The dim light of the moon reflected timidly through the window and on the stone walls, casting distorted shadows across the bathroom. The bath water had long turned cold, but she gave no sign of wanting to get out, her red hair around her like blood, spreading around like veins on the surface, as if they were trying to hold her together.

But nothing could. Not anymore.

She was leaning her head back against the cold copper of the bathtub, her grey eyes staring at the ceiling, unfocused.

The past was always there, never really gone, it waited beneath, under her skin, clawing at her heavily scarred back, in her mutilated hand, it tightened her ribs and took away her breath. Boiling in her stomach, a primal rage, a wild fire. No matter how deep she sank, it never let her go.

Her father's voice echoed in her head, sharp and cold.

"Anything your eyes can see, belongs to me. And you are no exception.

You are mine to use, as someone born to kill, that is your one and only purpose."

Those words were now carved into her bones, deeper than any of the physical torment that he had inflicted to her.

The memories of a child that could find no mercy, anywhere she looked, no one would lend her a hand. Even her own mother had forsaken her and ran away to safety.

Her fate was sealed, she was to become a monster.

But what about that child?

The knights and valiant soldiers stared holes at her while she was begging them for help, stoic and unmoving, the servants saw when her back scar was forged with fire, yet they decided to ignore it. Like it was disgusting, something to run away from since it was so ugly.

Midas would hear them whisper to one another in the hallways. "Have you seen? He cut her left hand!"

"Oh poor thing! I can't stomach to see her anymore or I won't be able to sleep at night."

That was what they did, no one would bear to look at her because her own suffering was too much for any of them to handle.

And so she remained completely alone, in the vastness of that castle, even if crowded, no one would even acknowledge her existence.

Now the golden sharp nail of her prosthetic hand trailed on the water surface.

How many times she had been bathed in cold water as a child, hoping it would wash away her pain and shame.

But nothing ever had.

Now she was again in that cold water, drowning her painful memories, with her mace always close, as if any kind of vulnerability would have been a death sentence.

Her lips curled slightly, not in amusement but with something much darker, as a hiccup escaped her lips.

She had killed him.

Slowly and painfully.

The memory rose tainting her brain, as it always did when she was alone.

His voice, once so powerful, making her ears ring, was reduced to a whisper once he was put face to face with the creature. He had looked so pathetic while their fingers of fire reached out for him.

He was suddenly emptied of all his pride, when he realized that his own weapon had at last turned against him.

That she had learned from him, that she absorbed all his cruelty, it went, like the smell of blood, up her nose and clouded her senses. He looked at her as a last resolve, murmuring, begging. "You're my blood! You can't be doing this!"

Looking terrified and hurt, as if he hadn't spent years molding her into the person who would do exactly what she had done.

He was then emptied of color, turned as thin as paper and ultimately swallowed into the flames.

She had watched the light leave his eyes and felt nothing.

He had been her creature's first victim, the first step towards her long awaited and planned revenge that led her to dig into the library and bring to life that monstrous thing.

Such a sweet memory savored between all of the others, she could still see clearly the first time they met, when the creature's eyes, deep wells of liquid fire, met hers.

That was her creation, her will made manifest. A being forged with fire, ashes and the ink that once trapped it on the pages of a forgotten dark magic book.

It pulled at her ribs, at her very soul, the heat burned against her skin, in a bond forged with the very primal fire that tied her to it. But she did not waver.

At last she spoke to the abyss and the abyss reached back, it was alive and it was bound to her.

After her father, her bloodshed went on, striking down all the servants and who worked in the castle, then her own people and, only after that, she declared war on all the reigns and empires that had deals with her had been father.

But as much as she tried, she couldn't silence the noise.

The unquietness in her heart, the sharp sting of betrayal, it stole warmth before cold ever came.

She sank lower in the water, letting it creep up to her chin. It was undeniable, the past still climbed to her, it didn't matter how much blood had been spilled.

Killing him didn't erase him, if anything, it had bound him to her in a way that she couldn't scrape off.

Her back scar still felt heavy on her skin and her left hand was constantly in excruciating pain, even though it had been cut off a long time ago.

He was gone, but the ringing of his voice in her ears would never leave.