Salem Village, Winter of 1669
Snow fell thick as candle wax upon the thatched rooftops, muting the cries within the Ashcroft home. A single candle burned in the window—its light thin and trembling, as though it too feared to see what was happening inside.
Prudence came into the world before dawn, her mother's final breath still curling like frost in the air. The midwife, Goody Grafton, crossed herself though such gestures were frowned upon. "Born under shadow," she whispered, wrapping the child in linen streaked with her mother's blood.
Deacon Ashcroft stood in the doorway, gaunt and silent. His eyes, pale as winter milk, fell on the infant. "She will walk humbly before the Lord," he said, though his voice carried no warmth.
But the wind outside rose as if in answer. The ash trees around the cottage swayed, their black limbs clawing the sky.
Even as a babe, Prudence would not cry. She only watched with solemn, unblinking eyes—gray as cinders, yet lit from within by something unknowable.
---
By her tenth year, the girl had learned the quiet ways of the forest: where the wild thyme grew near the stones, how to brew feverfew for her father's ague, and how to listen when the earth whispered secrets through the roots.
Other children called her odd; their mothers crossed themselves when she passed. When the minister's wife miscarried, some said they'd seen Prudence near the meetinghouse, collecting ash for poultices.
The Deacon scolded her for the herbs she carried in her apron. "The Lord heals, not weeds and witchcraft," he thundered.
Still, when the fever struck him one winter eve, it was Prudence's teas that brought his strength back. He never spoke of it again.
---
One dusk, as the church bell tolled for the Sabbath, Prudence wandered to the hollow where the ash trees grew thick. The wind sighed through them in voices that seemed to know her name. She knelt and placed her small hand on the frozen earth.
"Why do they fear me?" she whispered.
The wind stirred, soft as breath:
> Because they see in you what they buried in themselves.
She rose, the frost gleaming at her feet like silver dust.
From that night forth, the villagers swore they saw candlelight burning in the hollow after midnight—and the faint sound of a child's laughter carried on the wind.