One

                                    

                                          
Aphrodite's POV
                          
As the moon shone above in the clear sky of India, as our house stood tall and great all alone somewhere deep in the dark mountains where our lives could not be bothered, I decided that all the pain felt during the years had been well worth the new creation I'd become.
                          
It was late now but I wasn't sleepy. One of my favorite times was at night when our house was quiet, when I felt like the only one awake in the world and had free reign to do as I pleased without eyes watching me. The sun was gone and I could finally enjoy the outdoors, doing so now with the windows open and the warm Indian breeze blowing through sheer curtains and circulating in the bedroom. The space was large and open and uncluttered on the third story, the bed low and big and topped with sheets the color of perfect cream. As I enjoyed the breeze and that sweet silence, I sat in a chair right by the window to feel the most of it, my hands busy as I filed my red, almond-shaped nails. Even during relaxation, I enjoyed having a task. The breeze picked up again, ruffled the long skirt of my black dress. Another thing I'd always enjoyed was the very female way a woman could dress. The thick black straps hung on the ends of my shoulders, the neckline dipping low and the moonlight illuminating my very pale skin. A blonde wave brushed over my eyes as light as the moon in the night sky. I blew it away with a mouth painted blood red as I continued to file my nails.
                          
It used to be I strived to cover most of my skin. Or more importantly, the flesh-colored scars along my body, the greatest bunch along the inside of my forearms where blades had once kissed me and given the affection denied to me. I'd once tried to keep them a secret, one that had only caused me more pain.
                          
Now... my self-harm was exposed when I could handle it, when I wouldn't be triggered by it. What was done could not be changed. I'd learned to live by that rule for my own sanity. Even learned to accept the scarred ruin of my mouth from a switchblade.
                          
I moved the file expertly, flicked my nails to inspect my progress. At the sound of a noise my eyes lifted up, used that same inspection on the room around me. I knew the sounds of my home, knew it creaked and clicked when settling in the night. But that one sound was a little unlike what I was used to. My senses had been trained with the coaching in this very country, and while I no longer used my skills like I had in the past, they were still there, buried under my scarred skin and lingering there until needed.
                          
My senses told me that someone was in my house.
                          
I sat the file down on a nearby end table, stood from the chair on bare feet, the skirt of my dress flittering down over my toes. Lifting an eyebrow, I padded over to the door, the unfamiliar noise happening again as I grew closer. No one was supposed to be home at such a late hour. I grabbed the doorknob, pushed it open and inspected right outside the door. Nothing. Just my very quiet, very darkened house. I quickly closed the door again and locked it tight. A big gust of wind blew into the room like the howl of a wolf, blowing up my hair from the nape of my neck. I spun around.
                          
My gasping scream was hushed by the large hand slapping over my mouth.
                          
A shocked, frightened yelp flew past my lips, muffled now from the hand silencing me as I was roughly pushed against the door. The other hand of my shadowed attacker grabbed my neck and locked me in place. Panic had skidded up my spine for a brief moment upon impact, taking my breath. Milliseconds after that, anger replaced it. Comforting anger that rose within me to give me strength, to fight, to defend, to rip to shreds anything that would hurt me. I grabbed the forearm of my attacker, sunk my nails in deep I'd purposely pointed.
                          
"Please, leave a mark."
                          
The taunting voice in the dark made me glare, made me growl against the hand in frustration when I couldn't budge him away. He was stronger than me, but not an opponent I hadn't squared off against in the past. The hand around my neck squeezed some, a move meant to rile me and tease me. The soft, breathless laugh paired with it made me want to silence it.