From the Ashes

34

"'She wore a troubled past like
Wings,
She had been through
Hell
And though no one could see her
Demons,
They could see the face that conquered
Them.'"

- Atticus

_____

Tracing her fingertip on the tree bark, she felt the welcoming touch of a carved etching into the wood.

Hidden in amongst the trees, she saw the old, rickety house still standing. She knew the inside and outs of that shop, for it was owned by a family who worked to serve all those who they saw as good.

Her clan was their main client.

Although, now it felt like the embodiment of loneliness, for no one could be seen seated on the tree stumps or whistling on the roof.

But, there was no where else for her to go to, but towards a lonely memory in order for her to survive. Taking in a deep breathe, she continued forth to the front door.

Last time she was here, was with her mother.

Cutting the knife into her palm, she pushed back the tears that fought to come forth. She was what was left of her people, her tears could wait, revenge came first.

"You're a weapon!" The Women screamed at the young girl, her nails digging into Lovotas cheeks, as she held her face in her claws,"and weapons don't cry."

Picking herself up, little Lovota thrashed out at the Queen, her nails tearing at the old women's beautifully woven hair.

Until she was free, she would fight, for that was all she knew.

"You horrid child!" The women screeched, throwing her off, making Lovota smack her head on the marble floor, her small frame rolling down the stairs.

"I am your Queen!" She ordered,"you will never, ever lay another hand on me again, you hear me!"

"I am a weapon," Lovota whispered, sitting up, feeling blood trickle down her face like a nightmarish crown,"I can't be controlled."

"What was that?" The Queen snarled, standing up from her throne, her dress like blood against freshly fallen snow.

"I said," Lovota called,"I am your soldier."

I am your greatest mistake, your greatest weakness, your greatest downfall, the young Lovota thought, standing up like nothing ever happened.

Bowing, she dropped her hands by her side, clammy with sweat and shreds of hair that softly swayed to the floor.

"Leave me, weapon," the Queen remarked, turning her back on the child,"and return back to whatever hole you wildren' call home."

"Thank you, my Queen," Lovota curtseyed, walking out of the throne room, fisting up her little palms and relishing in the feeling of tearing that old hag apart.

She was Lovota of the pakstoka kru, one of the most feared clans to ever live. Yet, somehow her people found themselves in a treaty, baring their necks and exposing their bellies like rouges to a Queen who ruled nothing.

At the age of eight, the girl understood what it meant to truly hate someone so much you wouldn't bat an eye at their death.

It scared her parents, but what were they to do - their ancestors had created this blood treaty they could never escape.