The Villain dwtxreader

the fire

TW// FIRE, ABUSE.

I am the villain in this story.

I won't get my happy ending.

I rolled over in my sleep, tugging at my scratchy wool blanket. My mother had given me that blanket. It was awfully thick and itched at exposed skin that touched it, but I kept it. The blanket reminded me of the spring picnics, midnight star gazing and long road trips I experienced with my mother. That blanket being there for them all.

A familiar smell filled my nose. One of my favorites, a campfire. I enjoyed sitting around the fire, extending my probably too dirty to eat stuff off of stick over the flames, a melting marshmallow on the end.

My dad hated the smell. He says that he can't get rid of it, it lingering on his slightly oversized clothes far too long for his short tempered manner.

"GET UP! GET UP NOW GOD DAMMIT!" A voice rang from down the hall.

I shot up from my blankets. Looking around trying to find the source of this sudden burst of noise.

My door swung open, colliding with my book shelf behind it. My potion recipe book crashing to the ground. In the door frame stood my dad. A tall, muscular man with a seemingly permanent furrow in his brow. He was not a very particular looking man. Quite average if you think about it. Fair skin, brown eyes, short and straight brown hair. The only thing that set him apart was his horns, growing long and curled out of both sides of his head.

I moved my blankets off my legs then turned my head to my dad. Thats when I saw it.

Behind him bright orange and red flames erupted and cracked, engulfing our kitchen in its path. I stared into the flames. They themselves were calm. Slightly swaying in the air, blue at the bottom of its base. Leaving behind a treacherous path.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, GET UP WE NEED TO LEAVE!" My dads yell snapping me back to reality.

I leapt out of bed rushing to the corner of my room. I quickly grabbed my belt, shield and iron sword. The sword was old and worn, but the way the handle perfectly fit into my hand made me feel an attachment to it. I grabbed my mothers hair ribbon from my dresser, slipping it in my pocket. I was ready.

I quickly hurried to the door, but then paused and turned back around. My mothers blanket. I felt a twinge of quilt as I looked at the wool blanket. I wouldn't be able to bring it. It was far too big and heavy for me to haul around. We lived so far from others, we would have to walk a long distance. Even if I wanted to bring it, my father would complain and ultimately make me drop the blanket in some ditch. Gone forever.

I sighed and shook it off knowing that if my mother knew, she would understand. I turned my back and ran through the slim hallway to the open back door of my small house. My dad was already outside. Of course he would leave me.

He turned to me with annoyance. "Finally! I thought you were dead or something."

A normal person would be shocked. If he thought I was dying inside the burning building, why hadn't he made an attempt to save me? He was my dad after all. I shrugged off his comment. Saying anything back could result in a couple bruises the following day.

It was then when I heard a twig snap in the distance. Me and my fathers head snapping towards the noises direction in unison.

A boy hiding behind a tree, axe in one hand, flint and steel in the other quickly pressed his back against the dark oak, hoping we didn't see him.

I looked up at my father, desiring an answer on what to do next. His dark eyes met mine, filled with rage, illuminated with orange from the flames of our family home, burning behind me. Then the corner of his lips slowly curled and he leaned down and whispered in my ear,

"Kill him."