Dedicated to Lovatic_HarryHook for loving this book so much

I couldn't believe it. I had just spilled my deepest secret to a man that shouldn't still be with me. 

It was true, though. I can't die. I haven't been able to die, and yet I'm afraid of dying. Truly afraid being gone from this world, a memory of who I used to be.

I don't know what I am. Not a witch, not a zombie, not a vampire.

I'm the victim of a curse. The old lady accused me for some reason.

I remember her eyes the most. Clear and sightless, yet reflecting more emotions than any other eyes I've seen. There was pain in her eyes, the scars of years of agony gone through them. She never told me her name, or her story.

She just let me take the fall for everything she's ever done.

"So," Adam says, turning to me, "1910, huh? Should we maybe stick around a bit? Check out the appeal?"

"That does sound nice," I stand, taking his hand, "What did they even do in this time period?"

"Probably not this." Adam picks me up and spins me around. I shriek, ignoring the strange glances from passerby.

"Adam! These people probably think we're insane." I whisper, and he kisses me again. 

"We're together forever. Might as well make the most of it." He smiles down at me, and I smile back up at him. I don't know what I didn't see in him. He's much sweeter than William, going out of his way to make sure that I have everything. He looks at me as if he can't believe that I'm still in his life, which is nothing like the way William used to look at me.

I was a piece of dirt to William. To Adam, I am so much more. It's a cliche, but Adam completes me. He was a piece in my life that I didn't even know I was missing. 

I don't love William anymore. I don't think I ever did.

"Where do you want to go?" Adam wraps his arm around me, and we begin to walk down the long cobblestone streets. The sun is orange flame ahead of us, and its setting glare burns in my eyes. "We're in Salem, I'm pretty sure. We could go to-"

"William's grave," I say out loud, noticing the hurt in his eyes, "There's something I have to do there. I won't be long."

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"I need to do this, Adam. Trust me."  He shrugs, eyes downcast, and I take the lead, my feet walking this path, as if I've walked it one hundred times before.

And maybe I have.

I visit William's grave every time I die and wake up in Salem. I haven't woken up here every time, but all roads always lead back here. To him. To Gallows Hill, where I was hung.

I cross the street, headed towards the old, faded brick plot at the very edge of town. Sure enough, the name Hutcherson is written on to the top of the fence in faded, bold, letters. I walk through the gate, Adam close behind me.

The small plot of land is old, in extreme disrepair. Leaf litter lies at the bottom of my feet, crunching as I walk. I walk to the very back of the plot, where I know he'll be. Sure enough, his grave is cracked and broken, covered in dirt and spray paint. His wife's plot isn't much better, covered in dirt, and something that I think looks like bird poop.

I know what they both say by heart.

William Peter Almwood, 1651-1706. Loving father, son, husband.

Winifred Beatrice Almwood, 1671-1693. Loving mother, wife, daughter. May she rest in peace.

Winifred died giving birth to William's daughter, Claire. Some kind of internal bleeding, they said. The town had originally believed that I was the one who caused her death, haunting her with my witchy powers from beyond the grave.

When she had died, I was in 890 BC, seducing a prince.

Claire didn't have much of a childhood. She was thirteen when William died of a horse kick to the head. Sent to live with William's parents in New Jersey, the town of Salem didn't hear from her for sixteen years. She blew back in sometime during 1722, a grown, mature, housewife, and brought this family plot, where every Almwood was laid to rest.

Except for me. William's family never liked me. It might've been my stubborn refusal to convert my last name to Almwood, my flaming temper, or the fact that I was a flirt back then. I was buried where I died, in a nameless plot next to hundreds of murdered accused on Gallows Hill.

I've matured now. Dying hundreds of times really does that to you.

"Hi, William," I kneel down beside his grave, wrecked with hundreds of years of decay, wars, graffiti, "How've you been?" I kick myself, hearing Adams feet shuffle back behind me. What a way to talk to your dead ex-husband. "You might honestly be wondering why I'm here. You treated me so poorly, and yet I ended better off then you will ever be." I sigh, continuing. "I don't love you. You mean nothing to me, and whatever hold you had over me is gone. I'm an immortal now, and I need to start a new life, one without you in it. I hope you and Winifred had a nice few months together. She really was a nice woman. And I hope that your daughter Claire had everything that you wanted for her."

I smile sadly, "I hope you had a nice life. I know I will." I kiss his grave gently, "Goodbye, William. Rest well." I lay a lone wildflower on his plot, and stand up to walk away.

To make myself feel better, I spit on Winifred's plot. I may have matured, but not that much.

"Are you ready?" Adam crooks his elbow, and I take it, the bright orange of the setting sun making my face feel alive.

"I'm so ready," I say to him, laying my head on his shoulder, "Where to?"

"Anywhere and everywhere." He replies.

Hand in hand, we walk down the street together. 

I can't remember the last time I was this happy.

𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂 𝐹𝒶𝒸𝓉 #𝟣𝟢: 𝑀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓁𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝓇𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒...𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒸𝓇𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓌𝒶𝓎? 𝒜 𝒸𝓇𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓊𝒷𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂 𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈—𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓁𝓈 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹.