Most of us grew up on fairytales. We're told stories about girls in little red hoods, poisoned apples and men turned into beasts by a curse. Some of us are told fairytales that are far grimmer. Fairytales of severed heels and toes, wolves who wore flayed human skin and witches who cursed. My mother only ever told me stories she claimed to be true, stories of a world of magic. The world she came from.

I wrapped my hand around my necklace, allowing my heart to ache for a few more moments before walking towards the bar. It was the type you'd typically see in those old western movies, with a set of happy doors at the entrance and a large wooden sign with the bars name carved into nailed onto the front. Elysium. The inside had been just as typical – a standard bar, shelves filled with liquor and kegs. I had no doubts the bartender had a double-barreled shotgun under the counter. On the opposite end of the bar were stairs that lead to the rooms above. I suggest we slept here the night since it couldn't have been any worst than what we've already experienced, but my father quickly refused.

Drunken murmurs slipped across the room, some screaming at the television perched in the corner, playing some football game that I couldn't care less about, and others whispering so softly they couldn't hear themselves.

"Phoenix, is that you?" A woman spoke as she stumbled to her feet, nearly tripping over her fallen chair. "My gods," she slurred, drawing a knife from her boot. I stepped back, my back hitting the wall.

"I'm not Phoenix," I stated as the bartender shifted uneasily, slowly inching himself out from behind the counter. The woman continued forward as if she hadn't heard me. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't – the threat of her blade sealed my vocal cords shut, turning my statement into a something between a cry for help and puppies call for attention.

"Well I'll be damned," She laughed, throwing her blade directly at me. It wedged itself into the wall by my face and wobbled to a stop. My cheek stung, dripping with a hot liquid. She drew a second blade. "I knew you weren't dead! No one would believe me but I knew it!"
"I'm not my mother!" I yelled this time, holding my hand over my cheek to stop the bleeding. Her laughter became more intense now.

"Well, what do ya know? The witch is an actual Pheonix." She spoke in her southern accent, drawing her arm back to throw the blade.

"That's enough, Huntress." The bartender spoke, grabbing hold of her hand. His eyes looked like that of a parent – overbearing and final. He stood tall, in a demeanour that spelt out dominance even in a bar filled with psychos and travelling bikers. "You are not in Salem, and she is no rouge."

"Whatever," She spat, pulling herself free from his grip. The drunken huntress walked towards me, placing her palm against the wall in a way that forced me to look dead into her eyes. "I'm coming for you eventually."

And she was off, grabbing her rapier and the door before leaving. I pulled her knife out of the wall and stuck it into my pocket as the bartender fixed the fallen chair. I looked around, hoping not to spot my father passed out on a table. 

"He's not here," the bartender moved back behind the counter, continuing to pour glasses of rum from the kegs behind him. "He came in and had a shot, then left, saying he needed to find you. Said something about it being urgent."

"Thank you," I spoke before heading out. This town is full of creeps, I told myself. But she knew my mother, I froze. 

The only memories I will take is that of Salem.

I inhaled sharply as I try to shake off the memories of the night my mother died. I've only ever told myself that it was but a dream – that my mother really was killed in a car accident and that the men ever being there had been a nightmare. But what Vassago showed me meant that it had to be real. Could I believe a demon? They're inherently evil...

I needed to find my father. Maybe he knew something he hasn't told me yet. Yet somehow I doubted it.

I started my search walking towards the centre of the town – the kind of well you'd expected some demon made of black sludge to crawl out and steal the faces of the children who were unfortunate enough to be nearby. I shuddered at the thought. I've had more than my share of demon encounters. As I stepped closer, my heart ached a bit more. I peered into the well.
There was no monster lurking in the depths. I exhaled.

The water seemed clean – incredibly so, actually. Golden sunlight that slipped through the canopy above shimmered or the waters surface, forming shapes and patterns that would catch anyone's eye. It was almost sunset, and the town began to glow in its true beauty. 

I lowered the pale than the reeled it back up filled to the brim. I splashed the water against my face, hoping the cold water would shake the last bit of confusion out of my system. It worked until it didn't. I stared at the surface of the water once again, this time, it was different. The golden shimmer shifted from random patterns to shapes I recognized – runes, the same kind that I saw earlier on Emma's kitchen table.

I reached my hand outward, trying to make out what they meant. I read out loud, and the world around me drowned in an array of bleeding watercolour. My legs shifted into the dirt, the well glowed a bright blue, then a white so hot it burned my eyes and became all I could see. I shifted, feeling myself get pulled into the well by something... Familiar. 

I am a child of Salem.