There was a time before the war when Elisabet was a nurse at a hospital in Anchorage. She'd started at Med Surg as most did, but her first two years had been in New York where her family lived, and they'd been spent with everyone from Alzheimer's patients to junkie's to teenagers only a couple of years younger than her with needles in their arms, broken noses, black eyes. But she had wanted the sky, and the cold, and a place where people didn't look at her our of the corners of her eyes because she'd let something slip enough that they were suspicious.
There was an opening in Anchorage and a trauma fellowship. The offer came on a Friday afternoon; she had her two weeks notice into her director before the close of business.
Twelve hours a day on her feet, but trauma wasn't Med Surg and Anchorage wasn't New York, and she loved it. Even if it meant moose and bears, and people through windshields because they had hit a moose and both they and it had gone through the glass.
After her twelve hours in, twelve long hours of keeping her abilities under control, of only letting them eek out in the smallest amounts possible that wouldn't alarm anyone and she could go home. To her small apartment, light the fireplace as she put on some tea and fed her cat. Normal thing - or go out with a few of her coworkers to a bar down the street for beers and cocktails and apps. Hers was always a margarita, the salt a sweet bite after the liquor. If she was in the mood to spoil herself, it was potato skins dripping in cheese and doused liberally in sour cream. It meant extra time on the treadmill the next morning, but it was always worth it.
Then came the war. Her parents, her little brother and sister, they were all left behind in New York. Elisabet fled the city and headed for one of the safe spots, the nearest one. She wasn't born into the coven, but she had her powers, and maybe she could do something here that didn't remind her of the family that was a country away if they were still alive.