(Real life is getting in the way of my already mediocre creative abilities, so for the sake of moving the game along I'm just going to skip the poetry today XD)
The villagers' discussions came to a close, and by evening it was clear that the noose most favoured Danyel Withsby. With no alibi, and nowhere to run, he stepped shakily up to the lynching post, sickeningly aware of the number of eyes burning into his back. There was an eerie, unsettling silence, which only the sound of leaves rustling in the nearby woods broke when the wind picked up. The townspeople hardly dared watch as he fell to his death; but when they did, there was a collective murmur of disappointment and regret, for poor Danyel had been a villager.
The sun was sinking quickly, and with their heads held low in remorse, the townsfolk hurried back to their homes and locked themselves in. When was this nightmare going to end?
It is night.