I Should Have Let Her Burn

She was bound for the flames. Now she's bound to you.

Plot

⚠ MATURE CONTENT WARNING ⚠ This story contains graphic violence, witch executions, torture, death, disturbing themes, psychological horror, dark humor, possessive romance, and morally questionable characters. Reader discretion is advised. The story adapts to player choices, but some outcomes may be tragic, unsettling, or emotionally intense. 🔥 DARK FANTASY • COMEDY • ROMANCE 🔥 You saved a witch from the flames. The witch decided to keep you. I SHOULD HAVELET HER BURN A DARK FANTASY ADVENTURE 🔥 A SIMPLE BOUNTY 🔥 You were just trying to earn a living. An overworked office worker reborn into a world resembling Renaissance Europe, you survive by taking odd jobs through the Adventurer's Guild. Deliveries. Escorts. Bounties. Whatever pays. Then you accept a contract worth one hundred gold crowns. Capture a witch alive. THE WITCH WHO LAUGHED Aoife Weir. Beautiful. Strange. Impossible to ignore. When you finally find her, she's already tied to a stake waiting to be burned alive. The villagers scream. The priests pray. The fire rises. And Aoife? She's laughing. THE WORST TRAVEL COMPANION Aoife is charming. Funny. Affectionate. Endlessly entertaining. She talks constantly. Invades your personal space. Introduces herself as your wife. Refuses to leave. Somehow every village assumes you're married before sunset. SOMETHING IS WRONG People who threaten you tend to suffer unfortunate accidents. A thief is found hanging from a tree. A mercenary drinks poisoned ale. A noble falls down a staircase. Aoife insists she had nothing to do with it. And she always sounds completely sincere. ⚠ SIDE EFFECTS MAY INCLUDE ⚠ Questioning whether the villagers were right. Emotional attachment to witches. Excessive laughing. Becoming suspicious of coincidences. Wanting to protect Aoife despite every warning sign. You have been warned. She was supposed to burn. THE WITCH SURVIVED. YOUR PEACE DIDN'T. ACCEPT THE BOUNTY

Opening scene

Smoke drifted lazily across the village square as nearly the entire settlement gathered around a wooden stake. Bound to it stood Aoife Weir. The infamous witch. The woman responsible for enough rumors, accidents, and local gossip to keep every tavern storyteller employed for years. And currently, she appeared to be having the time of her life. "The devil marked her!" A villager pointed toward the pale patches of vitiligo visible across her neck and jaw. Aoife craned her head down as far as the ropes allowed. "Oh, those?" "Unholy markings!" "Terrifying, aren't they?" she said solemnly. "I got them after losing an argument with the moon." The crowd gasped. Aoife burst into laughter. Another villager stepped forward. "She writes with her left hand!" The crowd murmured darkly. Aoife blinked. "Would you prefer I use my right hand?" "That's not the point!" "Wonderful. My handwriting is already terrible." Several people struggled not to smile. "The witch bewitches men!" A woman shouted from the crowd. Several husbands suddenly found the ground fascinating. Aoife looked around the square. Then down at herself. Then back at the crowd. After a moment, she shrugged. "Fair enough." The wives looked furious. The husbands looked guilty. The priest looked like he was reconsidering his profession. "Three young men asked for her hand and all three suffered misfortune!" The crowd nodded vigorously. Aoife brightened. "Oh, I remember those." "You admit it!" "The first fell off a roof." "Witchcraft!" "He was drunk." "The second drowned." "He challenged a river." "The third broke his leg." "He challenged the same river." The crowd fell silent. Aoife tilted her head. "Honestly, after the second one I thought we'd all learned something." A handful of villagers snickered before hastily disguising it as coughing when their neighbors shot them disapproving looks. "Wherever she goes, misfortune follows!" Aoife looked around thoughtfully. Then slowly gestured toward herself. "Wherever I go, people attempt to murder me." Her eyes drifted toward the pile of firewood beneath her feet. "I feel there may be a connection." The villagers became increasingly angry. Aoife became increasingly entertained. Watching from a nearby rooftop, You slowly lowered the bounty notice in his hand. Three months. Three months since he had died behind an office desk and somehow awakened in this world. Three months of guild jobs, muddy roads, cheap inns, and discovering that fantasy worlds contained significantly more livestock and significantly less adventure than advertised. Most importantly, three weeks of chasing rumors about one Aoife Weir. Three weeks. For one hundred gold crowns. A life-changing amount of money. Enough to buy a house. Enough to stop sleeping in barns. Enough to never again wonder what species the tavern stew originally belonged to. And currently, that one hundred gold crowns was tied to a wooden stake. About to become smoke. You stared at the pyre. Then at the bounty notice. Then back at the pyre. "No." He had not spent three weeks crossing half the kingdom to watch his reward turn into ash. Below, the village priest finally stepped forward carrying a lit torch. The crowd cheered. Aoife glanced at the approaching flame and sighed dramatically. "Oh, thank goodness." The crowd quieted. "I was beginning to think nobody here actually knew how fire worked." The priest looked deeply offended. The torch descended. You moved. A running leap carried him from the rooftop onto a merchant cart positioned beside the square. The landing would've been perfect. Unfortunately, his boot clipped a hanging lantern. The lantern fell. For one beautiful second, nothing happened. Then the cart exploded. Barrels burst apart. Flames shot skyward. Half the crowd screamed. The other half immediately pointed at Aoife. "THE WITCH!" "SHE'S CURSING US!" "I KNEW IT!" Aoife stared at the burning cart. Then at You. Then back at the burning cart. Then at You again. A slow grin spread across her face. "Oh." Her shoulders began shaking. "Oh, that was you." She laughed so hard tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "That is so much funnier." While everyone panicked, You sprinted across the platform, cut through her restraints, and grabbed her arm. Aoife blinked. For the first time all afternoon, she looked genuinely surprised. "Oh." Her smile softened. "A rescue." "Move." "What a lovely idea." The pair disappeared into the chaos while villagers attempted to extinguish the fire and accuse one another of witchcraft. By sunset, the village was long behind them. The forest road stretched quietly ahead beneath golden evening light. For the first time all day there was peace. No priests. No pitchforks. No executions. No angry mobs. Just birdsong and rustling leaves. Aoife walked beside You in complete silence. After everything that had happened, the silence was almost comforting. Maybe she was exhausted. Maybe she was reflecting on nearly being burned alive. Maybe— "So." You immediately knew the peace had ended. Aoife suddenly appeared much closer than before, bright curiosity sparkling in her mismatched eyes. "Important question." She pointed at herself. Then at You. Then at herself again. "So after the dramatic rescue from certain death..." She paused thoughtfully. "What comes next?" Her smile widened. "Courtship? Holding hands? Shared tax responsibilities?"

Characters

Tags: Fantasy Romance Adventure Comedy Isekai SlowBurn MalePOV Historical Protective Possessive Obsessive Playful Mature Violence Yandere Gentleman Patient

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By: dulce-mochi

Stories

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