Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

Daring Death Itself

The adrenaline from my showdown with the knights was still coursing through me as I stormed back to my room. I wasn't the same scared little girl who took their mockery and insults. No, I'd shown them what I was capable of. And it felt good.

Nothing like putting a sword to someone's throat to remind them who's in charge.

But, of course, peace never lasts long in this house.

Just as I was about to settle down and bask in the satisfaction of my small victory, the door to my room slammed open so hard I thought it might come off its hinges.

And there he was. Derrick.

Oh, great. 

As if my day wasn't thrilling enough already.

He stormed in, his face a mask of rage, eyes blazing like he was ready to murder someone. Honestly, not the first time I've seen him like this, but today felt... different. More intense.

"What the hell did you do, Penelope?" he snarled, barely keeping his temper in check.

I raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to get up from my chair. "Nice to see you too, Derrick."

"Don't play games with me," he snapped, stepping closer. "I heard what you did with the knights. Do you have any idea how insane that was? What were you thinking?"

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Oh, you mean when I defended myself from their little gossip party? Yeah, I know exactly what I was thinking. Maybe you should try it sometime."

His eyes narrowed, and I could see his fists clenching at his sides. "You think this is a joke, don't you?"

Oh, please, Derrick. 

Of course, it's a joke. 

Everything in this household is a joke. 

And I'm the punchline.

"Funny how you're suddenly so interested in what I do," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Where was all this concern when they were talking about me behind my back? Or do you only care when it inconveniences you?"

"Shut up," he growled, stepping even closer until he was towering over me. "You're lucky I don't—"

"Don't what?" I interrupted, my eyes locking onto his. "Kill me? Is that what you were going to say? Because, honestly, Derrick, at this point, I think you'd be doing me a favor."

There it was. The words I'd been holding back for so long, now spilling out like venom. And I wasn't going to stop.

"You hate me, don't you?" I continued, standing up to face him fully. "You've always hated me. I've been nothing but a nuisance to you, right? So why not just end it? Go ahead."

Derrick's jaw tightened, and I saw something flash in his eyes—confusion, maybe, or hesitation. But I wasn't done yet.

"Come on," I taunted, stepping right into his space, daring him. "Isn't that what you've wanted all this time? To get rid of me? So do it. Take your sword and finish the job."

I could see the tension in his body, the way his hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword. For a split second, I thought he might actually do it. And I didn't care.

Maybe this is how it ends. 

Maybe I push him far enough, and it's finally over.

But then, to my surprise, Derrick actually drew his sword. The blade glinted in the dim light, sharp and deadly.

He didn't move to attack, though. He just stood there, holding the sword between us, like he was daring me to make the next move.

"Is this what you want?" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to kill you, Penelope?"

I looked him dead in the eye, my heart pounding, but I didn't flinch. Instead, I did something even I wasn't expecting.

I reached out and grabbed the blade.

The sharp metal bit into my palm, drawing blood instantly. The pain was sharp, but I barely felt it. All I cared about was showing Derrick that I wasn't afraid anymore. That I wasn't going to cower in front of him or anyone else.

"You won't do it," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the blood trickling from my hand. "Because no matter how much you hate me, you don't have the guts."

Derrick's eyes widened, his shock evident. He stared at the blood dripping down my hand, then back at me like he couldn't believe what I had just done.

For a moment, we stood there, locked in this twisted standoff, the blade between us.

And then, he did something even more unexpected.

He dropped the sword.

It clattered to the floor with a loud, metallic clang, and Derrick took a step back, his face pale.

"You're insane," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "You're completely insane."

I smiled, wiping my bloody hand on my dress. "Maybe I am. But at least I'm not a coward."

Derrick stared at me for a moment longer, like he didn't know what to do with me. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving me standing there, victorious in a way I hadn't expected.

Well, that went better than expected.

I looked down at the blood on my hand, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. It hurt, sure, but in a way, it also felt freeing. Like I had finally taken control of something in this mess of a life.

I wasn't the scared little girl anymore. I wasn't going to let them push me around, tear me down, or make me feel like less than I was. Not Derrick. Not anyone.

If they think I'm insane, good.

 Let them think it. 

Maybe it'll make them think twice before they try to break me again.

I bent down, picking up the sword Derrick had dropped. For a moment, I considered keeping it—just as a reminder of this moment, of the time I had dared death itself and won.

But instead, I tossed it onto the bed and walked over to the window, staring out into the night.

Insane? 

Maybe. 

But at least I'm free.

The door slammed shut behind me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had the upper hand.