❞We were both young when I first saw you
I close my eyes and the flashback starts
I'm standin' there
On a balcony in summer air❝
IN WHICH the only daughter of Persephone couldn't keep her eyes off of the new kid in camp.
Or
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴀ
THEY SAY EVERYONE CARRIES REGRETS, shadows that linger long after the light has faded. For Ryan Madison, that darkness had a name: Victoria. To him, she was no daughter but the embodiment of evil, a mistake he could never forgive. She was a living reminder of choices made, an echo of a love that had turned rancid.
In Ryan's mind, the roots of his anger wound back to a fateful night—a reckless decision that spiraled into a lifetime of torment. Victoria was a ghost haunting his every waking moment, a child he couldn't bear to look at, carrying her mother's chaotic legacy. He had vowed to rid himself of that legacy at all costs.
"You are the devil's daughter," he spat, gripping her hair like a lifeline, dragging her through the streets of New York as if she were a lost puppy no one wanted. Victoria didn't scream; she had learned long ago that fear has its own kind of silence, a suffocating hush that settled in her chest. As he pulled her along, the question twisted in her mind like a knife: Why? Why had the man who should have protected her become her worst nightmare? Memories of laughter and warmth flickered, cruel in their nostalgia, taunting her with visions of a love that had long since rotted.
"Don't ever come back to my house again." His words cut deeper than any physical blow, reverberating in the empty spaces of her heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks, carving paths through the dirt, but she couldn't cry out. Ryan had taught her that even the sound of her voice could summon punishment—an angry god waiting to send her to hell for mere emotion. At five, she believed every word; at seventeen, she understood the madness behind them. Standing on the unforgiving concrete, she felt a tempest of emotions swirling within her: fear, sadness, and a deep, gnawing betrayal. Yet beneath it all, a stubborn ember of defiance smoldered, urging her to break free from the shackles of his hatred.
"Father?" The word trembled from her lips, and her green and blue eyes—one like fresh grass, the other like a stormy sea—shone with unshed tears. Clutching her teddy bear tight, she shivered against the chill of the night, the darkness pressing in like an unwelcome embrace. He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ground, as if he could will her away.
"I'm not your daughter, nor are you my father. You're the devil's spawn," Ryan hissed, bitterness lacing his words. He saw her as a grotesque caricature of innocence, a living link to the past he loathed. Then he turned, climbing into his car with a finality that echoed in her chest. "I hope you freeze. If you're not dead by morning, I hope I never see you again." The engine roared to life, drowning out her sobs as he vanished into the night, leaving Victoria alone.
The five-year-old stood barefoot, her pink My Little Pony nightgown a stark contrast to the encroaching shadows. Tears streamed freely, carving paths through the dirt on her cheeks as she wandered through the desolate streets, heart aching with a loneliness that felt far too heavy for her tiny frame. Each step echoed her isolation, the city a labyrinth of glass and steel that swallowed her whole.
