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World domination.
It had always been about world domination. An ambition as old as time that many mortals had tried to achieve throughout humanity’s reign on Earth, but he was no mere mortal.
He was a Saberhagen . A child of one of the most powerful bloodlines the world of witches had ever known. Even then, conquering the world wasn’t something to be done overnight--it took centuries of planning and manipulating history to go his way so that when the time was exactly right, everything he had worked for would be worth it.
He wasn’t evil--at least, not in his own eyes. He was confident that he would be the right and fair ruler to push humans and witches and everything in between into their Golden Age of prosperity. He didn’t wish to be feared (at least, not entirely), just respected. As a child, his parents loved him and prided their son on his raw and natural power, coupled with his desire to learn how to master it. The support and care of his family was never something he was without, an unknown constant that always lingered in the background.
They told him how great he was destined to be.
He believed it.
As time passed, an underground community of those following Salem Saberhagen grew, as did his influence and power. He met more and more people whose pupils dilated when they saw him enter a room; both men and women came and went during his lifetime, and while he loved, he never fell like the storybooks said that people should.
Until Gwen Walsh entered his life.
The Walsh’s had a powerful bloodline as well, and he and Gwen had crossed paths before but on the night he ran into her at a magic bar he frequented, he realized she was something special. That first night was filled with drunken confessions, blind trust, and sloppy kisses, but when they woke up the next morning in a random hotel room, both of them had stayed.
The concept of building a powerful lineage beyond what the magic world had yet to see intrigued Gwen, but she didn’t realize how serious Salem was when he promised her the entire world.
But, she was his queen. Every word she spoke held the weight of the universe and impacted his every move. The adoration held between the couple was palpable to those around them, and despite the ambition and the egos, they were in love.
Vows were exchanged three years after that drunken night and less than a year after that, fresh wailing cries entered their lives unexpectedly.
Though Annabelle Edrea Saberhagen didn’t fail at becoming the light of his life and he wanted to give her the world.
And so he did.
Or, at least, he tried to.
The Witch’s Council caught wind of the plans three-hundred years in the making, and six months before they were to be put into effect, Salem was arrested. The year was 1968.
Gwen scrambled to pull herself together for her daughter and the public, but the gut-wrenching sense of betrayal was lodged deep in her core. She stood stoically for the cameras and cried on cue, but was already signing papers behind the scenes.
A month before Annabelle turned five--nearly two years after the arrest--, Salem Saberhagen was sentenced to 100 years as a black cat, and his divorce with Gwen was finalized. (It wasn’t difficult for Gwen to convince a jury to assign her sole-custody, no visitation allowed.)
A month before Annabelle turned five, Salem’s light was snuffed out, and the only constants in his life ripped away.
It was an old and creaky place. The heating never worked properly, and it took them five years of him complaining before they finally invested in air conditioning. Rats were hiding in the shadows, and the wind rattled the windows at night. His prison was the oldest house in Greendale, home of the Spellman sisters: Hilda and Zelda.
Hilda--desperate for a job at the moment--provided refreshments during Salem’s “Take Over the World” meetings; as punishment, she got stuck as the caretaker of the now-feline warlock.
Too bad they got along.
Now stuck as a cat, Hilda’s former boss didn’t intimate her at all--in fact, the roles were reversed in an odd sort of way. Suddenly the Spellman sister’s lives were filled with all the irritants the came with owning a cat, only this one was sentient and could talk.
And sarcastic.
Dear lord was he sarcastic.
While there were mornings where he’d knock their food off the table in demand of his own and late work nights where he’d fall asleep on their paperwork, there were also pleasant evenings with a bottle of wine and crappy movies. Or gray afternoons where Salem turned out to be a pretty good listener. Sometimes he’d just sit on either one of their laps, relishing the rhythmic strokes as they talked the hours away about anything that was on their mind; when the moment was right, Salem would offer his take on the situation (sarcasm possibly included).
There was nothing left to do but embrace the new life he had. His powers were watered down to the most basic of spells, and there was no reason for Gwen ever to let him see his baby girl again.
He may have been being punished, but there was no way in hell he was going to let the Witch’s Council see how empty he honestly felt.
After over a decade of living with someone, the furry black felon turned into the furry black friend. There was a moment during breakfast, around nine years after he was sent to live with the Spellmans, where the three of them sat around the table and talked. Warm rays streamed in through the windows, glinting off the ceramic coffee mugs, and the birds provided a subtle soundtrack to the scene. And for the first time in years, Salem didn’t feel as if he was being punished.
There was an atmosphere of comfort and camaraderie, a feeling that would become a constant in his new life. A feeling that he’d almost forgotten was possible.
A feeling that grew when Sabrina Spellman joined their little household.
The impulsive niece of Hilda and Zelda brought Salem into a world he thought lost. It didn’t take long after their first meeting--two weeks to be exact--for the Council to name Salem Sabrina’s familiar. Her magical animal guide to help her navigate the witchy world and her powers.
Instead of getting a half-hearted glare or a reprimanding “Salem!” in response to his sarcastic quips, Sabrina delivered one right back with ease.
Sabrina quickly proved to be a challenging charge as she wasn’t very fond of following directions. This did prove to be an excellent source of entertainment for Salem, though.
For every problem created, Salem was there to help her get out--or at least, support her while her aunts did the dirty work. Late nights spent with Hilda and Zelda turned into assisting Sabrina with her magic homework or listening to her complain about her dating life for the billionth time. Afternoons sleeping transformed into time that Sabrina wanted to spend hanging out with him.
“Don’t you have friends you want to be out doing stuff with?” He once asked her.
“I still do that, but you’re my best friend. I want to spend time with you too.”
Salem swears he didn’t start to tear up.
When Sabrina would ask questions about why growing up was such a pain, he’d tell her everything he wished he could have said to Annabelle. When she asked him who was before, he finally was able to put it into words:
“Someone who took advantage of something I’d always thought would be there.”
“And who are you now?”
“Someone who cherishes every moment I have with you and your aunts.”
(He may have had a bit to drink that night.)
Sabrina ran her hands down his silky coat with a silent promise that no one was going anywhere, anytime soon.
Then suddenly there are words on a screen that felt like fate. A name he’d never thought would be in his life again and one he’d never heard before but was music to his ears.
Thoughts and questions raced through his mind, but he was able to paw an answer to one question out on the keyboard: Swing by the Spellman's Clock Shop sometime tomorrow?
…
Okay, we'll be there.
The next day, bells jingled as the door swung open and a petite little thing bounded towards him, no older than thirteen, with an older woman hesitantly following behind her. Salem looked up at the girl--no, woman--he’d never thought he’d see again in awe. She refused to meet his gaze.
He moved to look at the girl standing in front of him, curly brown hair excited and wild, matching the grin plastered on her face. Her eyes were the pale green he’d memorized as a boy when his mother would tuck him into bed, and they shone with delight as she spoke:
“Hi! I’m Scarlett Saberhagen, and you must be my grandpa!”
He could see the world in her eyes.
Fin.