"Aren't we all Damaged?"
Being a Hybrid has its perks, but it also has its disadvantages. Abigael had been on both ends of those sticks, she's been on them for a while. But there was a fraction in the Demon world that would want her dead and another...
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*Salem, Massachusetts - March 24th, 1692*
Abigael led a wonderful life with her Mother, the pair of them had a strong bond, and loved each other deeply. There was no stronger bond than blood. Now she was twenty-six years of age, she learned what her Mother could provide her, and what the books she had collected over the years, and the famous Grimoire that was passed down to each generation.
However, Margaret Adams had received word from a fellow Witch in Salem, in the United States, who was in dire need of assistance from an old friend - Margaret. She didn't wait, she and Abigael fled to Salem, hoping to arrive in time. It took eight weeks on the raging sea to arrive in the port of Salem. The women were restless from their long journey, but they pushed on, and found their way into the town, hoping to locate Margaret's friend. And that they did...
Both Margaret and Abigael stood outside an iron prison cell, their cloaks shrouded over them, to instill the darkness. Their lantern shined brightly, as Margaret held out the light for it to enter the cell. They both saw a woman, who laid curled on the stone-cold floor, wanting warmth.
"Oh my," Margaret couldn't believe what she was witnessing, they passed a few more women who were locked inside for practicing the devil's craft. "Pauline!" She whisper-yells the woman's name, hoping to stir her awake. "Pauline!" Her voice rose, but she didn't stir awake. Abigael's Mother took a few steps back, and cocked her eyes left to right, hoping that no one would see this. "Vodux," Margaret spoke softly, waving her out to the door. When she performed the action, the iron door sprung open gently, magically unlocking, and allowing entry to the cell. It was a damp, and unrueling prison cell to be in. Margaret rushed over to her friend, as Abigael remained at the cell door, keeping a look out for guards.
"Hurry, Mother," Abigael's sweet voice echoed in the cell, alerting her Mother to hurry, as they didn't know how long they would have. Margaret lowered to her knees, placing the lantern near Pauline's head. She latched her hands on the elderly woman, and pulled her onto her back. Her complexion was pale as snow, her figure skinny, and boney too touch. Her hair is gray, and full of dirt and hints of blood.
"Oh, Pauline, what have they done," she felt for the woman. When Pauline sent her the letter, eight weeks back, it explained what was happening in Salem Massachusetts. Witch trials, hunting of so-called Witches. Most of them were not even practitioners of the craft, just women being accused. Pauline began to stir awake, and flutter her eyes open to stare into Margaret's.
"You silly girl," she mumbled out. "You should have stayed away," Margaret shook her head, not agreeing with her statement.
"Hush, now," Margaret states before closing her eyes, mumbling a spell under her breath, a spell of restoration. When the words mumbled from her lips, Pauline's complex came back, the dark bags under her eyes faded, the cut on her lips also vanished. She was being healed, restored even. With the spell completed, they both stood to their feet, though Pauline was still unbalanced and she hung onto Margaret for support.
