𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈 | 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

2

That night.

That night was when your life truly began.

Was it for the better, or for the worse? 10 years later, you still could not answer that question.

After what seemed like years of silence and speeding down the highway, your mother and you pulled into the driveway of your family home. It wasn't long before your father came running to greet the two of you.

At the time, you had no idea it would be your last time in that home. The last time—before she burnt it to ash.

You recall your father, eagerly running to the door. He greeted you with a gentle hug. He greeted your mother with a firmer hug. A firm hug that was quickly rejected. Her shoulders tossed him off, and her heat seemed to be radiating off her pores, steaming like a kettle in cold weather.

He didn't think much of it. It was Saseendi, of course. Such behaviour was nothing far from the norm.

"So, what's the news?" His excited demeanour quickly melted as a result of your mother's attitude. "What did the doctor say?"

Your mother did not speak to you the entire way home. Speeding on the highway certainly did not do justice to her career as a pro hero. Yet, your youthful, fearful self did not question your mother. To see your fathers face alone, bought you great comfort. His presence was calming, unlike your mother's. For, without a quirk, he had little stress. A simple life. He lived out his days working an office job, writing reports on minor underground villains.

The warmth in his expression fell upon laying a finger on your mother's skin. The scolding heat radiating from her pores reflected her sheer rage magnificently.

Her skin, steaming, sweating, and her face glowing a radiant, yet terrifying shade of red. Her quirk, while spectacular, could become terrifying in moments of deep emotion. No wonder she excelled in her career.

"y/n- That girl." She breathed out, finally. You and your father stood in silence, waiting for her to continue. Your father looked to you sympathetically occasionally. His face appeared shocked, yet his eyes held comfort. Safety.

"She has to go." She glared at you, and her reddened face scrunched up at the mere sight of you. A look of disgust, of jealousy and of brutal envy that consumed her entirely.

Your father glanced in your direction again, pulling you to his side. "What did the doctor say?" For once in your life, you saw your father becoming frustrated. "You can not say such things without giving me any context!" His words were stern, demanding. Yet, the fear was evident in the way his voice broke and the way his words trembled.

"Oh, nothing important!" She spoke quickly through gritted teeth before her attention dragged to something else across the room. And before you knew it, your mother was rampaging through the place as if in search of something. Painted canvases fell from the walls, dishes fell to meet the ceramic floors, and doors slammed open upon her entry to each room.

"A monstrosity he called it!" She shouted from another room. "She holds far too much evil, she must be put down." All your father could do was stand in shock.

And although you were clueless. A child with little idea what was going on, you knew your mother was bluffing.

Yet, when you opened your mouth to speak, you were met with a heated fist to the face, throwing your youthful frame into a plastered wall. Your body broke through the soft wall. Pieces of the soft plaster fell onto you and covered you in a layer of white crumbs. Your vision began to blur as you threatened to lose consciousness.

"What are you doing?!" You heard your father cry amiss the mental blur. "She is still our daughter, who do you think you are?"

If he was scared before, he was terrified now. Yet, he fought for you.

That is something you would forever be grateful for.

Your father's relentless bravery and fatherly love served to save your life that night. If it were not for your mother's reluctance to kill him, you would be as good as dead. A pile of ashes on the floor of the shell of your family home.

Your head ached, and the motions went by in fragments. You felt nothing more than the sensation of multiple heated hits to your fragile body. You recall the intense ringing in your ears, the sound of your father yelling at the woman you once knew to be your mother, and the smell of flames as she burned your house to the ground.