The crowd parted. Illyana Petrovich stood in the crowd, her finger pointed straight at Viola. “Pretty words, countess,” the words dripped from the mother’s mouth. “And pretty people to accuse your accusers. You have it all planned out. “Was that how it was, when you murdered my husband?” Viola stared back at Illyana. The crowd whispered, suddenly fearful again. This they knew for a fact. Everyone knew what had happened at the countess’ coronation. “Froze

Yoric stood before the crowd, and pointed at her. “You, vile witch, are removed from power. You shall stand trial for your crimes, and hang for the evil you have perpetrated upon the Valley.” “Stand trial and then hang?” Viola said. “Why have the expense of the first, if the latter is already decided?” A villager screamed, and launched himself at the countess. Viola danced one way, and then another, avoiding the clumsy strikes with

“Torches!” The nobles shouted. “Pitchforks!” All and more. The villagers were armed with anything they could get their hands on. It was time to overthrow the countess. And return the power to the people. Never mind that the nobles were in charge. Never mind that the people had never been in charge. Viola was alone, and unnatural. And a woman. She should never have taken power in the first place. All the while, the nobles