A White Dove in the Midst of Crows

You were young. Far too young to be in the situation you were currently in, dazed and covered in a warm coat of crimson. You could barely make out the crunch of footsteps in the snow approaching you. Your eyes were wide open yet you couldn't see. You couldn't bring yourself to fight against the arms that had picked you up, the cold air nipping at your ears. You were still, limp in this stranger's arms. A part of you however, felt safe. No ill intention was felt behind this stranger's touch.

"Dad? Where's the bread at?"

Silence.

"Dad! I know you can hear—"

The house was empty.

A million thoughts raced through your mind at that moment. Your father never left without letting you know first. The fear and anxiety pierced through your chest like a bullet, getting lodged midway. Your body seemed to move for you, flying through the house in search.

Nothing.

A loud slam echoed through the house as your fist collided with the wooden planks of the wall. Your eyes traced along the intricate design of the grain that was now broken into pieces. The cold crisp air entered your lungs, giving you a sense of calm. You dragged your feet against the rough stone of your home, grabbing your coat off of the hook next to the door. As your fingers slid around the golden, freezing handle, you froze. Your eyes stuck on the white note sitting at the bottom of the door. Dread filled your entire body as you kneeled down to pick it up.

You knew this day was coming. Your father had always warned you. He was very aware he was going to be sent to his death by his boss one day. So from the day he found you curled up in the snow upon your slaughtered family, he knew he had to protect you. You would've died alone that day if it wasn't for him. You don't remember much from that day but the feeling of peace that you felt in his arms. He had taught you everything he knew when it came to martial arts. As you got older, you learned how to wield a sword on your own. He was always incredibly proud, and would constantly challenge men to a fight with you, knowing you would win every time.

Your father always told you to never fall in love with a man unless he had the power to protect you.

"You're going to have to learn how to do this by yourself one day." Your father's deep voice echoed through the bathroom. You stared at your face in the mirror, unable to recognize yourself. He ran his fingers through your once white hair, coating it in a ___ color.

You never understood why you had to dye your hair. He never told you.

"You don't fit in with the commoners."

Is what he would say when you asked. He had taught you how to use makeup as well, in order to hide your white eyelashes. He would never allow you to leave the house without it. He always looked horrified when you tried.

"Y/N! What are you doing?!"

His voice boomed through the kitchen as you stood in front of the door, small hand on the handle. Your eyes were big, stunned from his sudden burst. His expression immediately softened when he saw your watering eyes. His feet strode across the floor, kneeling in front of you as he pulled you close, his fingers running comfortably through your hair. "You have to listen to me, Y/N. It's for your own safety." He whispered.

You could remember how worried his blue eyes looked that day. You were quite the character at times, but you had never seen him that serious.

How come I have to do this?!" You cried.

"Because you're the woman of the house." He would reply every time.

As a child you didn't understand why you had to wash dishes, and shovel snow. As you got older you realized he was just teaching you how to live properly, and survive. However, you never realized how unusual it was to know the things you did until you made friends with a few of the women in the village. They found it hilarious that you had to chop wood, and hunt animals.