Note: Abigail is Parris' niece but not by blood. No incest here, but I honestly wouldn't be surprised because Abigail is Abigail.
Dedicated to Annabel, who had this coming.
It had been a week since Betty had caught the illness. She had lain in her bed, only opening her eyes when consumed by a fit that forced her whole body to shudder inhumanely. Her father, the Reverend of Salem, had sat by her side almost every hour waiting for her to wake. Some days she would begin to shiver in her sleep, some days she would sweat profusely leaving wet stains on her bedding. Once, she had even gotten up whilst in some trance and walked to the window where, had her father not been ready to stop her, she would have jumped.
Abigail had not expected this of Betty. The girls had gotten on well before Betty's sudden change of health; they had danced in the woods together. Betty had seemed so full of life, so different from the rest of the girls. She had stripped naked unashamedly with Abigail, unlike the others who teasingly removed their garments behind trees. In some ways, Betty was Abigail's apprentice. She was taught to sing and dance and add ingredients to Tituba's stew by the older girl, always ready to learn the ways of a free woman. Had she not fallen ill, Abigail might even have shown her the actions that make a girl a woman. In fact, Abigail had been looking forward to it. But now Betty was weak. She had failed Abigail by letting herself become consumed by strange forces that had rarely been seen before.
Even dear old Rebecca Nurse could not cure Betty. Her loving ways could not cajole the young girl out of her fits, although they did soothe her somewhat. At first Abigail had thought that Betty was pretending, that it was some horrible joke. She had shaken her, slapped her, taunted her and yet none of this seemed to help at all. In fact, it had only made Betty whimper like a beaten puppy and fall into worse fits than before. Every now and then Betty would wake momentarily, terror in her eyes, and beg to see her mama. Abigail was often at the bedside when this happened and every time she would remind the young girl that her mama was dead and buried. Sometimes this would anger Betty and she would shout obscenities at Abigail, claiming that she had drank blood and cast spells. Abigail would hit her and Betty would fall asleep again.
Today, Betty was sweating. She was writhing about as if in pain, tangling her legs in the sheets of her bed. Abigail was sat at her side, a damp cloth in hand. Betty's father was at church preaching to the desperate, leaving Abigail in the house alone with Betty. Betty's face was flushed, her eyebrows furrowed and her chest rose and fell in quick succession. Abigail watched her, enjoying the small moans that would escape Betty's pink mouth. The older girl felt herself become aroused in a way that had only happened in Proctor's presence before. She found herself fixating on Betty's breasts, pushed into the air by her arched back. Just as Abigail began to truly let herself embrace the warmth unfurling in her stomach, she remembered that Betty was her friend. She shouldn't feel that way towards such a young, innocent girl. But then again, Betty had proved herself to be less innocent than previously thought when she had kissed Abigail at one of the dances in the woods. As Abigail pondered the treacherous line between friend and lover, a noise left Betty's lips.
"Abigail"
At first it was quiet, breathy. But then she repeated it, stronger this time and full of longing. Abigail looked at the girl and quirked an eyebrow. It seemed that she was not the only one feeling the heat.
"Abigail"
This time Betty's eyes flew open, dilated and hungry. They rested on Abigail's for a moment before flickering down to the older girls lips. Abigail subconsciously licked them, anticipation building within her.
"Hello Betty"
That was all it took for the younger girl to launch herself at Abigail. Mouths pressed together for a heated kiss that sent them tumbling back onto the bed.