Faith without fear

❝Sometimes, the prettiest eyes have cried the most tears❞

                 ( !behind the fake smiles are the deepest secrets! )

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FAITH HAYZE, a nervous little girl with a slight stutter and trust issues 

You and your family was about as tightly knit as possible. You had a loving mother and father, Anthony and Isabelle Hayze, and a brother and sister, Anne and Milo Harris, who had just completed their 2nd and 3rd years, while you had turned 6 years old. Everyone was happy, and felt they knew there place. That is, before Havoc broke out. 

January 9th, to be exact was the day her world got flipped upside down. It was the day the Death Eaters came.

Your mother, Anne and yourself were out of the house when it happened, not even knowing what was going on before it was to late. 

You don't like to think about it. Even remembering bits about it makes your chest constrict. 
You try not to dream of arriving home and seeing your family. Dead on the ground. 
You try not to remember the shrill cries of your remaining family as they saw. 

And blood. 

It was everywhere.
You try not to remember how you ran away, mentally and physically, as far away as possible. 
Crying, sobs that wracked your whole body as reality began to sink in. Then falling to your knees in the middle of the road. The rain pouring down on your skin, plastering your once lively blonde hair to your scalp.

You can't even begin to imagine how that would feel, being a measley 6 years old, and losing everything as quick as a blink. 

It's been five years since then. 
Plenty has changed, and not the good kind of change. 
You used to have everything you could ever want and need. But when you turned seven, all that was lost. 

You used to be the brightness of your mothers life.

But now she despises you. 
You used to be able to laugh with Anne. 

Now she can't even look at you. 
They somehow blamed your family's death on you. A little girl. What could you have possibly done. 

They looked at you with distain and disgust, shaming you with every glare, for something you had absolutely no power over. 

All that was good once upon a time, had shriveled up and was swept under a carpet. 
You haven't heard the words, 'I love you', since you were six.
Not one hug.
Not one kiss.
Not one smile. 

Nothing at all. 

Nobody helped you when your family was murdered. No one even gave you a second glance. 

Your sister and your mother stayed in their room.
In a new house. Free of the demons and memories that haunted the other. 
Without you.

You stayed in your tiny room in the bathroom, and cried yourself to sleep every night.
Even though your once kind mother, and your once funny sister were still with you, you never felt more alone.

They hated you with all of their hearts.
They never once poke to you. They still don't.
You were given mere bits of food.

They didn't even include you at the dinner table.
In their eyes, you where nonexistent, blaming the ocasional weep heard from the washroom on the wind. 

Every day you had to live with the fact, that your family was dead, and they blamed you. 

All your family.

Because your mother and sister might as well be gone too.
And somehow, from all the times they blamed for what happened, you started to believe it.
You thought that maybe you did kill Milo, and your beloved dad.
You started to hate yourself. 
You were a murderer.
You killed 2 people.
Even though you didn't.

You had no idea why your family despised you so much.
Especially since they absolutley loved you before.
It was like a flip of a switch.
The tables were turned. 

And you were whoshed out of the family without a second thought. 
You were dead to them.

You didn't know how much longer you could go, losing every piece of hope left and right. 

But you were desperate for an escape from the jail you called home, you just didn't know how to. You had learnt how to take care of yourself to a high degree and from the age of six you learnt new information by yourself. 

And grew by yourself.
But you hated it. With all of your heart.

So when you turned eleven years old, you had had enough. You packed up your couple of possessions, and plotted to leave the next morning.
But the letter came that night. The letter that saved your life. 
And suddenly you realized:
This was your way out.

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