Chapter 38

                                    

                                          
The girl was nine years old when the voice warned her not to help the urchin, and she ignored it. Her hands were bound to the post in the center of the town square. She was betrayed for the first time. The day she learned she didn't need anyone. The whip snapped behind her, causing agony up her back. She screamed as blood flowed from her wound, and the crowd gasped. Another thunderous crack, and the child wailed, pleading with them to stop and explaining that she did not steal, but they did not listen. Another rush of anguish raced through her back, and her eyes burned, yet when she peered out at the audience, the majority of them were smiling or nodding in appreciation. She was filled with rage and disgust at how much they were enjoying this. Her back was red and scorching, and the barbed tip of the whip tore her clothing into ribbons. Screw them! Screw them all! If they enjoy her misery so much, she will hide it. She dug into herself and created a gorgeous, ornate chest in her mind. This will be her new home for her pain, and she poured everything into it. Until she stopped screaming and became completely numb from head to toe. The whip struck again, and this time she simply gritted her teeth; they would get nothing from her. There was no sound, yet the whip continued to snap as her back bled over and over.
The girl was 13 years old then and was tied to a wooden chair at a man's house. She still remembers the smell, the faint hint of lavender from whatever product was used to wax the floors, and the aroma of coffee coming in from the kitchen down the hall. He had the nerve to make himself a drink while she was unconscious. The man now stood in front of her, his smile making her skin crawl. His short brown mustache was slightly damp from the coffee, and his pale blue eyes roved over her, but when he went for her blouse, she flashed her fangs and sunk them deep into his palm. His sour blood covered her tongue, and she had to battle the bile in her throat. Then he punched her so hard that her lip split, but she smiled. That box was always ready to contain her pain. He yelled vulgar accusations at her, holding his hand to his chest and stormed out of the room. The girl knew what he wanted to do to her; he told her as he kicked and pummeled her in the alley until she passed out. All because she refused to accompany him freely. Her stomach still ached, but she didn't notice it. The man was foolish, an arrogant adult. He was stupid not to search her for weapons. Since that day in the square, she has carried a shattered piece of glass in her sleeve. She would never be as weak as she was on that day. When the man returned, she had already cut the rope around her wrists and smiled when he noticed her standing there. He was her first kill. She recalls smiling as his blood flowed over her hands as she slit his throat from ear to ear.
The girl was then 38 years old. She was an adult by human terms, but she already knew she was something more, something stronger. A fae. She was an orphan with a new family, but she wasn't really one of them; she wondered whether they felt sorry for her at times. She wondered if they genuinely cared, but Jasper did. He told her frequently. Especially on the day he sent her out on her first deployment as a member of Greenhollow's Army. She was to go on a scouting mission in the Midlands to prove what she had learned. It was supposed to be a little village with occasional reports of rebel activity, but she never imagined what she'd find. The night she sank into the shadows and strode around town, a meeting was scheduled. A gathering of numerous rebels. A meeting that caught her off guard, and it only took them an hour to find her. There were many of them. All of them were angry and resentful. They tied her to a table just outside of town. There were so many tents and so many terrible men. They took turns slashing into her skin while laughing. They peeled her nails off her fingers and tore her garments. They stole things from her that should have been hers to give, but she made no noise and felt no pain. That chest was stuffed to the brim with everything. Her wounds healed considerably faster than they did when she was younger, which delighted the humans. They reopened a wound as soon as it had closed. For hours, there was nothing but cutting flesh and unpleasant grunts of delight on top of her. Hours passed before they felt exhausted and the sky darkened. Then they abandoned her in the chill of winter as they found sleep in their tents. They were smarter. They took her weapons. For the majority of the night, she was alone out there, relishing the fury and hatred that kept her warm. Embracing the darkness that has formed around her soul.