Elara watched from the edge of the pyre, held back by three men. Her mother did not scream. She looked at Elara with eyes like two embers and mouthed one word: Sanctuary .
What do you need to be whole?
Ivy shook her head. “I’m not strong enough.” Sanctuary- A Witch-s Tale
She raised her hand. No fire. No lightning. Just a whisper of old words—older than Hareth, older than the church on the hill. The man’s torch guttered. His brothers stepped back. And suddenly, they could see: the girl’s torn dress, the bruises on her wrists, the terror in her eyes. They saw themselves as she saw them. And they could not bear it. Elara watched from the edge of the pyre,
“She makes poultices from nightshade,” the butcher said. What do you need to be whole
The hearth flared. The herbs trembled. And the cottage remembered what it was. They came for Elara at dawn. Not the villagers—they still feared the forest. But the man who had bought the girl. And his three brothers. Torches in hand. Hatred in their teeth.
And you will tell her the truth. And the truth, for once, will not burn you. Sanctuary: A Witch’s Tale reimagines the witch not as a figure of malevolence, but as a keeper of radical hospitality. In folklore, the witch was often the village’s last resort—the one who treated what physicians couldn’t, sheltered what the church condemned, and spoke what power silenced. This piece restores that archetype, exploring sanctuary as both a physical space and a moral stance: the refusal to turn away, even when it costs you everything. It asks: what would it mean to be that for someone? Not a savior. Just a door that stays open.