Here is one of my past lives that came to me after I self-regressed about 20 years ago. It didn't all come in one go, but during the regression and for a few dreams during the week that followed.
My sister Lizzy and I lived on the outskirts of a village. I knew the year was 1590.
Our mother had died some years ago, quickly followed by my father who died of a broken heart. His last words were, 'I'm sorry to leave but I need to be with your mother, you have each other. I leave you both our home and my love.' He then slipped into a peaceful sleep from which he did not wake.
Lizzy and I lived a happy settled life for a few years, growing flowers, making and selling bread. We had been schooled by our parents in herb lore and tended to the sick. Many visitors would come for healing potions. We helped at births and used herbs and prayers to ensure those who passed went in peace.
One day in October, the village men had a meeting. From that day our lives changed dramatically.
We never found out what the meeting was about and who exactly was present, but from that day the people in the village averted their eyes and whispered to each other whenever we passed by.
Lizzy and I were on our way home one afternoon, having visited dear old Sarah who passed over from a weakness of the chest, when four men approached us. Two held me back while the other two attacked and assaulted Lizzy in a vile, cruel way. They didn't attack me - only her. I found out later they were fearful of me.
I helped Lizzy home and tended her wounds. She never recovered and soon began ranting incoherently writhing in agony. I made a concoction of Belladonna and relieved her from life. I would have gone then as well had I known what was in store for me.
That night after I buried Lizzy, Henry arrived to see me. Henry and I had been dear friends since childhood and I'd helped his wife during the birth of their son. He came to tell me that he had been threatened with death if he came near me ever again. The men had said all my family were witches and as I was the youngest I was the most powerful and the one to watch. That must have been why they didn't attack me when they hurt Lizzy.
I told Henry to hurry away and protect himself, but the men were waiting. He was severely beaten and died before he reached home. In the night there was banging on my door, but I hid and whoever was there went away. They didn't attempt to break in. The next morning I found my cat nailed to the door. The only crime he'd ever committed was to kill a few mice.
They really believed I was a witch. I would have laughed if it hadn't been so terrifying.
I had to act fast and rushed into my garden to collect more plants for a poison, but they saw me and grabbed me before I could get back in the house. They dragged me away, breaking my shoulder. Twenty came - safety in numbers. I can't imagine what they thought I might do to them.
I was taken to a dungeon type building where I was fully examined from head to toe. After that they pricked me and laughed at my pain; how brave they were now.
Days passed, I was kept in my cell and every day people, men and women, came to watch me suffering. They all wanted to know how much pain I could stand before I died. As I grew weaker I begged for death to swiftly take me.
They tortured me in groups of four to six. Not for me a fair trial. I was guilty of whatever they wanted to lay on me. They were murdering people daily. Mainly women, but a few men as well.
It seemed that anyone who had ever been kind or helped anyone was now being punished. They stretched me backwards across a small table with my legs splayed far apart, while they laughed at the pain of my degradation and humiliation. After examining every inch of me, sticking pins in me and dropping boiling wax onto my breasts, they took turns to rape me.
They had wagers to see who could cause the most pain without actually killing me. They drank of my blood. How brave they were now. No one came to me. Friends had been threatened and were fearful for their families and lives. After five days I had weakened so much I could no longer cry out or speak. I constantly prayed for death.
All manner of objects and body parts had been rammed down my throat, that I couldn't have confessed to anything even if I'd wanted from the damage they had caused. They only thing I could taste was my own blood and semen. They untied me and threw me to the ground. My feet were black-dead. I couldn't stand. One of the kinder guards offered me water, but I refused. I wanted to die.
I heard whispers. I heard shouting. I heard screams. I was dragged out into the yard and the smell of burning flesh engulfed me.
'Witch. Witch. Witch,' was all I could hear.
A woman pushed her way through the mob to me and insisted she moisten my lips - she ministered a brew.
'It won't be long my lovely?' She sounded like my mother.
They tied me to the post and lit the straw but I knew I'd be dead before the flames reached me. I felt a wave of comfort wash through me as I slipped away and I heard the voice of someone from another world.
Written by Herself
I write as the muse takes me and here is a blend of blog posts and articles.