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Quill, age 5.

Quill hunched over against the wall, hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"Richard, leave him alone! He's five years old for goodness sakes. He has no idea that drawing on your work papers is bad!"

"That boy is no son of mine. He is ugly, and stupid. He's not fit for life here in the harsh realities of this town. We should get rid of him while we still can."

"Richard! This is Your Son that we are talking about," Quill's mom's eyes grew protective. "You treat him like he's an animal. Like we both are. But we have feelings, and dreams and desires too. You aren't the only one in the world who is affected by your cruel words and selfish deeds!"

His eyes grew still, seeming an even paler light blue than usual. Quill had inherited his mother's vibrant green from her side of the family.

"You speak out of turn, woman. This is my home. I will do as I please here. The boy is my son and I can speak to him however I want."

"Perhaps you can," the woman pleaded, the words having no effect at all on his hardened, arrogant heart, "but actions always have a consequence. We may be free to do whatever we want, but we're never free from the consequences of those actions. They stay with us a lifetime."

"Don't get preachy with me!" He warned, slicing a finger through the air menacingly close to her face. I'm this close to throwing both of you out and getting it over with. I ought to. You've never brought me anything but trouble. Trouble, trouble, trouble, since the first day. I should have married someone more submissive. And far more beautiful."

Quill's mother hung open. "How- how dare you insult me in this way. You know what the worst part is, I'm not nearly as shocked at those ugly words as I should be. I'm so used to it now that I can hardly even be angry. It's infuriating that my standards have dropped so low. If I wasn't an honorable woman I would have said goodbye years ago." She promptly stomped up to their bedroom with Quill in hand and slammed the door, locking it behind her, although she knew it wouldn't do any good if Richard were to come up and try to break it down. The door was old and flimsy, and it wouldn't hold up against his weight.

"Quill, darling, precious, I want you to try and forget that. Your father didn't really mean what he said in the sitting room. He's just tired, that's all. Very tired tonight. And he gets so cranky. It's not you he's mad at."

She forced his eyes to meet hers. "I never want you to let one word he says affect you, you hear me? No matter what he says. I love you and that's what matters. Right?" She asked him.

"Alright," Quill told her, although he wasn't sure if he could ever forget his dad calling him ugly and dim.

"We're going to be okay, right mommy? Dad won't hurt you or me, will he?"

She sighed to herself, seeming sad that he had to ask the question. Quill knew that she had never intended to marry someone like her husband. She had told him when he probed that his dad had 'pretended a lot, like he was in a play'. Quill guessed now that it probably meant his dad had lied to her.

"He won't hurt us Quill. Not right now at least."

"Someday," Quill told her eagerly, "I want to be big and strong and able to take him away from you. Then you won't have to worry so much mommy."

"That's very sweet of you, Quill," she smoothed his hair back. "I just know that you're going to be big and strong enough to take care of anyone. You find someone worth taking care of," she told him, her forehead pressed to his. "And you don't let anyone take her away."