderel]