This story is a standalone entry separate from the previous What It Takes to Survive story. Feel free to start here!

Bristol, England—1628

Mother had been quiet the last few days. I knew something was wrong; how could I not? My mother, who was always laughing, hadn't shown so much as the tiniest smile in days.

I hadn't ever seen her this distant for as long as I could remember.

My brother John had sometimes spoken of the time when our coward of a father had traveled to the New World and how broken our mother had been when it became clear that the man had no intention of sending for us as he'd promised.

As I watched my mother while she sat on our porch that morning, staring blankly at the open fields that surrounded our modest home, I wondered whether this was my mother broken again.

I might have called out to her if I thought she would answer me. It was a stark contrast to only a little over a week ago.

"Alright Rowan, it's your turn," my mother had said with her usual smile just as my older brother was getting out of the chair.

I stared in horror as I saw the little hair my brother had grown clumped on our porch floor. My mother, who always cut his hair, had left him with very little on top.

"I don't want to," I had protested by crossing my arms and taking a tiny step back.

"You must," she said quickly as though she'd been expecting my defiance, "You're starting to look like a girl. I imagine the neighbors are starting to talk."

"I say let them," I argued.

"We should probably start calling you Fran at this point," my older brother John chimed in.

The truth was I really liked my hair. It was the same brown, curly hair that sat atop my mother's head, although hers was neatly styled while mine was more wild in nature. In any case, it would take much more than my brother's teasing to get me to agree to cut it.

"Can I at least get it under control?" My mother asked, "Just a trim?"

I shook my head and heard her sigh a moment later, "Suit yourself," she told me.

"That's it?" John asked in disbelief. "Where's the cane? You would have never let me keep such a mess on my head when I was his age."

"That's not true," Mother protested as she tidied up the mess that used to be my brother's hair.

"Oh, it's true, not to mention the fact that some of the boys at the docks were asking me about my little sister some time ago,"

"What would you like me to do then?" She asked with her ever-present smile, "Tie your brother up with a rope and cut his hair?"

"You might have done as much to me when I was his age,"

I remembered how my mother had laughed at that moment. Now it was as though she wasn't even the same person.

I was about to turn to head back into the house to begin preparing breakfast when I heard approaching footsteps. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it sounded like more than only a few men.

That many men approaching could only mean trouble.

I had known the past few days that something was wrong, but John had only insisted on trying to assure me that it was nothing.

And now he wasn't home.

He'd left before dawn that morning for the docks, where he worked as an aptly named dock worker transporting goods from the arriving ships into the various company warehouses.

It paid decently well and allowed us some comfort, but it was grueling work that the three of us knew I could never manage with my slight frame.

That work was the reason he wasn't here now while armed men were approaching our home.

I took some steps forward to meet them as they approached. I'd briefly glanced back at my mother, who sat there unmoving.

With my brother gone, I knew I had to be the man of the house. I had to protect my mother.

"Who—who are you?" I stuttered as soon as the men were in range, "What do you want with us?"

I glanced at the ten or so men in front of me. I didn't recognize any one of them. I may have seen or met any one of them at some point in town, but I had no way of knowing.

"Out of the way, girl," the man who led the group spoke harshly, "This is church business. That woman is wanted on suspicion of witchcraft and shall be placed in our custody until the truth of the matter can be determined."

"Witchcraft?" I asked in disbelief. My shock must have been clearly visible on my face.

One of the men closest to the leader leaned in to speak but spoke loud enough for me to hear, "I believe that's one of her sons."

His full-bearded face looked a bit familiar, but now wasn't the time to try to place it.

"I see," the leader spoke softly, "No doubt she has bargained the child's manhood with the devil she serves. I've seen it happen."

I was mostly in shock trying to process all that was happening. The accusation of witchcraft had seemingly come out of nowhere. It was mad to think my mother of all people could be a witch. Anyone who knew her would say as much.

"By the order of the magistrate, I, Constable Sharpe, order you to take this woman." Another man from the group stepped up to say, and only when the group of men behind him began advancing did I snap out of my trance.

"No, you're making a mistake," I pleaded, "My mother is not a witch!"

"I witnessed it for myself," the bearded man spoke up in response, "I watched my baby boy turn blue at her touch, mere seconds after his birth."

"She stole his soul for her master," The wicked man that led the group quickly agreed, "Take her now and be careful lest she cast a spell on you."

"No, stop," I pleaded some more, "This is a mistake!"

"Silence," the man spoke to me as I struggled with the men trying to make their way past me, "Your destiny has already been sold off and your soul is damned. We must save the soul of this city now."

One of the men reached my mother and took hold of her arm. I tried to stop him, but I was hit hard from somewhere outside my field of view.

I staggered and fell to the floor.

"Take her before she sees fit to take her revenge," I heard as I tried to regain my bearings.

From my position on the floor, I could see that they had forced her to her feet. Even now, she looked just as distant. I desperately wanted her to say something, to advocate for herself, but she only remained silent.

"Please," I begged, "You have this all wrong. Let her go."

My words were falling on deaf ears. I'd realized that as they retreated with my ailing mother. I knew I needed my brother, and so I ran.

I ran until I thought I might collapse from exhaustion, and I ran some more.

By the time I reached the docks, I was panting wildly and suppressing the urge to vomit. I fell to my knees, and I heaved as I tried to catch my breath.

It briefly dawned on me that I hadn't worn any shoes before I began my journey here, and my feet were sore and bleeding, but of course, I had other priorities. I had to find my brother.

At that point, I had the attention of the entire docks, and under normal circumstances, that might have been terrifying, but not today.

As soon as I had caught my breath enough, I screamed his name right there in the open area.

Anyone else that wasn't yet looking at me did so. I desperately hoped one of those faces would be my brother.

I made a single brief glance over the crowd before screaming my brother's name again.

This time, another voice carried his name following mine.

"John!" the unfamiliar voice called out after me, "Come over here."

It didn't take long for my gaze to meet my brother's, and just like that, the tears began to flow. Almost as though I no longer had to be strong.

"Rowan?" he called out as he hurried over to me.

"Ma--" I swallowed. "They took her," I told him in between breaths.

The look on his face told me he had no idea what I was talking about.

"They came, these men; I tried to stop them," I explained. "They took her; they said—John, they said witchcraft."

I said those words and watched the color drain from his face.

=^..^=

"Come on, Rowan," John called out to me from outside the room we both shared, "We can't afford to be late."

It had been around two weeks since our mother was taken from us. It's been two weeks since I saw her last.

The house felt so terribly empty. I would sometimes lie in bed thinking about how different things were only a month ago. I couldn't believe how quickly everything could turn sour.

John had tried, of course, to see her, but he'd been denied on account of my mother being a dangerous witch. So dangerous that she wasn't being held in the jail like we'd expected but in the church.

I couldn't imagine what she was going through inside those walls. It made me sick.

"Why won't they let us see her?" I asked my brother as I exited the room now dressed in one of my only good clothes.

"I see you combed your hair," he replied, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," I voiced quietly before raising an arm to touch my long hair gently.

"You look even more like a girl now," he added. If he was trying to cheer me up, it wasn't working.

"Aren't you worried that we haven't been able to see her?" I asked him.

"Of course I'm worried," he replied, "But we'll get to see her today."

"At a trial," I confirmed.

He nodded weakly.

"Why does she need to have a trial?" I asked, feeling my anger well up, "She's done nothing wrong."

"I know," he told me, "I know it's hard, but I need to tell you something, and I need you to understand me, Rowan."

"What is it?" I asked in the hope that my brother had a daring plan to keep our mother safe.

"No matter what they say, no matter what you hear, you cannot say anything," he stressed, "You must not speak."

"I don't--" I paused. "We have to come to her defense, surely."

"No--" he continued.

"We have to tell them she's done nothing wrong."

"No!" John shook his head. "You can't speak. If you do, they can accuse you of being a witch just like her. I need you to promise me that you won't say anything."

"Then why are we going there?" I raised my voice, "I don't want to go."

"We have to," he replied, "We can't raise suspicion. I heard from someone that the church is eager to accuse you of also being a witch. You have to listen to me."

"So we just leave her there? With them?" I asked him with tears in my eyes. I'd been crying a lot more in the past two weeks than I ever did before. It felt as if I was a little child again, weak and powerless.

John stepped up, placed a hand on my shoulder, and squeezed lightly. "Ma would want me to protect you, and that is all I'm trying to do now," he said, "And to do that, you need to listen to me, okay?"

"Okay."

=^..^=

The city was awash with people that morning. It wasn't unusual, as Bristol, being a port city, seemingly had an unending supply of new people arriving and old ones departing.

What I noticed, however, as we entered the city that morning was what I could only describe as an air of excitement.

It had been a quiet walk down from our home on the outskirts but had progressively grown louder as we approached.

Something else that had only grown more intense since we left home was the stares my brother and I received as we walked.

At that point, all the residents of the surrounding area must have known by now that a witch trial was to take place.

They may not have known my face on account of my seclusion, but they certainly knew John's who had continued to work throughout the two weeks since Mother was taken.

I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for him, having to subject himself to their unwanted attention just so he could keep food on our table.

I turned my attention to the city itself to keep my mind off everything I was feeling. I noted how dense the city was with timber-framed buildings so tightly packed that it cast the narrow alleys into near-permanent shadow.

I shuddered to think what ill activities were carried on in those small corridors.

Although not as thick as when standing near the docks, the air here was still thick with the smell of the River Avon, mixed in with the smell of smoke from countless chimneys.

I watched the children run past, laughing joyfully, oblivious to the evil all around them. I wished I could go back to the time when I was one of them—tiny and oblivious.

But today my mind was heavy. Heavier still when I was drawn to the sound of hammers driving into nails, and I turned to find gallows being constructed.

The sight drove a shock through me, and I gasped audibly.

John quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled, "Don't look," he told me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight.

Many people had gathered to watch the construction or simply lingered to take in more of the sight as they went about their day.

They looked happy.

At the time, I had been so consumed by my despair that I hadn't even considered how strange it was for them to be building that now, before the trial, or even at all. I knew for a fact the city of Bristol had had its fair share of executions in the past.

=^..^=

John and I arrived at the Guildhall to find yet another crowd standing outside, albeit a smaller one.

John, still holding my wrist, pushed past the crowd as we approached the closed door of the hall. There he addressed the guard whose role was to keep the rabble from disturbing the proceedings.

"We are the accused's sons," John told the guard.

He eyed the pair of us for a moment before answering, "Come through."

I noticed that John's admission had stirred up the murmuring of the crowd behind us, but we paid them no mind. We had bigger worries.

We were ushered into a large room where our mother's trial was to be held.

The room sloped downward from the entrance, with several rows of tiered seating, all leading to a podium at the lowest point.

Several of these seats were already filled, and just as we had all morning, we drew their attention with our appearance.

John led me down the stairs towards the front, closest to where our mother would be standing. I was grateful for his help. I don't know how I could have possibly done all this without him.

"She's done nothing wrong," I said to him as soon as we were seated. "Why--"

"I know," he cut me off before quickly glancing around to make sure no one was listening, "It's okay. It will all be over soon."

He was right, as he always was. Only a few minutes later, the doors were opened and the crowd poured in. Everyone was desperate to find a place to sit. When the seats ran out, the rest found a perch to stand.

Nothing was going to keep them away from the spectacle.

I tried but found it very difficult to keep from listening to all the murmurs around us.

"That's them there," one person said.

"I heard the witch had two sons."

"The wee one's a lass, isn't she?"

"Looks like it."

"Say, you don't think--"

"I've heard it happen."

I could feel myself trembling but could do nothing to stop it.

I only found some reprieve from the onslaught when the key figures began making their appearances.

I recognized Constable Sharpe with them, but the rest of the magistrates, their identities, were not known to me.

There were clergy present, this being a witch trial and all. Among them, I recognized the man from two weeks ago who had convinced his group that my mother must be a witch. A witch hunter, I expected.

With him, I found my mother's accuser. The man who claimed my mother had taken his child's life as though babies do not die all the time in childbirth.

He was the man that had brought hell upon my family, and I hated him.

Unlike the other figures who marched on to an area reserved for those presiding, the accuser returned to the front row of tiered seats, settling only a few seats away from my brother and me.

Despite the fact that he was ruining our lives, he paid us no mind.

"We are here to examine the dealings of one Margaret Hale and come to a conclusion regarding her status as a witch." One of the presiding men spoke with a booming voice, "Bring in the accused."

The attention of all the people present turned to a door that led deeper into the guildhall, out of which I saw my mother for the first time in weeks.

She looked tattered. It took everything I had in me to keep crying only because I had promised John I wouldn't make a scene.

My mother was dressed in rags and covered in dirt. Her eyes darted around the room frantically until they met mine.

I felt a warmth I hadn't felt in so long when she smiled at me. Despite her terrible outward appearance, her eyes seemed to have returned to how they were a month ago.

She seemed to have overcome whatever it was that had weighed her down in those days before her arrest.

I had my mother back, but yet I knew she was entirely out of reach as she was led to the stand.

"Margaret Hale, you have been accused of dealing in the most vile act of witchcraft." The man spoke after the crowd had quieted down. "How do you plead?"

My mother's gaze lingered on mine for a moment longer. I was happy I got to see that smile one last time before she turned to face the clergy and the magistrates.

"Guilty," she said, "It is true that I am a witch."

=^..^=

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Hiya :) I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please let me know what you think about it so far.

The room erupted in audible gasps and loud murmurs following my mother's declaration.

I was stunned. How could I not be? My mother had just admitted to witchcraft.

Unlike my brother, I spent all my days with her. I was always with her except those times she left home to help bring babies into this world and care for ailing mothers. I was the one person that knew she wasn't guilty of such a thing.

"I did it," my mother spoke loudly to get her words over the crowd, "I touched that baby and watched the life drain from his face."

Why was she saying these things?

"The baby turned blue, blue as the sky above." My mother continued, "The baby was without breath. I watched the little one die in my arms."

'What is she saying?' I thought to myself. Soon I couldn't hold it in any longer, and I needed to beg her to stop saying such things.

I began to stand to speak, but John quickly caught on and held me back. He covered my mouth with his hand for good measure.

A woman's voice seemed to tear through the noise, "Hang the witch!" she screamed, and the commotion only grew louder.

"Yes," my mother agreed, and I felt my eyes water. "I must atone so my eternal soul may be saved."

'Stop saying these things.' I felt the urge to scream but couldn't. Not with John's firm hands holding me tightly.

"Hang her!" More and more people yelled in unison.

"Order!" One of the magistrates stepped up when the crowd had begun to grow out of control.

"I killed that baby!" My mother screamed, "It was my fault. I took an innocent life."

The look on her face was one of pure horror. I shuddered to think that she may have believed some of the words out of her mouth.

"She must hang!"

"I will have order here!" The magistrate shouted as the crowd began to leave their seats.

Things looked like they would get violent at any moment.

"There has been a confession!" The witch hunter raised his voice in an attempt to placate the crowd, "The witch will be punished in accordance with the law of God. Sit quietly for sentencing, good people."

This seemed to get through to the people because slowly, very slowly, they returned to their seats eager to hear the punishment that was to be meted out.

"Good people of England," the bearded accuser took advantage of the quiet to step up and address the crowd, "She has confessed to killing my newborn. My wife lies bedridden, and I fear she may never recover. No doubt she is under the witch's spell. Nothing short of a hanging will suffice."

I heard grunts of approval pour over the crowd, and I realized there was nothing I could do now. That feeling of resignation and hopelessness was something I hadn't felt till that very moment.

"But the death of one witch is meaningless when there is another in our midst here today," he continued, "The witch's spawn," he said finally as he pointed an accusatory finger in my direction.

"No!" I heard my mother scream, "I alone am a witch. My children are innocent."

"We must not believe a word from a confessed witch's mouth," the man argued.

"What proof do you have?" The magistrate asked him.

"The boy's unnatural appearance, of course," The accuser responded, "If it is even a boy. I suspect it's a changeling from the pits of hell brought here through the witch's summoning."

John held my wrist tightly. He knew as well as I did that things were turning even more sour.

"So if I understand correctly, there is no proof of any wrongdoing by the boy?" the magistrate asked.

"Look at him," the bearded man pressed, "Stand, you foul creature; let the good people get a good look."

"Don't," John whispered to me.

I turned my gaze to my mother, who only looked worried.

The witch hunter whispered something in the magistrate's ear, after which he asked me to comply.

With no other choice and fearing that I may give them a reason, I obeyed and stood.

"Turn to face the good people," I was ordered, and so I did.

What I met was exaggerated gasps. Was my appearance so peculiar to solicit such reactions?

It had been said that I took more after my mother than a boy should, but when did that become a crime?

"Tell me, my fellow Protestants, is that the countenance of a young boy or of something else?" The bearded man put forward, and the crowd murmured in response.

"The creature must receive the same fate as its witch of a mother lest it take its revenge on all of us,"

"Enough!" That was the first time I heard my brother speak since the commotion began. He had hoped to avoid trouble, but it seemed trouble had found us regardless. "My brother is innocent. He is as natural as anyone in this room. Our mother might have practiced unspeakable things, but her actions were unknown to the two of us. He is not a witch."

"How--" Our accused sought to say something else, but my brother cut him off once more.

"I implore you," John spoke directly to the presiding magistrates.

"We are gathered here today on the matter of the confessed witch known as Margaret Hale," the magistrate finally decided. "All other complaints can be considered at a later date. If there are no more statements to be heard, we shall proceed with sentencing."

"But Your Worship, we must detain the spawn as well," the man tried to press further. I wondered what I had ever done to make him hate me so much.

"Based on what, Mr. Tanner?" The magistrate turned sharply to face the man. "His womanly face? Shall I arrest Mrs. Goodwill for her mustache as well?"

My accuser turned red in the face with anger as some of the crowd he had so expertly controlled laughed at the magistrate's statement.

"You can bring your accusations at a later date as I have instructed, and I suggest you bring something more substantial than the boy's odd appearance." The magistrate said finally, seemingly tired of being interrupted, "I will have no more words from you as we proceed to sentencing the confessed witch; is that clear?"

I had been feeling pressure building up in my head for some time. It was all so overwhelming that my ears had started ringing as the magistrates droned with the procedure that would end with my mother's death.

John and I remained quiet as the final moments arrived. There was nothing else to be done but wallow in our sadness.

"--I hereby sentence the witch, Margaret Hale, to death by hanging."

=^..^=

I was utterly dejected as John and I made our way back home. My mouth was dry, and my legs threatened to give way with each step.

I'd just watched my mother get dragged away, and there was nothing I could have done about it. It now seemed set in stone that my mother would be hanged as a witch in the coming days.

Despite the deeply worried look on my brother's face as we walked together, I knew well enough that his worry wasn't for her but for me.

"Can you make it home safely?" he asked me sometime during the final stretch of our journey.

I nodded, "Why?"

"I just have to get something done at the docks. I will be back soon?"

"You're going to work now?" I asked him confused. It was hardly the time.

"No, I'm--"

"They're going to kill her, and all you can think about is working," I asked him. "Don't you even care what happens to her?"

"You don't understand," John grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the road away from the path of oncoming travelers. "Ma has given you a chance here, but we don't have much time."

"What do you mean?"

"Go home," he shoved me lightly. I could see the seriousness on his face. "Don't talk to anyone. Don't open the door. If you see anyone approach the house, hide. Do you understand?"

"I do, just tell me--"

"Rowan, just do what I say," he sounded frustrated, "I'll be back soon."

"Okay,"

=^..^=

I stayed indoors as he instructed. Minutes alone became hours, and hours became several. He said he'd be back soon, so where was he?

I'd set out some pottage for his consumption upon his return, but that had long since cooled. My patience was running out, and I had been contemplating going out to look for him for the last hour.

I was very close to setting out when he returned in the late afternoon. I'd locked the door just as he'd asked me to, so I had to undo the latch before he could enter.

"Where have you been?" I asked him as soon as he made his way past me, "And where'd you get that cloak?"

He hadn't had it when we parted earlier in the day, and it certainly wasn't anything I knew he owned. As the duty of washing his clothes fell to me, I was certain of that.

"Rowan, I need you to listen to me," he started, "We need to leave Bristol and go somewhere far."

"What, and leave Mother?"

"I've managed to secure us a place on a ship leaving tomorrow morning," he explained. "We must be on it."

"I don't understand, where are we going?" I asked him, "And we can't leave her, of course we can't."

"Rowan, listen--"

"You said we had to be here to not raise suspicion," I reminded him. "That's what you said."

"Rowan!" he stepped forward toward me. "They mean to hang you with her. You don't know what's going on out there."

"John," I said his name in a pleading manner, "We can't leave her. I know if you try, you can get her out of there somehow. Who knows what they're putting her through?

He turned away in frustration, "I need you to pack some things. Enough clothes and essentials for the journey. But—I need you to do it from Ma's things, okay? Her clothes and the like."

"I don't understand,"

"Just wear one of them; see how it fits." He told me, "Make yourself up the way she used to."

"Are you teasing me again?"

"I'm not," he turned to meet my gaze, and I could tell he was serious.

"I'm not doing that." That was all I could manage before he walked up and grabbed my arm forcefully.

"Do you want to die here?" He shook me, "In this shit city? Buried in a common pit like a criminal?"

I stared at him wide-eyed but said nothing.

"Ma has done all she can to protect you, so just keep quiet and do what I say," he said after letting go of my arm. "It's the only way I can get you past all the watchers and onto that ship. Now do you understand what I need you to do?"

I could only nod.

"Alright," his voice was softer now, "If they catch on to our ruse, it will seal both our fates, so try to do it well."

As I turned to retreat, I heard him say one last thing, "Put some paint on as well. It should help."

"I don't know how,"

"Do what you can."

=^..^=

My legs buckled under the stress only moments after walking into my mother's room.

I dropped down to my knees, and once again, I couldn't keep the tears from flowing.

It was all too much. It was already more than I was equipped to handle, and that was before John told me I was to wear our mother's clothes.

Me, a man. Even if I wanted to, did I even know how to go about it?

I'd washed the garments numerous times and could recall helping my mother lace up her bodice since they laced up in the back and she couldn't do it herself, but I'd need my brother's help even for that.

I could probably manage with fastening the skirt, but I knew I could get any number of other things wrong in the process.

I might have given up after each consideration if it wasn't so apparent how much my brother was fighting for my sake. Dressing myself was the least I could do.

I made my way to her drawer, where I began sorting the items I would be taking with me and those that would be left behind. This included her undergarments, which left me feeling very uneasy.

I suddenly felt like all the things I'd been accused of being. I felt unnatural.

Washing these garments was one thing, but perusing through the lot in search of what to wear was hard to stomach. Still, it was work that needed to be done.

Eventually, I finished sorting the items on her bed and had even made my choice of what I would be wearing.

"How are things?" I heard John call out from the other side of the door.

"Leave me be," I simply replied, and so he did.

'The first step is easy,' I thought to myself when I was ready to begin donning the clothes.

For the smock, I needed only to put it over my head.

The stockings and garters that came next weren't easy to figure out, and I might have considered doing away with them entirely if I didn't know that I would be accused of more than witchcraft if my ankles or legs were to be seen.

"John, I could use some help here," I called out to my brother when it was time for the bodice.

A moment later he arrived, pushing open the door sheepishly.

"I need you to help lace me up," I explained.

"I don't know the first thing--"

"I know. I'll explain; just come here," I beckoned him over while holding the bodice in place.

It was all I could do to manage my embarrassment with my brother seeing me in such a state. In fact, I thought I might die of embarrassment at any moment if I didn't play it off as nothing out of the ordinary.

"What do I do?" he asked as soon as he was in position behind me.

"You need to pull the laces tight," I muttered, shifting uncomfortably, "Not too tight—I still need to breathe."

Our mother had said those exact words to me the first time I'd helped her with the lace.

I could hear his struggle as he fumbled with the laces. The rustling of the linen and the occasional frustrated grunt told me he had no idea what he was doing.

I wasn't nearly as pitiful the first time I tried it, but in all fairness, my slender fingers were probably more suited to this work than his.

"It needs to be snug," I insisted, "Start from the bottom and work your way up, cross the laces like a shoe, then pull them through the holes."

He grunted in frustration.

"Keep going," I continued, "No—pull it tighter."

"Like this?"

"Yes, better," I told him, "When you reach the top, tie it off. Not in a knot, though, just a bow so I can get out of it later."

