So let's get this cleared out of the air before any comments are made. First of all, I do not own "The Crucible" or any characters involved. All rights are reserved to Arthur Miller. I do, however, own Constanze (pronounced con-STAHN-zah) Brunswick, Sybil Brunswick, Hershel Brunswick, and Gretel Gallows. Secondly, some parts of my story may or may not fit in with scenes from the movie or acts from the book. The movie was already historically incorrect by implying that Reverend Hale was a strapping young minister during the Salem Witch Trials when in reality, he was very much older at that time. But did that stop it from being a fantastic film? No, of course not! With that being said, I will be changing some instances (nothing major) to fit my story. It is a fanFICTION after all. Thirdly, I do not intend to tamper with what ACTUALLY happened in the Salem Witch Trials. This is merely a completely fan-based fiction story based off the play/movie.

Anyway, this is an OC fic, and I do hope you enjoy it! Thanks for choosing my story!

Chapter 1

Salem seemed as though of a grayscale painting, cold and dreary; for the devil had bid his pernicious work on the little town that day. The bitter wind of the early winter swept across the village, drawing nearer the grey clouds that hung low in the lifeless sky, promising the dreaded snowfall of a long winter ahead. Small spats of snowflakes flurried through the tall dead grass of the prairie fields where the cattle and horses lay. Foggily visible in the distance was that of the Salem court, basking its proud shadow against the small hand-built homes of the working man.

The crisp cold air chilled the very bones of Judge Thomas Danforth, governor of Massachusetts and magistrate of the Salem court who had arrived earlier that day in correspondence to a letter from Thomas Putnam and Reverend Samuel Parris to condemn the accused if they do not confess. His eyes scanned the courtroom. He had seen this room many of times, both from the seats of the audience and at the podium. It wasn't only the freezing wind that shuttered his spine; it was something much larger. Something… diabolical.

He too had heard the rumors from the gossiping townsfolk even in his home city of Boston, talking of witches and voodoo curses, and how the devil had come to make his mark on Salem. Ruth Putnam cannot wake. Betty Parris cannot wake. Betty Parris flew over a barn in search of her dead mother. The Devil has come forth to Salem to claim the lives of the innocent. That is, if Reverend John Hale, whom Parris pleadingly invited to rid the town of witchcraft, cannot break free the cursed victims from the Devil's foul grip.

There was no doubt on the contrary that there would be no confliction in the town council as soon as the clickity-clack of Reverend Hale's horse and carriage rolled slowly, but nobly into Salem. So young this minister was, barely matured or cultivated into his practice. The blind, the broken, and the wretched clinging to him like loose threads, hanging and dangling on to every word edifying the forbidden practice.

Danforth stood from afar in the sanctuary of the courthouse that day, while citizens of this broken town flocked to the outlander like gawking goslings to mother goose. The bustling, muttering townsfolk scurried all perimeters of the moving black buggy, trying to grab a glimpse at this almighty minister that had come to save their town from eternal hellfire. The little man leapt down from his carriage, disappearing into the smothering swarm of people. Danforth slowly made his way back through the narrow row of pews to the foot of the altar, where he sat. He made eye contact with Judge John Hawthorne, who was pondering the ruckus outside as well.

"I am assuming Mister Hale has just arrived," insinuated Hawthorne.

"Indeed," replied Danforth, little enthusiasm breaking from his worn, weathered face.

Darkness came quickly the following night, for the shifting of the earth was beginning to venture further away from the sun this time of year, calling for shorter days and longer, colder nights. Almost all the log homes in the hamlet snug in between the soft hills that roll through the pastures had their fireplaces ablaze. The warm, welcoming scent of burning hickory wood filled the air all around the village. The rich smell was appealing to the nose of Constanze Brunswick, who found herself standing in the midst of her path from her room upstairs to the kitchen just to savor the sweet aroma and absorb the heat radiating from the fire. She closed her eyes as she wrapped herself in a warm embrace and inhaled deeply. A small grin cracked on her lips. There was nothing she loved more than the comforting scent and warmth from a home fireplace.

"Constanze dear, are you ready to eat?" she heard her mother ask from in the kitchen, grinning at her soulful reaction to the fire. Her lips curled, showing her white teeth,

She chuckled. "Yes." Constanze was a pretty girl, though she showed no sign of growth since her twelfth year. She was also very pale complected, giving people the impression that she never left the house. This didn't really bother her. She knew deep down that she was fairly attractive, even though little to no men had ever looked at her in such a way.

