A Court of Death and Retribution

before

"Belladonna don't drag them, you know better." My mother's exasperated sigh could be heard from across the creek, where I was trying to fly.

I lifted my wings and began to push myself to fly under my mother's instructions. It had been imperative that I learned so that I could leave if anyone found out about me.

About my wings... or my literal existence I suppose.

If they found me, they would hold me down and clip my wings... just like they did to my mother. I scoffed to myself thinking that my father would probably hold me down and help them. But he hid me from them too, so maybe not.

I had managed a few feet today, still not excellent, but it's impressive considering my healthy diet of bread and water.

We had to be back before sunset, so we started our walk through the woods. My mother gave me gentle tips for how I could improve and told me everything I did well, which wasn't a lot but I still appreciated it.

When we were back, so was my father. My stomach dropped and my eyes widened as I saw him storm out of the house. His face was red and twisted with anger, his fists were clenched at his side.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" My father's voice was deep and low, a dangerous warning to not push him.

"Viktor she needs to learn—"

My father spat in the snow before my mother. I took her hand, only the fabric of my special gloves between us as she took the slightest step in front of me.

"She needs to stay in the damn house. It won't matter if she can fly or not if she's safe in the damn. House." My father towered over my mother. His black curling hair dropped over his brow as he stared down at her with the look of malice.

But my mother could never fear anything. She stared right back at him with the same intensity, but it wasn't to hurt him... it was to protect me.

And I hated myself for that.

My father's brown eyes passed over to me. "Get inside."

I hesitated for only a second, trying desperately to think of something that will calm him down. Words were so easy to think of, but to string them together in a way that would sound gentle but not pathetic... that's impossible right now.

So I ran into the house.

Before I closed the front door, my father spoke again to my mother. "You know your punishment."

And the screaming began.

I hugged my pillow closer to my chest that night as I sobbed into it. Luckily, my parents slept in our only bedroom. My mother was kind enough to give me her pillow, so I had that and the floor... and the carpet when the nights became unbearable.

Nobody could have heard my mother's screams. We're too far away from the camps, too far away from any hunting trails or fishing lakes, too far away from anyone who wandered the mountains. My father made sure of it.

When my sobbing slowed to a dull hiccup, I finally found the courage to sleep.

The next morning my father left for work and my mother took me to my flying lessons in the creek.

Except we didn't go to the creek, we went in the other direction—and we didn't turn back.

—
32 years later
—

I sighed and scuffed my worn boots along the cobblestone path, exhausted from a day of thievery.

"Belladonna pick up your feet, you know better." My mother sighed next to me. She was dragging her feet too, but I didn't dare mention it. My mother saved us from a life of misery, I owe her everything.