I waited patiently and breathed a sigh of relief when he finished and took a step back.

"And we need to do this every time?" he asked me as I turned to face him.

I ran my fingers along the bodice to check the fit and noticed just how slim it made my waist. This alone had given me more of a womanly figure than I was comfortable having.

"It gets easier," I told him.

He eyed me for a bit and seemed to be contemplating whether he should say what was on his mind.

I decided to help him along.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"You look a lot like her," he told me.

"Oh," that was all I could say. It wasn't what any young man would want to hear, but in this case, I thought it made me happy.

"Do you need help with anything else?" my brother asked me.

I shook my head in response and waited quietly while John saw to his exit.

I made relatively quick work of the underskirt, and it was at that point I began to believe that I just might see this through.

The last major piece of clothing was the gown, which my mother wore over her underskirt, and so I was following suit.

It was more layers of clothing than I had ever worn myself, and I could hardly see how all of this was practical, especially as summer was approaching.

I imagined the smock would already be thoroughly drenched by midday.

When I thought I was reasonably dressed, I moved on to the paint, which turned out to be a total disaster.

For one, how anyone applied the paint without seeing what they were doing was entirely beyond me.

Also, I had no clue what most of it was for. The white face paint was thick and pasty, and the true amount to be applied was truly anyone's guess. Not to mention the fact that it felt cold, clammy, and uncomfortable.

For almost the same reasons, the thought of applying the rouge terrified me, and I feared I would terrify anyone who looked upon me should I get the portions wrong.

I knew that burnt clove was used to make a woman's eyes darker, but that was about as useful as knowing glass came from sand and then trying to create it.

In the end, I decided to do away with the paint, although there was some risk with going out barefaced. It might raise some eyebrows if it was expected of the other women, but I thought it was perhaps more suspicious to get it wrong than not have it on at all.

Besides, it wasn't as though I had needed help looking like a woman before this. And considering I was now dressed as a woman. That was all I would need to be convincing.

I put my feet into one of my mother's shoes that I'd chosen and tested the fit. It was a bit tight around my toes but not unworkable. The heels themselves were decidedly higher than anything I'd ever worn before, but to my pleasant surprise, not unreasonable.

Each passing moment confirmed my new reality. Like the bodice itself, it felt constricting.

I would be wearing these shoes out of the house soon enough. I might have to lean on my brother for support every now and again, but eventually, I would get used to the feeling. It was all very uncanny.

The finishing touch came in the form of a coif. It would be very unfortunate to go through all this trouble and be recognized by my hair.

With that last piece atop my head, the look was complete. I took a deep breath and gathered myself before exiting the room to show my brother that the work was done.

=^..^=

I found my brother sitting at the table eating what was now a very cold pottage. He had put out another plate for me. It was abundantly clear that this was to be our dinner. It was time for it after all.

Normally we'd be having our dinner on the porch like we always did, but tonight we were shut in. The blinds were drawn, and the room was illuminated only by a candle.

It had been that sort of day, dark and depressing.

He looked up at me, and his gaze lingered on me as I approached. I felt so self-conscious in that skirt that swished about uncontrollably as I walked toward him, but thankfully, he didn't comment on it.

It was still hard to believe that I was dressed the way I was. Everything felt so foreign with the way the bodice and the gown hugged my frame closely, a stark contrast from the way the full skirt flared away from my body, giving me an even more feminine appearance than normal.

"Go on, eat," John told me simply after gesturing toward the plate of food.

I noted that in my plate was the last piece of fowl we had left. It was meant to be his portion, so I took the gesture to mean he felt sorry for me.

"So where are we going then?" I asked him after taking a seat near him, "You haven't said."

"I will tell you when we're safe and on that ship," he replied, "For now, I want you to focus on getting your strength up. We're leaving as soon as it gets dark enough."

I clicked my tongue but said nothing.

"Have you sorted out the clothes you'll be taking with you? Make sure they're warm enough."

I nodded.

"I want you to finish packing immediately after you finish eating and be ready to leave as soon as you can,"

"Okay," I replied, and for a time we ate the cold meal in silence. "I wish we didn't have to leave her," I spoke again after some time had passed and my plate was now empty.

