"Help! Please, somebody help!" A woman's desperate scream tore through the night as rough hands dragged her away from the safety of her home.
In a small room, a young girl was awakened, her heart pounding from the piercing sound of her mother's cries. Without thinking, she threw off her blanket and rushed toward the noise. "Mama? Mama where are you?" she called,
her tiny voice trembling with fear. Her legs, thin but determined, hurried through the darkened house, searching every shadowed corner, but there was no sign of her mother.
Then, a louder commotion drew her outside. She stumbled toward the street, where a terrifying scene unfolded before her wide eyes.
Her mother was tied tightly to a wooden pole in the center of the village square. Flickering flames was at the straw beneath her feet, casting eerie shadows against the cold stone walls. The night was dark, only the fire's orange glow illuminated the scene.
"Mom!" The girl began running, her small feet moving as fast as she could, but she stumbled and fell more than once.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pushed herself forward, so close to breaking her free, so close to saving her. But then a group of burly men stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"No! Let me go! I said, let me go!" she screamed, kicking with all her might, but her cry fell on deaf ears.
"Can't you hear, she's going to die! My mama's going to die!" she sobbed. One of the men grunted, "Enough! We're trying to save you from that witch."
Another voice, softer but no less cruel, said, "Don't be too harsh. She's just a child, too young to understand what's happening."
The little girl kept struggling, but her strength was no match for their grip. Around her, the villagers shouted in cruel unison: "Burn her!" "Yes! The filthy Sylvan must burn!" Her mother's skin blackened and blistered, bones crumbling to ash as the fire consumed her.
The villagers spat insults, mocking her final moments with delight. The girl watched, frozen in horror, as her entire world turned to smoke and ash. Her mother's body was gone, nothing remained but scorched memories and burning pain.
When the last flicker of flame died, the men released their hold on the girl. She collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. With trembling hands, she reached out and touched the cold pile of ashes that was all she had left of her mother.
After a long silence, she lifted her tear-streaked face to the crowd and whispered, voice raw and trembling with grief and fury, "What did my mama ever do to you? She never killed anyone. She never took what wasn't hers. Why?"
From the crowd, a cruel voice sneered, "She was a Sylvan. Thank the gods we got rid of her."
The words stung more than any flame ever could. Instead of breaking her, they ignited a fierce fire in her eyes.
She stood slowly, every breath shaking with rage. "Which filthy Sylvan?" she demanded, voice sharp as steel. "She had no horns, no wings—yet you still called her that. You all deserve death. No, worse... you deserve to burn in the same flames that took my mother."
One of the women stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. The entire village held its breath, but none dared defend the girl. They all believed she deserved it.
Dawn stared at the man in shock, pain flashing through her eyes. "Grandma... she was your daughter."
The old woman spat back without hesitation, "That thing can never be my daughter, not in this life, nor the next." Dawn's scream shattered the silence, rising louder and louder, wild and uncontrollable.
She screamed until her voice cracked, until tears and rage fused into a storm, throwing anything in her path aside—even pushing her own grandmother to the ground. Her fury became too much. Fearing for their safety, the villagers finally knocked her out cold..