Author's Note- This story is AU but there are elements of the plot which are similar to the show. I do not own Salem or the characters. This was written for entertainment only.
Chapter One
"My father told me that there was no time in Hell- no past, no future; only all of time in an eternal present. And that I was already there burning beside him. I have tormented myself ever since, wondering what crime I could possibly commit that would so consign myself to Hell. I am relieved. It was no crime, but a choice. I will choose to be in Hell, so that others may not."
— Cotton Mather
My name is Anne Elizabeth Hale. I am the daughter of the Magistrate John Hale. I lived the first eighteen years of my life in the belief that I was not unlike any other young female in Salem. I had no clue or memory of the affliction that has since then overpowered me. Sadly now, this torment has taken control of every single aspect of my life.
It all started when I met him, the Reverend Cotton Mather. Like his father before him, his goal was to blot out all of the witches and their evilness from the town of Salem. His intentions were good, but he was not without his afflictions. Cotton Mather, the man whom I came to love and marry; he was not a saint. He battled the demons of alcohol while finding solace in the arms of a beautiful lady of the night. This young woman, whom he deeply loved was taken from him. She was driven away by his self righteous father, the exalted Increase Mather, one of the most brutal and cruel men whom I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. When Cotton lost Gloriana, his forbidden love, he sunk only deeper into the bottle. He began to curse his father and his wicked ways. Eventually, Cotton had no other choice but to slay his own father.
My mother - or the woman whom I had always believed was my mother - Elizabeth Hale - said that Cotton Mather would make a good match for me, and that someday, I should take him as my husband. I must admit I was fascinated with the man... right from the first moment that I met him. He wasn't like the other men who walked the streets of Salem. Something drew me to him. Something in him called to me, even though I fast became aware of his vices. I was young, but I was not naive. I had heard the whispers. My mother, the woman whom had raised me as her own child; she may have been oblivious to Cotton's severe afflictions, but I was not. Seeing he was different, tortured, and not like the others, that is what drew me in.
All the constant talk of witches had me uneasy. I had myself fooled that I was not unlike the others, those modest, puritan girls who walked along beside me each Sunday to hear the Reverend speak in the church. But I wasn't like them. Not in the slightest.
My favorite place in Salem was the cemetery. I was so at ease, sitting amongst the tombstones, drawing in the near-darkness within my sketchbook. I always liked the dark things - the macabre. Although I feared the witches and all of their spooky tales, I was secretly fascinated by them and their wicked ways.
As I sat in the cool grass of the cemetery one overcast day, drawing my latest creation, I was approached by him, the man whom had invaded my every passionate fantasy. "Miss Hale, what are you doing here, in such a dark and dreary place?" he asked. "Couldn't you find comfort somewhere else? What is it you are drawing?"
"I find it very pleasant here... and peaceful," I said softly as the used the dark piece of chalk to continue my drawing. His eyes caught upon the crow I had drawn as it sat upon a gravestone as though it were guarding it. Of course, it was an imaginary crow. No such creature could be found within the confines of the cemetery. It had flown only into my imagination.
He seemed taken aback by my drawing and although it appeared to bother him, he did not comment. Instead, it would seem that he had taken a fascination with my hair. It was the same glorious bright-red as his Gloriana's, the lady of the night whom had been taken from him. I knew he still grieved for her. It was in the depths of his emerald eyes. So much suffering. I longed to erase it and replace it with a sort of healing balm. I didn't want him to ache for her any longer. She was gone now. He had to live again. He had to find peace within himself... and that is something he couldn't find inside the bottle of the strongest whiskey.
Although I had her hair, I was nothing like Gloriana. I was thin where she was voltomous. She had curves where I was just beginning to sprout the beginnings of a young woman's breasts. It would seem that I was a late bloomer in so many ways. I had not yet reached my full glory. That would come later... after I would learn of my shocking heritage. At this point in time, I was like a tiny flower, a seeking bloom; a beautiful wild rose which grew untouched upon a forgotten grave.
As I looked up into his soulful green eyes, I remembered my mother's words that I should make him my husband and at that very moment, I vowed that I would - I would become his wife. A huge smile overtook my face as I gazed at him. Our fates then were sealed. There would be no other man for me. For the rest of my life, it would just be Anne, so in love with Cotton... so in love that NO other man could ever stir my heart, not even for a single second.
"Why do you look at me that way? Why do you smile so?" I heard him ask.
"Because I am happy," I said. "In this very moment, I am happier than I have ever been."
I feared he may have thought I was odd or perhaps a bit touched, but to my surprise, he returned my brilliant smile. I had brightened his spirits and for a moment, I had taken his mind off her, the woman he had lost. "I admire the work you do... helping take care of those dear, abandoned children in the orphanage. It is good work..."
He would have gone on speaking, but I quickly cut him off. "I took the place of my friend Bridget, caring for those unfortunate children who live in the orphanage, because you accused her of being a witch. She is dead because of your choices."
My words were not accusatory. I was only speaking the facts. Bridget died completely innocent; she was never a witch. Perhaps there were witches in Salem - but Bridget had never walked among the ones who practiced the dark arts. I kept trying to convince myself there weren't any witches. It was just some crazy story that Cotton's father had conjured up out of his irrational fears.
"I made a promise to my father... that I would rid Salem of all of its witches."
"Your father was a terrible, vile man. He killed many innocents. They were not witches."
I had made the great Cotton Mather speechless with just a few words. He could not dispute them. He knew in his heart they were true. I could tell by the way he hung his head and sorrowfully averted his eyes. The fact that his father had wrecked havoc on Salem in pursuit of his so-called witches was undoubtedly one of the reasons Cotton drank heavily at night. Everything he had did along-side his father had lead to his own self-condemnation.
"Your father's dead now. It's time for you to make a new life," I said quietly. "Stop the bloodshed. You are a good man."
"What other life is there?"
"The one you would make for yourself."
I stood up, adjusting the wrinkled skirts of my long blue gown. I had to hurry home. It was late and I had to help my mother as she prepared the evening meal.
"Thank you, Anne," I heard him say as he helped me to my feet. My hands lingered within his as I stared into his eyes. The eyes of my future husband. My forever-mate.
Taking hold of my senses, I reached for my sketchbook before the wind could carry it away. My hair was a tangled mass of red-gold as I rushed almost blindly from the gates of cemetery.
He had noticed me... Finally!
I knew it was just a matter of time before I got what it was I most desired - his love!
Little did I know just how wrong I was that fateful day. There were witches in Salem ... and I was one of them.
