Haverhill Burning

I've lived in Haverhill for most of my life. Or at least, for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't call it home, per se. Can a place ever really be considered home when you have no one left to call family and those you'd call neighbors would love nothing more than to watch you burn?

It's what they do, afterall. Haverhill has been burning witches for over 300 years.

I could have left a long time ago. Should have left.

Would have, if not for him.

It's pathetic, honestly. I don't even know his name but I can't stay away - even when not staying away means just a glimpse at most.

It isn't just that he's hot.

I mean, he is. He really is.

But I can't shake the way I'm drawn to him, and when a simple nighttime jog turns into a fight for my life, he's the one there to help smother the flames.

By chance, we find what's truly bound me to this place.

Haverhill has been playing with matches and if forced to fight fire with fire, we'll burn it to the ground.

If the inferno burning between us doesn't consume us first.