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Vladislav Nestarova paced back and forth in the bowls of the boat. His wife was ill, and not just sea sick. He knew that they should’ve never left Wallachia, but he had had no choice. A month ago he would have said with certainty that if he hated the Turks more than anyone else in the world. But now... now he was cursed by the Roma. If his wife’s sickness was any indication, the curse was fast catching up to him. He hated them. If he had known how to place curses, he would have cursed those rats right back. He grunted. Perhaps that sort of scum’s existence was their curse. Unfortunately it had also become his.
His wife leaned over and vomited in a bucket. Her face was stained with the tears of a woman who knew that she would die soon.

“Land!” muttered Vladislav. “You just wait, tomorrow we get off this boat and you can see a doctor. His wife just vomited again. To be young and with child. Now that was a curse that he couldn’t blame on the Roma. He could only blame himself.

10 April, 1689
Ipswitch, Massachusetts
Maria Nestarova had grown to be a fine woman, and Vlad knew it. Every time he saw her he smiled because her face reminded him of the woman he loved all those years ago. She had died in childbirth, and Vlad had wanted to end it all. But he knew that as long as the baby lived, he had to too. She was his life, and he wanted to give her to someone special. He hadn’t met any good enough contenders, that is to say, Orthodox contenders, so she remained unmarried. There simply weren’t any other Eastern Europeans in Massachusetts so far as he had seen. All in all, though, life was okay. He had taken up a living as a fisherman and could provide for his daughter. Many of the English around him despised him, but he didn’t care, not really. He went to the local church and said the prayers like everyone else in this town, insofar as his accent would allow. It was Easter Sunday, in both his own faith and the West. Unfortunately, this concurrece of theology wasn’t about to stop things from going very, very wrong.
“Aaaaaack!” A little girl fell to the ground, writhing and screaming. “Stop hurting me! Stop!”. The girl screamed nonsensically, and soon other little girls were doing the same. One of them started hissing and jerking back and forth. Another began rocking on the floor, sobbing. The preacher yelled at them to stop, but it did no good. The adults were now in a panic, not understanding who was so grievously afflicting their daughters. Vlad looked to Maria, who was fine, if terrified of the commotion.
All the children stopped at once and pointed at Maria. Vlad’s heart froze. “Burn the witch!”. There was a roar from the congregation, and in a moment all the xenophobia of a hundred WASPs was released onto an unsuspecting woman. The Easter Trials had begun.

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Well, this is just the POD. I know where I'm taking this for the most part, but if anyone can offer corrections on ASB materials, I'd be much obliged. I'll try to keep this one in action; apologies for Hitler falling into disrepair.
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