Recap (skip italics font if you remember):
She was going to die like Roger did. And so was that shawl.
Stupid shawl.
The warmth stirred in my stomach, heat blasting through my lungs.
My mother reached forward and before I could move back, she snatched onto my wrist.
Ice cold air shot into my wrist and I yelped, staring down to see her finger quickly trace a symbol on my skin. Her nails dug harder as I tried to yank her off.
A sudden power plunged into my wrists, sucking of the heat pumping through my body and leaving my blood cold and dry.
I gasped, bones and muscles folding back into my human position. Her grasp fell loose and I dropped to the floor, knees hitting first before I bowed down in exhaustion.
"How...I thought..."
"I can't have you burn down our home, Vhalerie," she said, wrapping her knit shawl tighter around her chest.
"I...I thought heroes couldn't stop the beast transformations," I spoke, the warmth gone.
A chilly wind whirled around the room, snapping the windows shut along with the door.
"Only the heroes I teach it to can stop beast transformations. Archer wasn't one of them."
An abrupt rush of anger hit my chest. "You mean there is a way to stop beast transformations?" I pushed myself to my feet, wobbling before I grabbed onto the desk. "You mean I could've had the power to stop my beast from taking over my body whenever I could?" I straightened my back, taller than my mother now. "If I knew that trick, I wouldn't have killed Roger. Roger could be alive right now"—I launched myself forward, gripping her stupid neck—"if you taught me the damn spell?!"
I tried retracting my claws, but nothing happened.
I stared down at my wrist, the symbol still imprinted and bold.
"Vhalerie. Let. Me. Go."
I snarled and roughly released her, letting her stumble back into the desk. "Give me one good reason to not kill you."
+++
"Actually screw that question. How about I slit your skinny throat—" I latched onto the pen laying across the desk, but my mother screamed.
An invisible wave hit my ears and my grip around her loosened.
"Vhalerie."
Voices felt like needles, pain spreading into my ear and down my neck.
My knees hit the ground again. "Bitch," I hissed, lowering my head as her voice rose again.
"Vhalerie, never disobey your mother," she said, stepping around me.
"I thought shitty mothers were an exception."
Her sandal rested on my head, keeping my face pressed into the ground. "Shitty? Honey, if you stayed in Hero High as a child, no one would respect you or our family. You would've grown up to be a beast in a school of humans. I did you a favour."
She pressed her foot harder, and I held in a wince.
"You should be thanking me. I saved you years of torment," she calmly said.
Anger snaked itself around my chest, it winding up the air into a hot tornado that she thought she cooled.
"So what do you say, Vhalerie?"
Hundreds of dirty, foul comments multiplied in my head. They were lining up, ready to descend into my mouth and fire off my tongue.
I pictured my words like bullets—taking her life would be so easy.
But that ball of something twisted in the pit of my stomach. It was there for the death of Roger, and it had been quietly growing ever since.
Fuck.
The mental factory that sewed together profane words stopped. The train of insults chugga choo chooed to a halt and I switched tracks, speaking words that sounded foreign to my ears.
"I'm sorry. Thank you, mother."
She smiled and took her foot off.
Stupid foot.
"You're welcome. Now get up. This floor is filthy."
Who knew I'd say three things—which never existed in my vocabulary—in one bloody sentence: 'I'm sorry', 'Thank, you' and 'mother'.
I didn't give myself enough time to analyze what was going on, but my eyes did notice the wave of my mother's hand and the group of soldiers enter her office.
"Take my daughter to her bedroom. She's exhausted."
As I pushed myself to my feet, my eyes laid on my wrist again. The tattoo had stopped throbbing, and remained imprinted in my skin.
I couldn't feel the heartbeat of my inner beast.
Arms hooked under my own and I allowed them to help me to my feet.
"Goodnight, darling. I'll see you soon."
The soldiers guided me out of the doors, a few staying behind to talk to my mother.
"Keep a good eye on her. She will not leave Hero High. She cannot get close to—"
"C'mon, miss. You got feet. Use 'em," one of the soldiers grunted. Their faces were covered behind metal masks, swords clanging against their legs.
"She has the weight of a beast or something," another one added.
I struggled to find the strength in my legs, not realizing the tattoo even sucked up my human abilities too.
I put one foot in front of the other, hearing the creak of the office doors begin to close behind me.
"Tell everyone," I caught my mom say. "The princess has come home."
"Fucking princess?" I mumbled. I thrashed around, trying to go back into the office, but the soldiers tightening their grip.
"Oh no, you don't. You're not getting away this time."
"Does she have the tattoo?"
A solider peeked at my wrist and smiled. "Mhmm. She got'em. We got nothing to worry about."
I felt the rough lips of a solider press against my ear. "How does it feel to be useless, beastie bear?"
I scowled, trying to figure out where we were, but we already took several turns and my senses weren't exactly in the best condition.
Minutes might've passed, but I think I kept blacking out.
Stupid tattoo magic screwing up my stupid health.
There was a loud click and second passed before a softness spread across my back. I dipped into the pillow-like surface, my head resting on a marshmallow.
"Are we supposed to dress her for bed?"
"Yes."
"Don't be a perv."
"I knew recruiting students as soldiers was a horrible idea."
