"Scyenne!" a shrill like voice called from across the room of the shabby house. The house was fragile-looking and small, consisting of a living room equipped with a kitchen and two bedrooms.
I scrambled to my feet and march out to my adoptive mother's room. I stood just outside her closed bedroom door and knock. There were male laughs coming from the inside of her room, she had invited her male friends over. I was utterly disgusted.
The door opened, the strong pungent odour of perfume mixed with alcohol penetrated my nostrils. I sniffed, and stare at the half-naked woman who stood in front of me. My adoptive mother, Lara Wilcaust, had a mini-skirt and a unbuttoned white shirt on, her face was heavy with make up and her hair hanging wildly below her shoulders.
"Why did you take so long?" she demanded, she gripped my golden shoulder-length hair and pull it hard. Her lips were pinned down, a clear sign of displeasure.
My head was tilted sideways due to the pulling, I saw inside her room, two men were lying in the bed, topless. "I came at the first call," I said.
"Liar!" she snarled, a strong breath of alcohol brushed my face. "After fourteen years you have not learned to be honest to your parents! What an ungrateful child! We rescued you from the shelter, nobody loved you nor cared for you. We take you home and this is how you repay us?!"
I remained silent. This was the same speech as always. "Sorry," I muttered, "what can I do for you?" My voice was that of submission.
She laughed coldly, "Yes, that is how you are suppose to be with mothers. I will be busy tonight, I don't want to be disturbed. You know what I mean with that." She let go of my hair and slammed the door.
I knew what she meant. That night I waited for my adoptive father, Dorson Wilcaust, to come home from the pub. A singing was heard from afar, signaling the return of Dorson. He appeared on the living room, his alcoholic odour was even stronger than Lara's. He grumbled a greeting, and heavily settled on the squalid kitchen table. I told him that Lara was terribly tired and was asleep already, she asked us to not bother her till next day.
He dismissed what I said, his eyes boring my complexion. Even though I was not very well cared of I was not homely. In fact, I had a mysterious beauty that never ceased to amazed Lara, jealous of my slender limbs, ivory skin, and youthful face. She could not stand my flawless face nor my deep blue eyes, she sometimes saw me as a threat with her male guests.
"You have become quite a lady, Scyenne." he drawled, dreamy eyes on me. I stood there motionless. I never loved them, never would. I was beaten during my childhood, many times my bruises will disappear by the next day. Dorson always said I was born to be beaten. I was forced to work and never play. I could not remember a single night I was unhappy and crying. "Pretty, beautiful," he stood and staggered toward me. I moved backwards, away from his reach. Fear predominated.
He was inching closer. "Get away!" I threatened. He got me cornered. His smile was full of dark desires. He lunged forward, I flung a cooking pan and hit his head. He dropped to the floor, bleeding. I had cracked open his skull, I was puzzled. I did not use any strength at all. I crouch beside him, he was dead. I murdered him. The cooking pan was slightly bended. I dropped it to the floor, retreating from his body. Shaking, I cowered in the other side of the room, my hand trembling uncontrollably.
Just then Lara dash out of her room to the living room, she saw her husband on the floor, dead. She gave a deafening scream and turned to me. "YOU!" she barked, "you killed my husband! You daughter of the devil!"
"No, I did not," I cried, "it was an accident, he wanted to..."
She charged toward me with a kitchen knife and stabbed me. I gasped for air, too weak to scream. I dropped to the floor, my blood spilling in the floor around me. I was going to die, unloved, unwanted. I lie down on the cold, dingy floor. My head reeling, I saw Lara's two guests scampering out of the house. She called after them. Screams were heard from outside, two male voices, bodies dropped to the floor.
A figured entered the house, tall, pale. Cold invaded and settled in the house. Lara was dazzled by the newcomer, then figuring he pose a threat by witnessing the murders, she raised the knife. The figure took hold of her wrist cracked it, she let of of the knife. She scream in agony, the figure then silenced her, he pierced her chest with his finger.
I was terrified, half bleeding myself to death, and couldn't move. I only wished for a quick death. The figure approached me and knelt by my side, my hands were holding where the knife had pierced me. Breathing was hard now, I could not articulate a word. He took me gently and leaned me against him, I coughed blood out.
"Don't worry, you are not going to die," he told me in a soft voice. I shook my head in disagreement. "They are not going to hurt you anymore." His cold fingers caressed my face.
Pain shot through my wound, I screamed. My flesh was healing itself, until there was only skin. My shirt had a hole. I ran a finger through my newly healed skin, confusion, amazement, and fear mingled in my face.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"My name is Ravalja and I am here to take the princess of the Darklands home."