Hershel stepped up in the open doorway. He smelled of smoke and long exposure to the outdoors, just as a hard working carpenter should after splitting wood all evening. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he removed his hat, exposing his shoulder-length black hair.

The tall, fair woman set plates on the long oak formal dining table, embellished with the finest cloths that her mother had made for her as a wedding gift, some twenty years ago. She looked up from her old apron that she had just wiped her hands on and sighed. "How goes the cutting?" she asked, noticing her house was a little cooler than usual due to the lack of firewood. She pulled her sandy blonde hair that reached all the way down to the small of her back out of her face.

"It goes," he replied, making his way to the table, "but slowly." He pulled out his chair and sat down. "Putnam's wiped almost all the timber from our acres."

Sybil sighed accordingly, though usually soft spoken. "Greedy, that man is. I swear, what I wouldn't do for an honest neighbor around here."

Constanze heard shuffling footsteps from afar in the living area. She turned to see her grandmother Gretel, a gnarl of an old woman, stammering into the kitchen with her walking sticks, and some strange leather pouch. The effects of living nearly ninety years had finally begun to take a toll on her. Her back was hunched, her bones were brittle, and her hair was as white as fleece. Though a fragile old thing, Gretel was about as strong as a work mule. And as stubborn as one too, Constanze thought. Gretel grinned, bearing the only three teeth she had left.

"Ah, Constanze!" her shrill voice caught the attention of everyone in the room. "Just the precious darling I was looking for!" Gretel shifted her way to the table and took a seat next to her grand daughter. "My, my, have you grown into such a beautiful young woman." She laughed. If there was one thing Gretel Gallows was famous for, it was her laugh… and her smile.

Constanze grinned, pulling her long black hair behind her ear. "You say that every day, Granny."

"Ay, but it be true! I tell you child, you may just be the prettiest girl in Salem. I often wonder why no man has proposed matrimony, you being seventeen year and still single-"

Sybil gasped. "Mother!"

"What?! It's true! Why I tell you, I was married to John - or was it Isaac – and pregnant when I was but fourteen year. It's time the girl get a husband."

Constanze giggled. Oh, Granny Gallows: married six times to six different men, having but one surviving child out of seven; it was no wonder she had gone mad.

Sybil set what appeared to be roast on the table over a bed of cloth. "Ay mother, though it seemed as if the odds of finding and keeping a husband were not in your favor." She giggled under her breath, looking over at her.

"Ay, outlived all of them, too." She winked as though she were proud. She laughed, but her expression suddenly shattered when she glared over at Hershel, who was quietly helping himself to the night's feast. "It runs in the family: no Gallows woman has ever had a lasting marriage. Be warned, good man!"

Perhaps Granny was right. Though she laughed about it superficially, she'd often wondered if the dreaded Gallows trait had come to conquer her love life. Romance was something Constanze didn't beckon with, and the feeling of love was all unfamiliar territory. Honestly, she had no interest in men whatsoever; not the men she had become known to around here. Though she bared her father's name of Brunswick, she knew deep down that she was indeed her mother's daughter, who just so happened to come from an infamous line of widows.

Gretel reached into her brown leather satchel, rummaging around a clutter of God only knows what. Finally, she pulled out of it a single leaf; it appeared to be a bay leaf.

"Here you go, dear," the old woman said to Constanze. She handed the leaf to her.

Constanze accepted the leaf. She didn't understand, and her facial expression implied so as she studied the thing. Gretel was such a complex woman. Her whole family was complex. There was absolutely nothing normal about her mother's side, she thought. She gave her a puzzled look. "What is it?"

"A bay leaf. Carry this with you wherever you may go, and true love in your path will come to follow," Gretel said in almost a chant.

Constanze observed the odd gift. "Thanks, Granny… but if I am only destined to be widowed, why should I seek love to begin with?"

"Ah, child," the woman set her boney hand upon the girl's shoulder, "destiny is but a fallen leaf in a winding river; it will never stay put in one place, and will always ride new currents to vaster seas."

Constanze studied the leaf again, then back up to Gretel. There was something about that old woman's wicked smile that gave her the comfort of knowing everything would turn out in the end. But there was something else about that devilish smile that presumed trouble. She paid it no mind. Though the craziest old bat in all of Salem, the woman sure had a way with words.

But little did she know a male-deprived lifetime would be the least of her worries.

So, there was the first chapter. I'm sorry it seems a little rushed, but I promise the next one will be more relevant to the story and you'll get to know the characters a little bit better!