In the puritan colony of South Haven, the large wooden courtroom is packed with pilgrims. The entire village has gathered for a public trial, their anxious whispers filling the air. A dying shaft of golden dusk light pours through a window, illuminating a kneeling woman on the floor, her hands bound behind her back in chains. She slumps forward, head bowed in defeat. Her bald, patchy head is stained with dried blood where her platinum blonde locks were sheared off. The homespun dress is torn, wet, and muddy. Her albino skin holds dark bruises, and her pale wrists have been rubbed purple and raw from the iron cuffs.

Behind her stands a barrel-chested brute, the Executioner, with long, greasy hair and a beard. He does not attempt to hide his smirk, peering down at her in perverse relish. The villagers behind him, are packed into pews, appearing angry and frightened, and whispering gossip among themselves.

At the front of the room looms the village leadership. Behind a central podium sits the Judge, a stern-looking man clad in a black robe with a white collar and awkward comb over. To the right of the Judge stands the Preacher, a thin, angular, middle-aged man holding a Bible, casting a regretful glance down at Autumn.

The Judge bangs his gavel on the wooden podium. The muffled conversations and whispers cease. 

"Autumn Carver, thou hast been given full opportunity to refute the charges of witchcraft, but thy defense hath fallen short. Before your Christian neighbors the truth is laid bare, showing that thou hast brought harm upon the unborn babe of the this young woman in her labor."

To the left of the Judge's podium stand a newly wed couple, the groom with red eyes and scowl, protectively holding his wife, while she crosses her arms over her belly, trauma and exhaustion etched across her face. 

"By the sworn word of Midwife Mrs. Henrikson, the bite of the hound, your familiar, did bring about the labor's failure and the child's death. The maid, likewise, hath confirmed this in her own testimony."

Beside the newlywed couple a sour-looking elderly woman with white hair pulled back in a bun, the Midwife, glares at Autumn with simmering hatred, fists balled at her sides. Beside her stands a young black woman, the maid,  her head wrapped in a handkerchief, dressed in a billowing maid's gown, her head bowed in fearful submission. 

"Together with the testimonies of the other villagers concerning thy strange albinism, thy hermit ways in the woods, and thy hidden knowledge of plants and potions. the evidence bodes ill against thee."

The room erupts into exclamations and fearful gasps. A frantic voice from the crowd shouts, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!"

"Order!...Order!" the Judge demands, banging his gavel again. The room simmers down. "Dost thou have any plea or word to share before this court delivers its sentence upon thee?"

Autumn's head remains bowed.  She has already told them everything she could in her defense. Her mind is spent.

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"So be it, then," the judge continues, "Autumn Carver, having been judged by thy peers and by this court, thou art hereby found guilty of the heinous crime of witchcraft, and thy soul condemned!"

The villagers erupt into jeers of damnation, and gasps of horror, mixed with fearful cries about the devil in their midst. The Judge nods to the Executioner, who yanks Autumn to her unsteady feet and drags her down the aisle as villagers close in. "Devil's harlet!"' one shouts. "Blasphemer!" another snarls, spitting on her. 

In the chaos, the preacher suddenly finds the strength to defy the verdict. "No brothers and sisters! This trial be falsehood! Ye shall find the Devil's work in thine own bosoms! Tis Satan's design to see us rend one another asunder!" But his voice is drowned out by the maddening crowd, and he is pushed aside in the commotion.

The double doors fling open as the Executioner drags Autumn out into the crisp October air. Behind the crowd pours forth, nipping at the heels like rabid dogs who smell blood. 

In the center of the town square, the Executioner jerks Autumn over to the base of a massive oak tree, its lush canopy bursting with fiery crimson and peach colored leaves. From a branch above dangles the empty noose. The Executioner lifts Autumn onto the crate below the noose. She does not resist. The dying twilight sky casts a forge fire glow, illuminating her torso with vibrant hues of orange ember.

The executioner greedily ensnares the noose around her neck, and the crowd encircles the accused, frothing at the mouths for her death. Finally, Autumn finds the strength to lift her head. Where one might expect a face of evil, the albino ivory face shows desperation: cracked lips, sunken, exhausted eyes, scrapes and bruises. Filthy, yes, but there's a softness there too on her platinum blonde eyebrows, white eye lashes, and pale grey eyes, which frantically scan the crowd. Her gaze flits among the wrathful faces until it lands on an elderly woman in a shawl, teary-eyed, with an expression of compassion. Autumn mouths a name without sound, her eyes darting to a building at the edge of the village, sending a message.

The elderly woman squints, reading the name on Autumn's lips, then looks back at the building, her face lighting up in recognition. She turns back to Autumn and nods, retreating backwards through the crowd, disappearing. 

The Executioner tightens the noose around her neck, as Autumn watches the elderly woman making for the building. Autumn's feeling that her daughter will be saved, finds a inner, boiling ferocity rising up in her.

"Indeed!" she proclaims, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. "I am a witch! Satan himself hath offered his hand in kinship, and I have accepted it willingly."

Gasps of shock ripple through the colonists while others erupt in anger, shouting, "Blasphemy!" and "Send her forth to eternal damnation!"

"Be still! I have vital words to utter before the noose claims my life!"

The crowd silences in shock at her sudden confidence and commanding tone. 

"I declare a curse upon the very soil of South Haven and all who dwell within!" Her eyes sparkle with fury and she gnashes her teeth like a wild dog.

"Hang the witch! Send her to hell!" the voices rise again. The Executioner glances at the Judge, who nods in approval.

"I vow that my undying spirit shall return to cast ruin upon you, until you and your bloodline have known a thousand miseries, the same as I have suffered—" 

Before she can finish, the Executioner kicks the crate out from under her feet, and her body snaps down, the rope taut. Her eyes go wide in shock and her pale face flushes red with blood as the pink veins bulge and throb. Her feet kick in fury, and she twists and writhes to free herself-all in vain. The crowd goes quiet, watching in grotesque fascination. Her kicking feet slow and her protest dies down. Her head hangs loose. Her body swings softly as leaves drift down from the Oak tree. 

Autumn carver is dead, but far from finished.