Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hannah knelt at the grave, her hands silently working on a crown of red moss. She wished she could have given her the finest flowers in the world, since her Sarah deserved nothing less, but it would have to do.

She could barely keep the tears at bay as she thought. She could have done so much more. She could’ve saved Sarah from this wretched fate, she could’ve gotten her out, and they could’ve run off together, into the woods and far away from Union.

But alas, it was not meant to be. So there Hannah Miller sat, making a red moss crown, watching as her friends dug a grave for Sarah.

Her body was covered in chains, her neck painfully twisted at an angle. They were so barbaric, they tried to bury her right under that tree. Hannah wouldn’t let that happen, and neither would Isaac or Lizzie or Abi.

The scratching against the chain’s padlock snapped her out of her trance. Isaac was carving something into it. “Fier,” it read.

Fier. Sarah Fier was the love of her life, and the only thing to mark her presence now was the etching of her last name on the chains forced upon her.

“No one will know about this...except us.”

Hannah cast aside the crown for a moment and leaned down. Her hands gently caressed Sarah’s face, and she tried to ignore just how cold the other’s skin was. She pressed a small kiss upon her lips.

“Goodnight, sweet princess. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,” she whispered.

Her mother always forbade her from reading anything but the Bible, but her father was different. He encouraged her to read and further her education, even sneaking her a copy of Hamlet when she was a little younger.

Her eyes filled with tears as she placed the crown on her beloved’s head, the dirt starting to cover her body. She took deep breaths to steady herself.

Hannah didn’t have time to cry. She had to pretend like it didn’t affect her. Like Sarah really was a witch who had tricked her, a witch she should be glad was dead. Lizzie reached over to squeeze her hand, and she squeezed back.

She stood up on shaky legs and wiped her skirt off. Her mother couldn’t know she was there. She cast one long look back at Sarah’s grave before turning around and heading back home.
-
Several decades passed. Hannah Miller now found herself to be Hannah Goode. The sudden prosperity of Solomon had filled her mother with determination, and she constantly spoke about how kind-hearted the man had been by marrying her disgraced daughter.

She hated her new name. She wished to be Hannah Fier, and although she loved them, she didn’t want five sons, all with the looks of their father.

She hated the way Solomon touched her when he came home from a day in the fields. It was as if he knew just how much she hated him, how much she despised a man’s touch. He never forced himself upon her, but the squeezes around her waist and the quick kisses made her want nauseous.

Solomon passed when he was sixty-five, surprisingly. Hannah, already fifty years old, couldn’t have been more relieved. At the same time, she was terrified. She knew she was close to death. Her health could have been better, and she was now the woman the younger people visited with food and medicine, if she was feeling bad enough.

Abel, her eldest, seemed almost guilty when he was around her. She could never place why, but she sensed an unease when he looked her in the eyes, especially when she made trips to the forest with a bundle of flowers.

He never did get of that uneasiness when she was lying on her deathbed. He squeezed her hand as the rest of her sons surrounded her, bowing his head in prayer or whispering words of comfort.

She couldn’t focus on him. As her breathing slowed, Hannah noticed a light behind her, making its way forward. When she blinked, she had to hold in a gasp.

Those soft hands were holding her, that familiar smile the only thing she could focus on. Her eyes welled up with tears as she realized what she was saying. “Sarah…” she whispered. The grip on her hand grew tighter.

“Mother, what are you saying?” Abel asked. His voice was wavering, but she paid him no mind. She only focused on her love, still smiling at her from above.

Sarah leaned down enough to press their foreheads together. Hannah could swear their eyelashes were able to touch.

“Goodnight, sweet princess. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” As Hannah drew her last breath, she could see the mischievous glint in her eyes. Sarah had been there when the roles were reversed, and she had been listening.

And just like that, Hannah Miller died.
-
She woke up in a field of flowers. Sarah was kneeling at her side, her grin threatening to break her face if it was able to get any wider.

Hannah blinked several times as she gained her bearings. Her hands were no longer calloused and slightly wrinkled, but smooth and full of youth.

She was seventeen again.

And so was Sarah.

“We’re free,” she said, and Hannah couldn’t help but burst into tears.

Sarah scooped her up and twirled her around, the sobs quickly turning into giggles. Another year slid down her cheek as Sarah reached into her skirt pocket, pulling out another crown of red moss.

Hannah gently took it and placed it on her head, unable to contain her glee. She looked around for the first time, and she knew she had to have been in Heaven.

She looked back at Sarah and grabbed her hand, interlocking their fingers. “I love you, always and forever.”

Sarah looked back at her, almost solemn. “I love you, too. Always and forever.”

And with that, Sarah took hold of the front of her shirt and pulled her closer, kissing her until they were both breathless.