A year after I was branded, I lost my mother. My father never talked about how she died, just that she was gone. In fact, he didn’t even seem to care that she was no longer with us. Ever since she left, he seemed almost happier, if that was even possible for him... and he had gotten worse with me. I was mostly confined to my room, only able to leave to let the world see I was still alive– barely. Nobody knew of the abuse. When I went outside, I was made to wear baggy clothes to hide the lack of nutrition and long sleeves to hide the bruises and cuts.
I am eleven years old now, but my body still looked as though I was nine. With only enough substance to survive, my growth was stunted for the time being. My skin was sickly pale, dark circles formed under my eyes, and I constantly felt weak.
As I laid in my bed, I thought of memories of my mother. Her long, fiery red hair, her red eyes, and her perfect ivory skin. She was the epitome of Celestial beauty. How I wished I had grown to look more like her, instead of my father. I thought of my favorite memory with her, right before she died, the one that brought the most comfort.
Mother stroked my silver hair trying to soothe me to sleep. I was still in tears from watching Serf Seraphiel getting punished by a Kingsguard, for looking a pure one in the eyes. Cyrus had tried to help save his father. In his determination, he ran up to the guard, who was much bigger than him and punched him square in the jaw.
“You little fucking rat!” the guard screamed. “Now you’re gonna pay too!”
I had watched their bodies as they writhed on the ground, trying so hard to stand up and fight back, to no avail.
“Soon, my beautiful child, we will be able to live amongst the rest of the world in peace,” she told me, as we laid in my bed. “You’ll see.”
“Do you really think that will happen, Mom?” I asked. “Do you think they will ever respect us?”
“Yes, I know so,” she stroked my hair soothingly. “You and Cyrus, I know you will make this world a better place for our people.”
“How are we gonna do that?” I choked, looking at her. I pointed to her glowing angelic brand on her cheek. “We are powerless against them. You’re stronger than both of us but even you can’t win against the brand.”
She chuckled. Her voice grew soft and she whispered in my ear. “You two are gonna be so much stronger than us. I believe in you. You’ll see, my beauty, you’ll see.” She wrapped me in a tight squeeze, her body only a foot and a half taller than mine. “Now, hush, Nemmi. It’s hard now, but it’s gonna get better. I know you two will make it better in time.”
My mother’s dream, every Mongrel’s dream, may never become a reality. We couldn’t protect them all, let alone ourselves. I tried to hold back the tears, knowing if I cried too loud, it would send Father into a rage.
I miss mom. I miss seeing Serf Seraphiel and Cyrus– it’s been months since I last showed my face to them. Do they worry about me? Am I even a thought that crosses their minds?
The silence in my room was broken by the creek of my room door opening. Father stepped inside and I immediately tensed up.
Not today, please.
Father’s angelic power was blood manipulation, the ability that got passed down to me. He was powerful, powerful enough to maybe take us somewhere where we could be free- but, instead used his ability to help the King, in exchange for riches. He started helping the King after mother died, which allowed for us to fix up our home. Some pure-blooded builders had come within a few weeks to build the plan that my Father had handed to them. I don’t know how Father used his ability but blood manipulation had to have been incredibly important to the King. Ever since then, Father had shut me out from the world, afraid of the King finding out what I really am. It wasn’t that he cared if the King killed me, but it could be the death of him.
He must have given Serf Seraphiel and Cyrus a very convincing story about why I wasn’t coming around as much, otherwise they would have come to check up on me by now.
My father grabbed my wrists and forced me up. His eyes showed no emotion and his mouth was stuck in a thin line. My pulse quickened. I tried to pull away but his grip was strong. He pulled me toward the stairs leading to the chamber and I reluctantly followed, trying to tug backward every few steps. I kept my mouth shut, though– knowing that if I spoke up, I would severely regret it.
“Don’t make this harder on me, Noemi!” he shouted. “I will make it much worse for you if you do.” At that, I stopped. He meant he would use his power on me. After all, we were in our own home and nobody could see. Even if they did, he worked for the King.
As a master of blood manipulation, my father could take control of people's bodies, forcing their movements to his will. He could make somebody stab themselves with a dagger or easily stop their heart. On top of it, there was that intense, prickling pain of making someone's blood move against their will. I did not want to feel that today. It was an uncomfortable experience.
He opened the door to the chamber, the light from candles flooding the room. There were no windows and it was made specifically so no sound escaped. The King had given him this chamber to perform whatever work it was he needed. Sometimes, he used it on me. Our own little torture chamber in our very own “home”.
When we walked inside, he chained me to the wall. His tall frame was blocking my view from the rest of the room. He walked to his old, wooden desk and pulled out a relic- a carved obsidian amulet, pulsating faintly with an otherworldly light. I felt drawn to it, my eyes not leaving, and the longer I stared, the louder I heard those unsettling whispers that escaped from it.
It felt… familiar?
He places the relic on the concrete, circular platform in the center of the chamber. Then, pulling out his dagger and a glass cup, he steps toward me. I froze.
“This relic is going to cleanse you of your demonic lineage that you inherited from your bitch of a mother,” he said, with a calmness that shook me to my core. “The dealer assured me of that.” My eyes widened, but I knew not to speak. He raised his dagger toward my arm and sunk it into my skin. Accustomed to the pain, I barely wince. Then, using his ability, he coaxes more blood out of my arm and into the glass.
After walking to the center again, Father starts to draw multiple symbols on the ground with my blood. Each symbol sent a shiver down my spine from the sound of his bloody fingers scraping against the cement, like nails against glass. This could only be one thing.
Witchcraft.
Reading off a paper, he begins the ritual with meticulous precision. A cold draft tickles the hairs on the back of my neck and I know it means it’s working. Father is chanting in the language of the demons, words crackling in the air as it snapped off his tongue. The most intense feeling of dread came over me.
The pain started slowly– a dull ache that quickly transformed into a searing agony. It felt as though every nerve in my body was ripping itself apart. I gasped, my vision blurring and my mind feeling as though I was about to lose consciousness. As the pain intensified, I screamed. The next time I drew breath, it felt as if something forced its way into my throat, choking me until I passed out.
Darkness. That’s all I can see. My body felt as cold as ice and I shuddered, but I no longer felt pain- no longer felt trapped as I rubbed my wrists. Within the darkness, I see a darker shadow– a terrifying silhouette, walking closer to me.
“Finally,” the figure chuckles, “I am free.”
This fear was none like I have ever felt before. I was being suffocated by this presence in front of me, so much that I felt forced to kneel to the ground. With all the strength I could muster, I look up and see two glowing red eyes.
“Who– Who a-are you?” I stutter.
“Me?” I could see the figure smiling. “I, child, am Kako– one of the first Celestials.”
Well, shit.
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