In the days of yore, when the veil between the worlds was thin, fear and suspicion ruled the hearts of men. Accusations of witchcraft were enough to spark a hunt that would send shivers down the spines of even the bravest souls. The accused were dragged before tribunals, where they were subjected to brutal interrogations and unspeakable torture until they confessed, even if they were innocent. Once found guilty, they were condemned to death by fire, their bodies consumed by flames that danced like wicked spirits.

But amidst the horror of the witch hunts, there was a strange magic at play. It was said that with every witch that was burned, a new kind of power was unleashed. The flames that consumed their bodies were said to be imbued with a strange energy, a potent force that lingered long after the fires had died out.

Luna was one such witch. She had been accused of practicing dark magic and was brought before the tribunal. Despite her pleas of innocence, she was found guilty and sentenced to death by fire. As the flames licked at her feet and the smoke filled her lungs, Luna closed her eyes and embraced the power of the fire. She felt the energy of the flames coursing through her body, and she knew that even in death, she would live on.

As the nights grew longer and the winds grew colder, the ghosts of the burned witches began to stir. They drifted through the darkness like pale wisps of smoke, their voices a faint whisper on the wind. They haunted the dreams of those who had accused them, their faces twisted with anger and pain.

But Luna’s ghost was different. She did not seek revenge or anger, but instead, she searched for a way to break the cycle of fear and suspicion that had led to her death. She wandered through the forests and the hills, her ghostly form flickering in and out of sight as she searched for a way to make things right.

The poets of that age were in awe of Luna’s ghost. They wrote of her bravery and her determination to make amends for the sins of the past. They wrote of the magic that had been born of her death, and of the strange power that still lingered in the air. They wrote of Luna, the witch who had been burned, and of the mysteries that she had uncovered in death.

To this day, the poetry of the witch hunts remains a haunting and mystical thing, a reminder of the power that fear and suspicion can wield, and of the strange magic that can be born of the darkest of times. And if you listen closely on the wind, you might hear the ghost of Luna whispering her secrets, her voice echoing through the ages like a mournful song, a symbol of hope and redemption amidst the darkness of the witch hunts.