Historically, people burn witches. The evidence is out there, and those fires most likely were hot. How were you supposed to hide your collection of cauldrons from this mob of citizens with so few options for entertainment? These folks were looking for something, ANYTHING to query, and your strange vials full of moldy seaweed and collection of hair follicles are a cause for questioning. Questions that these enjoyment starved hordes want answered. Anyway… they convict you, and up you went, turning on that pyre, heavy chanting, spitting and the like from below. They didn’t buy your alibi of mass porridge production. They were the sort of choose your own adventure crowd: when one page ends unsatisfactorily with churning butter, they thumb backwards to find themselves capturing the heretic: YOU. This story is not unlike what has dogged DmC‘s development. Why focus on what’s important when you can grouse limply about hairstyles? Burn the witch.