The Epilogue

As the mob descended on Lisbeth’s home, she stood ready to meet her judgment. The Reverend Thompson had been exposed as the charlatan and hypocrite that he had always been, and his faithful followers had been shown to simply be opportunistic sycophants. She still held out hope that these revelations might set free the innocent individuals still imprisoned for crimes that were fictionalized to bring about their downfall. 

She couldn’t make out a single face as they broke down her door. Their slander was incoherent, but she did make out the word “witch” and was deafened by the demand “burn her.” Were they looking for Eris? Did they think she could lead them to Eris and her encampment in the woods? The Reverend Thompson pushed his slight stature through the crowd and into her home, locked eyes with Lisbeth, pointed his stubby, crooked finger at her, and with absolute conviction, screamed an accusation that Lisbeth did not fathom would come against her in her wildest dreams:

“There is The Witch! Eris has been living among us all along!”

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As the flames grew higher around her, the village that had been home to Lisbeth her whole life and its townspeople were blotted out by blistering pain. Although too late, she knew now for certain that true evil had nothing to do with right or wrong, but that evil was anything that gave you the power to harm others. Eris and her strife were just as reprehensible as the Reverend Thompson and his campaign for conformity. Revenge was simply repaying calamity with catastrophe. No one ever really wins. There is no cosmic competition for the soul. Only three things would last forever—chaos, kindness, and confusion—and the greatest of these is chaos.