#nightmare4

Al’s breath was trapped in her chest, her heart stalled. Her leg muscles tightened, her body ready to run, but her mind unwilling uproot and run to safety. Not a rational thought passed through her mind as she stared ahead at the silhouette in the doorway. Her father. Her father was here. Her father was alive and here and staring at her with so much hate in his eyes. Al’s head shook in denial, attempting to banish his existence before he spoke and confirmed his presence. “Nyet, Nyet,” Al mumbled, a clumsy step backwards was taken, bumping into another person. The fae did not even notice.

“Did you think that I would let you go? Let you go with those pathetic wings attached to your body?” Her father’s lip curled up, eyes dead and flat. Ten years of separation did nothing to quell the anger, to extinguish the disgust. The man muttered under his breath quietly, his tongue thick with a Russian phrase. 

A knife was brandished, shining and flickering with a taunt. Her father took a step forward, raising the weapon, and grasping Al’s arm with tight precision. Al cried out, not a particularly loud scream - a hopeless yelp. As if she was already resigned to her fate, not one ounce of fight left her in her as she knows that there is nothing anyone can do to prevent what will surely come next.

“You killed your mother and you do not deserve to have what she cannot.” And with those manic words, the man drove the knife into Al’s shoulder, the base of where muscle and wing met. Al’s scream finally reached loudness, echoing thought the old hallways of Clearbrook as she hung limply in her father’s grasp with tears trailed down her face. Her glamour flicked, revealing wings already damaged wings, already coated in a fresh sheen of crimson.