Wapun Meadow the lambs were screaming

He speaks, and she listens, strangely still, strangely tame; for her spirit is a wily thing, full of turmoil and angst, anger and energy. Clarice feels nothing pulling at her heartstrings, because she held no compassion or understanding of it. She also did not know the permanence of death. Mortality was foreign to her. Those that died, she could bring back. She believed everything she thought, and so she is fearless, stupidly so. At the very least, she does not act on it.
xxxxFire for the faithless, she whispers. It is they who are burned, devoured by the flame. We cannot pass that way— witches, burned at the stake, how fitting a fate! But no, Do you not think there is some plan? He had believed her dead. Now, she is aggrieved. You could live without me... she is distracted, and her eyes shift left, shift right, and it is though something has gone off within her. I live for you. She was his witch; none could change that, not even the God she so adored and obeyed.