~Scotland, 1700s,~

In a courtyard of a large beautiful castle stood a not so beautiful black wooden cross on a light wooden platform. People gathered around and were being kept in line by guards as the darkened sky grew bright with the light of dawn. They started to shout and cheer and merchants sold their goods -mainly food and drink- to the excited crowd. Standing at the front of the growing crowd was a solemn priest holding a small black Bible in his neatly crossed hands.

Inside of the castle, down in the dank and dingy dungeons, knelt a thin figure with long dirty hair over their face dressed in filthy rags inside one of the many dark cells. They could hear the crowd's cheering and shouts, they could hear the merchants, and above all they could hear the heavy footsteps of no less than six guards marching their way towards the cell.

When the heavy metal bound wooden door was wrenched open and light from the torches fell upon the figure they did not move. They did not lift their head or even flinch when the door was opened, nor did they move when two guards grabbed them by their arms to pull them off of their knees after two other guards unchained them. The two guards holding the figure proceeded to drag them out of the cell and up out of the dungeons.

The figure landed with a thump as their hands and knees collided with the cold stone floor of the throne room but even as a pair of feet appeared in front of them they still did not look up and their long dirty hair hid their face.

The figure heard words being said from above them- words like 'witchcraft' and 'sorcery' caught their ears- but they no longer cared for they knew there was no way to escape the fate that awaited them. Once the person speaking fell silent one of the guards grabbed the figure's dirty hair in one fist and pulled it back as two other guards held the figure's shoulders. A whistle from a dagger in a guardsman's hand was the only warning the figure had before their hair fell around their face in a short uneven bob while the rest of the tresses fell to the floor behind them.

"And upon the cross by fire you shall die."

The guards grabbed the figure's arms again, dragging them out of the throne room and then out into the bright and cold air of a Scottish morning. The figures appearance in the courtyard as they were dragged across the cold uneven stones inspired the crowd to burst into even louder cheers and shouts. Items, such as food and stones, were thrown at the figure and the six guards as they tried to get to the platform. The figure didn't even put up a fight, continuing to just let the guards drag them towards the platform, as they knew that, even if there was a God Almighty looking down upon the courtyard in this moment, there was no hope of escaping this fate.

"Our Lord, which art in heaven," The priest said reciting the Lord's pray from memory, "Hallowed be thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: for thine is the Kingdom, and the power and the glory, forever,"

He turned just in time to see the figure being dragged past him and whispered, "Amen," in shock at the sight of him before the limp figure was dragged up the steps and then over to the wooden cross to be held against it by four of the guards while the last two bound the figure to it tightly. The priest looked on the figure with pity, "Only God can save your soul now child! Is there anything you wish to confess?"

But the figure didn't reply.

"Child, please!" The priest shouted up to them, "You are about to die do you not think you would be in God's favour for you to confess your sins now? If you do not confess now there will not be any other time to do so before your soul is handed to the Devil himself!"

Still nothing slipped the lips of the figure even as their arms were bound to the cross at their wrists, elbows, and then their shoulders so the four guards could release their hold on them and help the other two to further bind the figure to the cross.

"Child!" The priest shouted again, "Do you wish to become the Devil's bride!?"

The figure looked at the priest and gave a sad smile.

"I do not fear the Devil but it was one of his servants who has done his will and sent me to this awful fate, Sir." The figure spoke. It was like a whisper compared to the crowd's cheers and shouts but the priest heard it and raced up the steps to place himself in front of them.

"How is that, my child?" He asked.

"He is one of the current guests of the Earl, Sir. That is how. I refused him. I stuck to the Lord God's words and his teachings and told the Devil's servant no and yet here I am. I will pay for being faithful, I will die for my refusal of temptation and sin, and the gates of heaven will remain closed to me for I know the Devil has his servants among men. I would not be here in front of you if I had given my assent but the gates of heaven would be closed to me all the same."

"What did the Devil's servant ask of you?" The priest demanded but a guard told him to get off the platform as they had finished their task of binding the figure to the cross. The priest refused and told the guard he was taking the figure's confession but he simply gave the word for his fellow guards to forcibly remove the priest, which they did and the figure watched them go with saddened eyes.

"Child! Tell me! What did he ask of you!?" The priest shouted as he fought his way out of the arms of the guards and ran to the edge of the platform while the figure watched him.

Though the priest never heard the reply as the crowd erupted with cheers and he was pulled back from the platform as a fire burst into life from underneath and quickly consumed the crude structure. The priest stood helpless watching the flames rapidly spread closer to figure bound to the cross. Even the way the bonds were done insured pain should the figure attempted to escape the flames on natural instinct- the bonds wound under their arms, around the bottom of their rib cage, over their hips, and above their knees and ankles with tight thin cords of blacked rope from the fishing boats. A rope that could hold for years to come against any and all ruff seas and no mere human could escape.

Tears were running down the figure's cheeks as they looked up at the rare sight of a beautifully clear blue sky, watching as it was poisoned by the thick black smoke and floating embers of the fire licking up around them. Their lips moved to voice a final thought but the words were lost in the crackling roar of the flames.

"Oh Lord, be thy saviour and rescue this innocent from the hands of the Devil and his servant," the priest prayed, "Save your humble servant from this awful fate."

~Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, 2014,~

"Bruce!" Tony shouted causing the physicist to glance up from the book he was reading to look at Tony across from him, though when he had began reading he was sure it was Steve who sat there, "What are you reading?"

"A book." Bruce responded, shrugging off the question, "One that I bought at the airport before leaving the US."

"About what?" Tony pressed, "Is it fiction? Non-fiction? Give me a clue here!"

"It's kind if a bit of both Tony." Bruce said causing Tony to frown at him for being vague. Bruce sighed and put his head in his hand so he couldn't see Tony, "It's a book filled with stories about witches and wizards from around the world." He didn't hear anything from Tony, not even the laughing he had expected to hear, only the sound of the other Avengers on the jet talking, playing games, or watching TV. Glad for the silence, he went back to reading until Tony finally said something, looking up from his book, "Sorry?"

"I asked if it was any good?" Tony repeated.

"It's alright." Bruce offered, "I'm currently on the Scottish witches section." Tony made a noise to signal he wanted to hear more about it and Bruce sighed, "You'd find it boring."

"Try me." Tony commanded and Bruce looked him over for any sign that he was just trying to make a conversation and really didn't care but found Tony's desire to know more to be genuine, causing Bruce to sigh again.

"So far there has been an African Voodoo master, an Arabian enchantress, and a Scottish witch who was burnt at the stake for all sorts of witchcraft, including the bewitchment of a lord's son... Or something along those lines. It's a bit difficult to tell if it was a lord's son or a guest of a lord."

"You had me hooked at the Arabian enchantress. Tell me there's a picture."

"Really Tony?"

"A Scottish witch who bewitched a lord's son? Aren't we going to Scotland?" Bruce nodded and Tony smirked, "I guess you could hold a séance then."

"Tony!" Bruce growled warningly before the book was pulled from his hands, "TONY!"

"I just want a look!" Tony shouted, flicking through the book while keeping it from Bruce's reaching hands, "FOUND IT!"

He smiled at the picture, "What I wouldn't give to meet that in real life. Hey! Do you think witches and enchantresses still live? If so could we track one down and ask them to work some magic on Capsicle?"

Bruce snatched his book back from Tony's hands and tried to cover up his smile at his joke as Tony taunted, "Laugh Bruce. I know you want to."

~Ailsa Craig, Scottish Isles, 2014,~

Alba woke up screaming before she tumbled to the floor with the covers of her bed wrapped tightly around her. She fought her way out of them and screamed again as the fireplace suddenly burst into life with large amber flames shooting up before her eyes. Getting up she ran from the fireplace, and wrenched her room door open before running down the stairs, then up the steps to the right before running up yet another set of stairs. She tripped on the top step and fell through the double doors at the top of them before landing on the cold stone floor, panting for breath.

This wasn't the first time this had happened and Alba knew it wouldn't be the last. Every night the same dream. No. Not dream- memory- and she always somehow ended up on the stone chapel floor panting for breath. Alba hated it but there was nothing she could do to stop it and after taking a deep settling breath she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees before finally getting up onto her feet.

"Lord, forgive me for I have sinned," she sighed as she walked across the large room that was the castle chapel and over to the alter where she knelt down. Alba bowed her head causing long, thick, and wild black hair to fall over her face as she put her hands together in prayer, her skin a light sapphire blue, and closed her dark blue eyes. "I have strayed from the path you have lead me down, I have strayed from your teachings and I struggle to keep my faith in you. Please Lord, show me how to stay upon the path you have set me down. Amen." She opened her eyes and her skin was back to it's normal milky white skin colour causing her to smile, "Thank you Lord." She stood up on her knees and caught her image in the pool of Holy Water in the alter basin. Her hair was back to it's normal long brown tresses and her eyes were back to normal blue. She dipped her index and middle finger on her right hand into the water and tapped the middle of her forehead, the middle of her chest, her left shoulder, and finally her right shoulder before rising to her feet.

Alba saw the stain glass windows in the wall behind the alter start to glow with the light from the rising dawn. The beautiful colours fell down onto her, the alter, and the stone floor so she were covered with translucent blues, pinks, reds, greens, and yellows, causing her to smile before sighing as they disappeared just as quickly as they had come. Then with a sharp turn she walked back out of the chapel, closed the doors, and walked slowly down the stairs while holding her white nightgown as she went on her way to the kitchen for breakfast.

Standing on the connecting balcony in the chapel, overlooking the whole room, was something that she refused to look up at and hadn't for a long time. It was clear that Alba hated the large blackened item and wished to forget both the memory and the item. It was both the item and the memory that it awoke within her mind every night that she slept that caused her to go through the same routine day in, day out without fail.

Yet the memory never stopped her from continuing her day to day life in the castle that she called home and had been doing so from the moment she woke up inside its walls. As she left the chapel and headed to the kitchen she made one detour, straying from her course to go over to the record player in the grand hall. She turned it on and played the record that was already on it causing trumpets and drums to start up from the gramophone before being joined by some voices singing.

'Love, love, love.

Love, love, love.

Love, love, love.'

They sung and Alba joined in with the Beatles in their song, 'All you need is love', as you started to make breakfast and the empty castle filled with music.

'There's nothing you can do that can't be done.

Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game, it's easy.'