Volume I: Forged

Chapter 12: A Daughter

Note from the Author: 

Before we get started, we have a few things to get out of the way.

!!SPOILERS—ONLY READ IF YOU HAVE ANY MAJOR TRIGGERS!! If you're okay, skip the bold text!!

This chapter deals with *that* kind of content—nothing is directly mentioned in any form of description (everything is kept very bland and vague and dealt with as much maturity as I could manage) and NOTHING HAPPENS TO ANY OF MY CHARACTERS. I couldn't make myself write such things even if I wanted to, especially when I'm now emotionally attached to each and every one of them.

That being said, Phil sees Minx working a street corner. Curious—as she is quite, quite young, he follows her to her brothel and inquires. The bartender sells Minx (Minx is still a virgin) without Minx's knowledge, drugs her, and brings her to Phil in a private room.

This is the testy part. Minx has a panic attack while drugged, afraid of Phil for obvious reasons. Phil can't afford to waste time and steals her away (in a bridal carry) so he can get her to safety. Panic attack is marked with ****.

You all know Phil at this point—he is only, ONLY, doing what is best for Minx, even if Minx doesn't know it. Please, dear reader, keep that in mind if you're extra sensitive. Minx will be fine. I promise.

Phil wasn't a fan of people who took advantage of others.

Especially children.

He watched from the shadows, wings smothering him from any eyes, as the young girl smiled wittily at two drunk men under a street light.

Her sultry tone did not belong with a timbre as young as hers was.

There was no way she was eighteen—Fate above was lucky if she was fifteen.

Phil growled under his breath. His quick eye caught a few crows drifting around—like they always did when he travelled alone. They liked her—her dark marble eyes and her black hair that looked so much like their own glittering feathers.

He nodded once.

The crows attacked, swooping in from the sky just before one of the men put his hands where they didn't belong.

The two screamed rather cartoonishly, drink making the screeches slurred. The birds kept up their attack until they ran away, then took back to the skies where they could keep an eye on their master and his wishes.

The girl had screamed as well, but huddled against the lamppost instead of running.

Phil could see her disappointment from here.

The fact she was disappointed about such a thing—

Phil wanted to punch something.

Someone would be preferable.

The girl got to her feet and fixed her dress—that was much too short and much too tight in places it had no right to be on a literal child—and headed down the narrow, dim streets, a slump to her shoulders and a weight to her steps.

Phil followed her, determined to make sure she was safe.

Instead of going to an apartment, like he had hoped, she entered a teeming, flourishing brothel.

Phil's stomach churned.

He took a moment to compose himself across the street, setting his jaw and adjusting his hat and cloak. Stepping inside, the smell of alcohol and reeking bodies washed over him, making him want to gag and turn around, never to come back. The band playing was raucous and the song they were playing raunchy—Phil wanted out of here.