June 1692 - Salem, Massachusetts
The vibe lingering about town was intense. Since February of that year, Salem had transformed into a witch hunt - literally. Women and men, alike, were being painted as monsters, accused of impossible things and being branded as witches. The result? Mass hangings. Townspeople being stoned. Death.
Esme tried her best to keep a low profile. She went about her business without engaging in gossip, attending the hangings or bringing any sort of attention to herself whatsoever, good or bad.
Although it went against her nature and what she thought was right, she kept her head down and played her part without making waves. Truth be told, she was scared.
Are there *any* good people left? She wondered, hanging a dress on a laundry line that stemmed from the back of a quaint, little house.
Esme stared around the area, embracing the quiet for a moment. She hadn't gotten used to all of the hoopla about town. It was unsettling and kept her on edge.
The nightmares she had been having more frequently left her feeling a bit off, dazed even, during the day. It was hard to sleep knowing that at any second an angry mob could burst through the door on nothing more than some random person's accusations.
Her thoughts made her shudder and Esme finished what she was doing before ducking back into the house as the sun grew lower and lower towards the horizon.
Inside there was at least a level of comfort. A fire burned in the fireplace and she had prepared herself a warm meal that she intended to eat before getting cozy. For June, the air was cool and so she decided to embrace it.
I used to love it here, Esme thought to herself as she began to plate a helping of food. What has happened to our home?
A glance out the window showed a stillness that she appreciated and contributed to the calm mindset she was craving to obtain. It was rather easy to be pulled back and forth from positive to negative; light and dark.
It has felt *very* dark, Esme noted. What if someone comes for me?
She scolded herself in her mind for letting her thoughts get the best of her.
There has to be someone left who thinks this is as crazy and hateful as I do.
...
Carlisle exited the small building where he worked as the town's lone medic. He was considered valuable about town, though he knew at a moment's notice he could be on the chopping block like anyone else.
He kept his conversations short; his circle of intimate company smaller.
From the way things were going he knew he could be accused of being something other than human simply for his remote living quarters.
If they knew what I was.. Carlisle shook his head as he wandered home. He was starting to realize that Salem, Massachusetts was not the ideal location for a vampire.
He had witnessed the hangings. He had witnessed the people getting stoned to death. While others celebrated, Carlisle quietly mourned. He knew none of the stories were true - not about witches, anyway.
Vampires.. they were real. Little did the townspeople know that their beloved, handsome doctor was more of a monster than any number of women accused about town because they were different or outcasts. Discouragement was a constant in Carlisle's life since the witch trials had begun. He felt handcuffed, as if he could do nothing.
He entered through the heavy, wooden front door of the house where he kept company alone. Carlisle didn't cook. His house was clean because he avoided the loneliness of the big, empty space whenever possible. Aside from a collection of books there wasn't much else holding his attention. Being at work was what Carlisle enjoyed the most. Home felt completely isolating.
I have to get out of here, he thought to himself already. Not being able to sleep was something that annoyed him the most about his immortality. It would have been nice to rest his mind.
Without another thought, Carlisle changed into a different set of clothes and then whisked out into the night.