"So do I," he replied, "I hope you know that."

"I do," I made sure he knew that too, "I just--I'll miss her."

"I know. Enough of that now, Rowan," he said with a serious expression, "Go finish packing. Don't forget anything."

=^..^=

We'd left our home behind, and for so long I couldn't shake the feeling that I was also leaving the person that I was behind.

It was manageable in the dark, but the fact remained that I was dressed in women's attire and walking the road that led to the city alongside my brother.

Just that morning, I could have confidently stated that I hadn't done anything wrong. Tonight, I no longer could.

It was a strange feeling, but at least I could be thankful for the several layers of clothing when faced with the night's cold breeze.

"Keep your head down," my brother whispered to me as another group of travelers passed us by.

"Good Evening," The man from the oncoming group greeted my brother, who had his own face obscured with a hat.

"Good Evening," My brother responded and breathed a sigh of relief when we passed yet another group without incident.

Our disguises held, if only in the dead of night.

As we passed through the city gates, we were privy to a conversation regarding the day's witch trial.

"Shouldn't have let the spawn go free, I say. One man put forward.

"We shouldn't get involved," another chimed in.

"I think if the justice is lazy, it is our duty--"

"Maybe, but you don't want to get involved with witches and the like." Another argued, or was it the same person? It was hard to make out. "Those curses are a nasty evil."

"I fear no witch. I myself have seen a few of them hanged here and there. I say we go see these ones dealt with--"

"I wouldn't mind that. All I'm saying is—"

I listened to the voices until they grew distant and disappeared into the night. It was obvious that the city was beginning to stir. I knew we had to hurry.

Soon John and I were back in the city but were taking a different route. Not in the direction of the center this time around but towards the docks.

It had grown more tricky since entering the city, as we now had to contend with avoiding the guards—and they were out in droves tonight.

The news of witches on the loose had left the city in a bit of an uproar. Besides the guards, the people were more vigilant, examining and keeping stock of their neighbors and those who walked by.

"Take my arm," John told me, and I obeyed. I held on as tightly as I could.

He didn't have to tell me his reasoning. I knew that married couples were under much less scrutiny than unmarried men and women. I knew that the performance was all we needed to secure ourselves a bit more leeway.

We took one step after another until we arrived at the docks. John led me purposefully toward one of the warehouses where we met up with a middle-aged man. A rough-looking fella that smelled like whiskey, but John looked relieved to be here, so it allowed me to relax a bit as well.

"Is this her?" The man asked John.

My brother nodded.

"You're spending a fair bit of coin on her behalf," The man commented, "You could always sell her to me. Will give you your money back plus 10 pounds on top. A good price."

"She's not for sale," John answered, quickly growing impatient.

"Pity," the man said to himself, "I would have put that pretty face right to work."

"I paid you for passage, sir."

"I'll tell you this," the man smiled to himself, "I'll pay you 5 whole pounds to have her service me on the journey; what do you say?"

"We had an arrangement, sir," John frowned. "Please show us aboard."

"Suit yourself," the man gruffed, "Follow me."

That conversation was effective enough to instill in me a new fear. I was now in this world as a woman, and I worried about how I would be treated because of it.

This was the first man I'd met, and the very first thing he'd done was attempt to purchase me for whatever terrible purpose he had envisioned. It worried me.

Still, I followed quietly as we made our way down the length of the docks, only stopping when we arrived at a large ship.

I could make out a few men already on board busy with something or another. I couldn't help but feel unsafe as I realized I was to be stuck on a boat with these strange men.

"Get on then," the man gestured toward his ship, "We depart before midday tomorrow. Stay below deck until we do."

"Thank you," my brother offered, and the man only grunted in response.

We attempted to climb aboard, and it quickly became clear that I wouldn't be able to manage it by myself without assistance. It was something my brother quickly noticed and took my hand in his, helping me onto the large ship that would be our home for the next few months.

"So where are we headed?" I tried to get my mind off my worries by asking him the question once again. This time he had no excuse.

"A new land they call Virginia," he answered.

=^..^=

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Thanks for reading. The journey's only just beginning, so buckle up. Let me know what you think of this story so far. I'd like to make this as accurate as possible, so any criticism helps.