As a child,

She watched her parents die.
Saw the Indians smash their heads,
On the pillow next to her’s.
Raised by her uncle, the Reverend.

As a teen,
She was the servant of the House of Proctor,
Later dismissed for her affair.
The man, she wants back,
The wife, she wants dead.

The girls bend to her will,
They’ll do as she says,
Or she’ll come to them in the black of night,
And shudder them with a pointy reckoning.
She’ll make them wish they’d never saw the sun go down.

She spreads lies and destruction,
Points fingers at the innocent,
Sends those who have done no wrong to death.
She makes liars out of honest people.
She has no remorse.

She’ll stop at nothing,
To get what she wants.
The love of a man,
Who has moved on.

She’ll do whatever it takes,
To be the only one.
She’ll kill the woman,
Who holds his love.

She’s vindictive and vengeful,
Manipulative and a liar.
She turns the town, upside down.
She is Abigail Williams.