Journey of a Girl

A Proper Education: Chapter Twelve

Not even the lingering sweetness of medicine on her tongue could soothe Credence to sleep. 

Her mind was full of awful, hateful things about her parents, and she could do nothing to stop the intrusive images of Pa dragging children into the woods, laughing as they screamed and struggled. Curiously, Pa's face was not his own in her imaginings, but took the form of the demon who had possessed him.

For some reason, this made it slightly easier to come to terms with who Pa was.

I am the child of a villain, she thought hatefully. A thief of children.

She touched her skin symbol, trying to trace its shape in the darkness.

The more she thought of it, the more she couldn't bear having the brand of a devil sitting in her skin forever.

Was this the reason the Queen of the Wood had been so angry with Ma for marrying him? Did the Queen know what he really was—

And Ma had gone to him all the same. She must have known about his misdeeds. There was nothing her parents withheld from each other, Credence was certain of that.

Who was worse? The monster, or the one who chose to love him?

Guilt and rage swirled in equal measure, culminating in one atrocious thought:

I don't want to be their child.

She spent the rest of the night in turmoil, muttering to herself about the misery of her life.

I don't want to be their child.

If her parents hated the towns so much, it might be best to embrace it. Embrace the way of life here, as unusual and grim as it could be, to spite her wicked parents. She would go against everything she'd been taught, for nothing a villain preached against could be bad, could it?

But first, Credence somberly mused, I need to rid myself of their memory.

***

At breakfast Credence was sullen and quiet, barely taking more than three bites of her egg and sausage.

But she surreptitiously pocketed her knife when the meal was finished.

She did not appear for lessons, but wandered to the washing room and tucked herself into a corner. Holding her knees to her chest, she began to cry. She could not bear to spend one more day as the child of criminals, and she vowed not to return to the world until she severed herself from them.

Credence rolled up her sleeve and looked at the skin symbol, that blot of sin, and her jaw clenched. She took the stolen knife and dug it into the skin symbol, gently at first, then with a growing fervor that surpassed any pain. She watched the blade pierce the ink, and the blood roll down her arm, with indifference.

If I could stand to have it done to me, I can stand to take it away.

I don't want to be their child.

The pain was great, and Credence couldn't tell if it was more torturous than when Ma poked the hot needle into her, but her resolve was stronger than any discomfort, stronger than the sight of her blood falling to the floor, stronger than the dizzying nausea that spread through her after several moments of tearing into herself.

But even the strongest will bows to fatigue, and with little food and even less sleep in her body, the shock caught up to Credence and she slumped towards the ground, falling to black.

***

Drops of water. Cold. Splashing over her face.

When Credence opened her eyes she was met with the scowling face of a domestic.