Prophecy

Chapter 3: Past

*Xavia's POV*

Upon hearing the name I bestowed upon him, the little creature lifted its head from my arm and shifted back into a three-dimensional form. He looked at me, suddenly nodded approvingly, and then became a tattoo again as I said, "I don't know why, but I like that name for you, too. I think it suits you, and for some reason, it feels familiar as well."

I saw the tattoo snake design give another nod, seemingly agreeing with what I had just said, and I smiled.

Even though I knew his tattoo form would protect him from being seen, I still worried about the unknown. My father was annoyingly cunning and intelligent, and though I, too, shared those traits, the last thing I wanted was for him to hurt either one of us. Raziel was innocent in all of this, and there was no way I could ever forget what he had done to me when I stepped out of line.

I couldn't stop my thoughts from veering off into the past.

I would be punished if I spoke my mind, questioned his judgment, or merely asked a question. The same fate would fall upon all who would talk out of turn, but for me, being his daughter, I would take the worst of his anger. I am of his blood, and by that fact alone, I should follow his rule without question, but I am conflicted. He used me as an example in many instances, showing the lengths he would go to.

It didn't matter that I was family; those actions instilled fear into everyone.

One time, he tore my wings off with his bare hands, ripping them from my back and breaking several bones in the process. He would laugh as I screamed in agony while slowly regrowing them. Sometimes, he'd chain me up and amputate all of my limbs; it would take months for my body parts to regrow. Countless times, he would justify his actions by saying it was a lesson, it would make me stronger, or he was pissed, and I was the perfect subject to take on his torment.

And do you know what the worst part of it all is? He revels in finding new ways to inflict his wrath.

There was only one thing he loved about humans: their ingenuity when it came to inventing torture devices. I've lost count and forgotten all the devices' names, but I remember a few... The Rack, The Iron Maiden, and Breast Ripper. The undeniable happiness in my father's eyes while I endured such agony was sickening.

You'd think he'd eventually get tired, but no. That's not possible.

Since my early years, my father has been training me to become more demonic and ungodly like him. Along with abuse, my father would force me to torture souls. If I made a mistake, screwed up his favorite methods, and didn't appear as monstrous as he was... I would get corporeal punishment. For many years, I've wished to see something other than Hell. Sometimes, I feel different than the souls here. The demons, creatures, just everything was and still is... more sinister than I.

After centuries of torture, for what seemed like a millennium, I learned to just keep quiet. That's why I hardly speak anymore unless addressed. Well, that is, until I met Raziel here. I don't know why I feel close to him; I know he won't hurt me, but... where our future lies, I haven't a clue. For the longest time, I haven't been able to feel genuine emotion or have a reason to fight back against my father... However, Raziel and I have endured abuse at the hands of my father, and now... I just want to keep him safe while I figure out what this life has in store for me.

"You're nothing like him, you know?" A quiet voice commented, and it alarmed me.

I thought Raziel and I were alone.

Was I too distracted?

I frantically searched around me for the owner of those words and couldn't find anyone or anything. Then I heard it speak again, "Down here. It's me."