His hand found its way to her face, the blow stinging, sure to show in black and blue the next day.
“Useless. Helpless. Troublesome child.” The man snarled as he looked down at his daughter trembling in the corner. Her head buried in her hands—in an ineffective attempt to child herself from the man’s hard fists. Of course when he couldn’t strike her face he settled for a swift kick to her ribs cage. A kick just hard enough to lay her face down on the floor. She wouldn’t cry this time.
Another kick, this time to the head. “Weak, pathetic, waste of space.” He bellowed words slurred by his clear intoxication. Her father kicked her again, she was used to him beating her in his drunken rage. It happened near daily. She always assumed it was his way of coping with the death of his wife two years prior, when the girl herself was only six. “Come on! Defend yourself.” He hollered. He lifted the girl off the ground by the collar of her teal t-shirt. Another punch to the face. “Too weak to fight back. You’ll always be helpless. You’ll never be anything more than the powerless little girl you are now.” He paused and resumed only to repeat himself “Never be nothing more than…than uuuusless.” By the end his voice was a muffled slur. Too drunk to even get the words out right. “Damn useless piece of…” He trailed of giving the child a violent shake. A shake that bought her surprised tears forth as she looked into her father’s eyes. His face twisted into a scowl more demonic than human. Angry wrinkles creasing the man’s brow and lining his forehead. He threw her to the ground, a sickly thud signaled her head meeting the hardwood floor. She cried out, as small and helpless sound. He rested his foot on her stomach and glared down at her. “This is and will always be your place…conquered, defeated, and powerless
She’d prove him wrong one day…
Her feet pounded on the pavement a long six years (not unfilled with abuse and suffering) later, frigid blood—still fresh and leaking from the gash on her forehead into her eyes and down her pale cheek. She had no clue where she’d go, but she’d rather lead a street rat’s life out there in the piercing cold, than live another day with the demon she once called “daddy.” When she felt that she was at a safe distance from what was once her home, the young woman collapsed onto the snowy ground panting quite heavily. The chill edging up her skin was strangely euphoric as it crept its way over and into her body. It felt somehow very right, righter than anything had ever been. She felt almost connected to the frost numbing her fingers from the very tip down. She let out a soft sigh of pleasure and pressed her cheek deeper into the snow. Things would change today, she didn’t know how, but she knew they would. Only three moons later a woman with a noticeably pointed nose, wearing robes of the deepest purple took her by the hand with promises of a place to stay and magic to learn. A place that offered lessons that would surely insure she’d never feel defenseless again. She would master the spells (of the darkest nature). She’d perfect them. She’d use them to conquer. She owed it to herself. Looking up at the woman named Griffin, she got to her feet and followed her into a portal that had just opened.
Seven years had been good to the woman as she loomed over the freshman, a rush of power and adrenalin pushing her on. Years of magic practice—one on one with the head mistress and when she was old enough, in a classroom—deserved to be shown off and bragged about. She was stronger than any other student in the school, she knew it…she thrived on it. A large crowd of witches had gathered around, pressuring her onward. They always seemed to enjoy the shows she put on. She nudged Mirta with the toe of her boot. The slight whimper given took her back to a time she never wished to recall, she almost changed her mind about provoking the victim any further. But better than anyone else crowded in that hallway, she knew it was victimize or be victimized. And she’d be the victim no more. “You were wrong father” she whispered bitterly to herself. “I know where the flame is. I’ll have it and be more powerful than I am even now.” With that she, continued pushing the younger witch around as if her father could see and eat his words.
Never again would Icy let herself be conquered.