Believe it or not, magic is real, and so are the rumors of a war raging for the heart and soul of Humanity for countless eons. You may have heard a few, tales of two opposing ideologies squaring off in the night. On one hand, the defenders of the supremacy of male birthright, and on the other, the worshippers of the Divine Feminine, determined on eroding their false sense of power and creating the foundations of a perfect Femdom society. They're Brothers and Sisters locked in a game of chess. Sometimes, the pieces move, slowly. Sometimes, they don't move at all. There are occasions though when events unfold in unexpected ways, turning an impasse into an unlikely win or an untimely defeat.
This is the story of one such pivotal moment, a simple tale that is anything but. This is a story of the Brotherhood of Proud Men, and the Witch Coven of the Crimson Robe.
* * *
City of Boxtroth, 1693,
Alicia Flanagan entered the tribunal, hands tied behind her back, and fresh cuts stretching from her curved forehead to her plum cherry lips. At age twenty-three, the olive-haired beauty with medium-sized breasts that looked good on any dress, and a peculiar birthmark shaped like a devil's horn on her left clavicle, was the first woman in ages to receive the "honor" of being called a "living incarnation of Evil". The illustrious Mayor Robert Flanagan, her foster father, and known to all for his never ending parade of flamboyant attires had chosen her to be the battered face of his new power play, a feat that would secure his rightful position as the undisputed leader of all.
"You're a witch!" He had said one beautiful day, instructed by those he served without hesitation. Besides being a cunning politician, the good old Mayor was both a Brother and a Father, two titles only given to true zealots.
"You're right," Alicia replied, a confession that, more than elicit surprise, made him rub his hands with glee. There stood the perfect opportunity to further control and dominate the sheepish mass of minds, just like they had foretold. The young woman was arrested on the spot and beaten to the ground until the spectacle of mass propaganda was put together. In a little over twenty-four hours, the stage was lit, the curtains spread wide open. Fiction was about to play the role of Justice.
"Good people of Boxtroth," the Mayor began, his thunderous voice echoing along the walls of the ancient church now turned into an improvised court of law. "It is with the greatest of sorrows only a father figure can experience, that I am forced to dishonor my beautiful adopted child, Alicia Flanagan, for she is none other than a concupiscent temptress, a practitioner of the Dark Arts, a witch. I've ignored the obvious signs for a long time but now that your crops are dying and the river running through the city threatens to turn red again, I can no longer turn a blind eye to the fact that the cause for all your afflictions has always lived under my roof. I'm ashamed of my own fouls yet confident that, once her guilt is proven and balance restored via her lawful execution, we shall find the prosperity we've been missing once again."
A round of applause intertwined with loud whistles and exaggerated foot stomping caused the main chamber to tremble. The gullible populace was as excited as it could be to blame it all on the female scapegoat, not so long ago one of the most esteemed members of the community, and now a pariah everyone wanted to spit on. Behind the Mayor, sat three Councilmen wearing black long shirts with a silver buckle strapped around their waists. Two of them were also Brothers, and the other was the most simpleton of simpletons, whose only job was to nod and corroborate the decisions they made. Alicia kept quiet while her surrogate father talked, a hint of a smile blooming in her lips. She was enjoying the show.
"Although I know the weight my word carries with you," Robert continued. "I don't expect you to believe in what I've just told you based on it alone which is why this will be a fair trial, with fair testimonies and fair witnesses. However, I'm certain they will only prove the veracity of these proceedings for the truth can't remain hidden for long, and foulness can't forever cloak itself under a veil of beauty. Let this fair audience begin by bringing forth the first witness."
It was Matthew Stillwater, caretaker of the Flanagan Estate for over twenty-years. The late fifties man was as God-fearing as one could be, never leaving the house without her mother's old cross hanging from his elongated neck and he had horrible stories to tell about spiraling lights in the dead of the night coming out of her bedroom, combined with the sounds of uncanny incantations that made his knees tremble.
"I could feel my will becoming intoxicated by her words," he said. "It was terrifying."
"Thank you for such a powerful yet dreadful account, Matthew, and may your soul remain safe from evil influences," The Mayor said before summoning the next witness, one of Alicia's closest friends.
The young Daniel Hawthorne was the only son of the town's blacksmith, much to the man's chagrin for he possessed none of the skills necessary to carry on the family business. Daniel was nineteen and a virgin in anything other than proper sexual intercourse. All the boys knew how much he loved to take it in the ass, with his mouth coming in second place. Despite his own libidinous nature, all the older women adored him for the striking resemblance to her late mother, the finest healer that had ever lived. They expected much from his ways with herbs and other natural implements but what he loved doing the most was brewing male potency tonics to sell under the counter. The Mayor was one of his most trusted clients.
"Remember a few weeks ago when old Matthew babbled nonstop nonsense like 'the Goddesses are coming for us all'?" He asked. "Alicia was there when his tongue became unclean. It's obvious she cast a spell on him. because he refused to satisfy her lewd desires. She'll do the same to all of us if you don't put an end to her wickedness today!"
More applauses, with a few boos and rotten pieces of fruit flying across the church. The squashed tomato left a giant stain on Alicia's beautiful brown and white corseted dress. It was a good thing she was restrained, otherwise she could use the foul juices to cast a curse on them all.
"Dreadful, I know," the Mayor proceeded with the charade backed by the three Councilmen in their wooden seats. "It's dreadful to hear these accounts knowing extra vigilance could have prevented them and yet, despite the fairness that guides us, it's becoming increasingly clear that young Alicia is nothing but a devilish tool!"
