August 9, 1651
For whoever is reading this, I am not a witch. I live alone not because I practice dark magic in my basement, but because I have never wanted to be with a man. I take interest in medicine not because I want to poison others, but because I want to help and heal them. I’m going to die tomorrow because of the above. I’m scared, I don’t want to be burned at the stake tomorrow. The worst part of all of this is that I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t escape, I can’t convince them that I’m not a witch and I cant survive my execution. If pleaded guilty at the start I could have been hanged, which honestly sounds much better than what I’m getting for pleading innocent. As I come down to my last hours on this earth, I want someone out of the hundreds to know that I’m not a witch and don’t deserve to die. At the very least, I don’t want to be remembered as a killer, please, believe me, I am not a witch.