Misogyny

“To burn me on to my death will prevent my virtues decay, martyr me by fire and you shall preserve the legacy of my convictions.” The men that made circle around her did not stir at her words, as came one from the encompassing who brought torch to her bound feet. From the beginning sear of her flesh to the blackened char that were her remains, she never screamed. And her posture was resolute- even in ash- her chin did not bow to her chest but held it's burnt gaze upward. When the men felt concluded and satisfied in their ceremony of outcast and began to stir towards departure, her body crumbled in dark flakes and avasted a denegrative cloud across the gathering. Her fervor filled the men's airways with an instant curse. All in witness began to hem and cough and then they dropped together, in unison, clasping at their throats as they choked. A quickening warmth spread within their insides as their blood began to boil and cook. Her soul would not allow these men to die as normal men would; asphyxiation nor her own form to passing would be their relief in death. Rather, her curse would sustain them.
And all together, at once, the men drew their heads to the sky and expelled a bluish flame from their open mouths, quickly quelled by spurts of thick, blackened blood which sprayed upwardly as molten tar; the trails of which embroidering in spats a web-like patterns upon their faces. And amidst her retribution, their minds were allowed to think only one thought and they came to understand and accept the indecency they had so imposed. And the horror ended, though the traces of her legacy maintained their black scars. The subduction of their vanities and prides, for such wrought the fear that had been their appeals to misogyny. And her soul granted these men their health, enabling each a long-life so they could serve as teachers from this- her final lesson. None of the men would ever forsake this moment for fear her soul would come to bring their blood to boil again, burning- bubbling from their lips' brim.
The men all stood, no longer confused by excuse and took to her enstilled purpose, none together, all to their own so similarly different direction.

When calm fell upon the scene, when no one was near to be found. At the stake where once an honest woman was burned for having a true voice; a sound of laughter came from this her undying grave. And then a final whisper:
“It was so worth it”