"I've never seen a naked princess."
"Do you want her to bite off your head?"
"She's got the tattoo. She couldn't harm us if she tried."
I managed to lift my eyelids up and moaned. "Fuck off." I turned on my side, squishing my cheek against the pillow.
"Let's go, boys."
The clang of their armor echoed in the bedroom, their voices getting fainter. "How come she gets to be a princess and the Beast of Heroes? I can't even be the president of the school's cheese club."
"It's because she has coloured hair."
"Indie kids are always the chosen one. The 'different' kids. It's inevitable."
I wasn't sure if I heard the door close because the darkness shut the rest of my brain off.
+++
I woke up in darkness.
I pushed myself up, fingers running through clean sheets.
Clean sheets? This definitely wasn't my room.
Right. Hero High.
I reached into the air for a light switch, fingers bumping into what I think was the lamp and fumbled around a switch. I twisted it and light engulfed half of the room.
A clean nightgown laid across the other side of the bed.
Clean clothes? Yeah, totally not my room.
I pushed aside the covers and moved over to what looked like a closet. Opening it up, I frowned to see it empty and started pulling out drawers.
Empty.
"I don't even like dresses," I mumbled and considered wearing a birthday suit.
Princess's wear birthday suits right. I mean, any suit is fancy, right?
I stripped off the dirty rags I had worn for villains know how long. The cool air hit my arms, and a shiver crawled up my spine.
I peeked around and found the bathroom, the cold tiles waking me up. I flipped on a switch, skipped the mirror and hopped straight into the shower.
I was planning to stay in the shower for hours, until the profound thoughts about life and all my problems woke up too. Flashes of Roger's death, my mother and the word 'Princess' were trapped in the shower with me, I put my hand on the glass shower.
I quickly turned it off, the smell of flowers and other fruity crap not helping the nausea rising in my throat.
Stumbling out, I grabbed the towel and dried myself off. I wrapped my hair around it and stepped into the bedroom, hit by the cool air again.
I was starting to miss the desert and hot, blazing sun that threatened to burn my skin to crisp.
The carpet squished between my toes as I waddled over to the bed, slipping into the long night gown. The sleeves reached past my arms and I had to roll them up.
I didn't mind the length—besides, ripping things didn't sound appealing.
I scrubbed my pink hair into the towel, and tossed it onto the bed.
"Fuckmewithacactus," I barely breathed.
The towel was pink.
It was like someone shot a pink deer and used a towel to mop its pink blood.
Clearly, my madness didn't die along with my beast abilities.
Now back to the matter of my pink hands—pink hands.
I rushed to the bathroom, slapping my hand on the wall in search of the light switch.
I flipped it on and screamed.
Half of the pink in my hair was gone. Blonde strands filled the spots were my iconic pink was, my head looking like a princess-punk-goth bad hair day.
Princess.
Was I a fucking princess?
I shook my head and searched my hair for any more pink strands.
I never dyed my hair—it was always pink; I was born with it. This wasn't supposed to come off.
I pulled my hands out of my hair, and saw more pink. "Gagh!" I fumbled with the sink nob and the hot water burned my skin, the pink color coming off my hands and down the drain.
Afraid to touch my hair, I quickly shut off the tap and wiped my hands across the hand towel. I ran to the bedrooms doors and pulled at the knob.
No budge.
Fear, a stranger I was not fond of, stuck itself between my anxiety and madness. I started pulling harder on the knob, the twisting useless.
"Hey!" I screamed and punched the wooden door. Pain erupted across my knuckles and I slapped my palm on instead. "Hey! Open up! For seven sins, hello?!"
It took me ten minutes of screaming to realize no one was coming for me.
I looked down at my hands, my skin red, hot and throbbing. I pressed it to my head, and hissed, quickly remembering my hair and lowered my hand.
Turning, I ran up to the window and noted all corners were bolted shut. I could only see the black sky. The ceilings and floors had no vents to fit in.
The bedroom began feeling like the shower and soon, the dark thoughts made their way into my head.
I sat back on my bed, pushing my knees to my chest. My eyes fell to my chest, bits of my hair resting at the front. Brown. There was so much brown.
The fear clashed with the madness and I let out a wail, crying out before pushing my hand to my face. Sobs left my mouth, cheeks and soon neck, wet.
Everything was slipping between my hands. Roger, my beast, my identity, my hair colour; all emotional and physical. What I built over the years to remain stable was collapsing.
I finally moved my hand away from my face, red eyes instantly meeting the tattoo on my wrist.
The tattoo.
The stupid tattoo.
It had to go.
A sudden heat grew on my chest, spreading down to my belly. I put my hand under the night gown and wrapped my hands around the Medallion Roger and I saved before he disappeared.
I forgot I even had it on in the shower.
I cupped the Medallion and the golden coin shaped necklace glowed. A heartbeat thumped under my hands, whispers flowing from the gem.
"What are you..." I murmured, turning the gem over.
+++
A/N:
Late, late, late. I'm sorry.
There are about 10 chapters left of this story until we reach the end. :)
So...Vhalerie's hair. And a princess?
WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS?
Thank you so much for reading this story. I really appreciate all your support.
All your comments and votes mean the world to me. :)
Xx 3.14