As stated in the stories by Abagail and Mary, Abagail's mother Lyddia, her bo Elijah, Abagail's little sister Emily, Sarah McKiln, Sally Fisen, and both Mary and Abagail were burned in the town square. Susan Tyfen was hung from one of the near-by cedar trees the night the villagers attacked the circle, Tabatha (Mary's daughter) was drowned in the pond by her father, and Sally's baby, Thomas, was drowned in a barrel of water outside the front door of the jail.

Hans, Nathaniel (also referred to as Nat), and Hans's mother were hung a few days after Mary and Abagail were burned in the square. Martha Carrier, the busybody that was whispering to her friend Eleanor about Johnathan drowning Tabatha, was hung on Gallows Hill in 1692.

Jeremy and baby Francis escaped into the forest before they were found and tried by the Salem court. Jeremy arrived at a nearby town and was married to Mary Easty in the early seventeen hundreds. Mary and Jeremy had two darling little children, Theresa and Adam. When Mary Easty was hauled to the Salem Court on accounts of witchcraft, Jeremy fled once again to avoid losing his children as he lost his family and his wife.

Unfortunately, as Francis grew older, she abused the powers of her fellow witches. She turned to forms of voodoo and dark magick to strike back at the Salem High Council. She eventually died in her sleep of old age.

Mary's lover, Reihana Marie, was burned the day before Abagail's mother Lyddia because of her involvement with Mary.

Mary's husband Johnathan, and her father, Henry, were the two people that sentenced Abagail and Mary to death by fire. Johnathan was later turned on by the people of Salem for the treatment of his daughter Tabatha, and for his affair with one of Tristian's maids. Henry died a ruined, pennyless, disturbed man. He was locked up in the town jail the month before he died because of his strange behavior. When he was found, his fingers were crossed as though warding off evil.

This wasn't a perfectly happy story, and it wasn't meant to be. The Burning Times killed hundreds to thousands of people in various countries, and most of it still goes unnoticed by today's historians.

"Fingers held in the symbolized Christian cross,

Voices screaming "Witch!"

Family's eyes overshadowed with your sin,

Bound tightly to the woodstock.

Scorched metal pentacle around your neck,

Thick leather cord tied around your wrists.

"Burn the witch!" echoing through the crowd,

Tears falling from those that know you best.

Bare scratched feet standing in ashes,

Your best friends and parents earlier burning.

Burning flesh permeating the air,

Dropping down on everyone like a tight rope.

Christian screams of hopeful forgiveness,

Silently saying goodbye to everyone you love.

Coming all the way here from England,

Only to have your family ripped apart.

Fire licking your leathery feet,

And smoke filling your precious lungs.

Closing your eyes tightly so you won't cry,

You'll die for what you believe in.

A bunch of fresh lavendar in your pocket,

Your cousin's eyes staring into your's.

Will you ever see her again?

Watching the firelight dance across your dress.

Your black cat dead on the kitchen table,

Neck snapped harshly in two.

Trickles of blood falling down some bodies,

The Witch Pricker's way of confessing in torture.

Many others soaked to the skin,

Your clothes hanging heavy on your body.

Remember how they tied the bag of grain to your feet?

And how the air-bubbles floated up to the surface of the water?

Still somehow the Goddess kept you safe.

Your mother, her bo, your baby sister, your friends,

All dead for what they were.

The Christians screaming in triumph for killing you off,

Tears pricking your eyes from the smoke.

Your cousin and your mother's friend beside you,

One is ready to die, the other screams in horror.

Hot embers smolder against your bare legs,

Watch the way the fire cascades up your dress.

Rough wood branches scratching through the thin fabric,

Silently watching yourself disolve into delicate ashes.

I was just another girl who died in The Burning Times,

But so many died from that terrible ordeal.

Why wasn't it stopped?

Why couldn't the Christians see what they were doing to us?

Goodbye Abagail, rest in peace.

Even if the Christians refuse to remember you I will,

Because way back when, we were one."