Fairest of All

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—The room was dull and cold, the freezing air whisping in from a barred window. Dylan lay on the cold floor, still unconscious from the forceful slumber he was put into. With a groan, he slowly opened his eyes, only to be met with a ceiling of sharp icicles. His eyes widened at the sight, and he scooted back into the wall in fear, his body slightly shivering and his teeth lightly chattering. Looking around, a flood of questions ran in his mind. Where was he? Who brought him here? Why was he here? The atmosphere looked familiar to him, but he just couldn't put a finger on it.

He heard light footsteps slowly approaching, and he stood up from the ground, hugging himself for warmth while leaning against the corner of the wall, breath rapid. Soon enough, a cloaked figured made their way to him, standing in front of the bars of his cell. Eyebrows furrowed, he wondered who this person was and if they were the person that sent to kidnap him. The person pulled down the hood of their cloak, and his blood ran cold at who he saw standing there.

"Dylan, my child," Freya said softly. "You are finally home."

She looked the same as he remembered: long platinum blonde hair, icy blue eyes full of softness laced with pure malice, and milky skin as smooth as a baby. She hadn't aged at all since he saw her last, and it has been seven years since then. She was wearing a long flowing silver dress, the color enhancing her skin in the light. She was truly beautiful, and she was kind to the children, but her actions were the ugliest and most evil things about her. He hated to admit it, but she wasn't as bad as Ravenna. If anything, she was an angel compared to her.

He stared defiantly at her, scoffing at her words. "This is no home of mine! This is nothing but a Hell I was forced to endure!"

She waved her finger with a tut. "That is no way to speak to your Mother, child."

His eyes widened at her words. How dare she state herself as his mother? Freya was a lot of things, but his mother she was not. "You are not and will never be my mother!" Dylan yelled, his voice cracking and tears welling up in his eyes. "I'd rather die than have you as my mother!"

Freya grew angry at his words. Since she took him all those years ago, she'd fed him, clothed him, gave him a place to sleep and live...and yet, here he was, defying and disrespecting everything good she felt she'd ever done. She raised all her children to be soldiers, and when Dylan, Gigi, and Zayn fled it broke her heart; she felt like a failure of a mother, and the feeling wasn't a nice one.

She hummed in disappointment, trying to keep her soft composure. She knew how to get under his skin, and she knew she'd succeed because she knew what made each of her children truly wicked inside. "I see you still have my mark." she said, not breaking eye contact. Dylan face went blank at the memory of his scar, the ugly sliver of silver that permanently permeated his skin. His eyes were blurred from all the tears he was holding back, and he sniffled. "You were gifted the greatest mark in all the kingdoms—my mark. You were the beautiful example of my great power for all to see, and, yet, here you defy me and curse at my name! You should be grateful for all that I've ever done for you and your Zayn! But instead of gratefulness, I received three empty beds and stolen food and gold pieces. You do not know of all the struggle I endured to get me where I am now! Do no judge me for wanting my children to come home to me!" Dylan was frozen; he couldn't speak and he couldn't cry, all he could do was listen with a harsh anger and sadness he had a desperate need to release. "Your mother was nothing but a harlot who slept with any man she laid her eyes upon, and your father was an abusive tyrant who beat you nearly to death whenever he got the chance. Did I not save you?"