Crowned

Arc 3, Chapter 86: Where the Fox Began.

//TW\\

DRUG ADDICTION

LOSS OF LOVED ONES

MURDER

DEATH

ABANDONMENT

———

The first thing She remembered... was a faint light. A orange light, and a muffled voices. She reached for it, as soon as She had been able to. She wasn't strong enough. It was warm there. Nice. She loved it there. It was so peaceful... So cozy. The first thing she'd ever perceived. A warm comfortable spot, where no harm came to her. Sometimes there was someone outside, she would talk to her. She would comfort her. Love her. She loved her. She knew that. Now—anyway. Not that she'd understood anything at the time. There was a feeling of comfort that came from the woman's voice though. Limp hands would grasp at the confines of her home. She'd tap her tiny hands against the walls. It seemed to make the woman outside very happy. A new voice would come... a man's. His voice was deep. She'd always be Startled by his voice. He would sound sad when she did not tap the wall for him. The woman would laugh. Tones were really the only thing she could hear. Or understand.

But as time passed things got easier. She never forgot. She felt a sense consciousness. Distant. But close. One day, a new voice came from outside her walls. Loud... Bellowing... angry. They bore such aggression. She'd only remember such words in future. "HOW DARE YOU USE MY BLOOD WITHOUT PERMISSION?!" They screamed from outside. She'd just limply flail fussily. Unable to do anything. Her body developed more and more.

She grew, every second engraved in her developing mind—until it was cramped. The safe place she'd taken refuge in was no longer comfort. The hard walls pressed against her and she pressed back, flailing and kicking her small form until she'd had enough leverage to hit the walls with enough force for them to chip. She continued. Crack! Crack! Crack! Until the top of her now tiny prison popped straight off and clattered to the ground. The outside was cold. Dry... she spat up any leftover fluid and wailed, speaking. Feeling. Breathing. For the first time. Her eyes squinted at the light... Too bright. These colours were strange. These sounds. All too loud... She had been upset... it was a damn shame, truly. She loved it in that egg. She wished for it to be warm again. That's when the crashing thumping started. Her arms flailed as she cried, and soon someone had rushed to her side, they seemed to stop in their tracks and cried alongside her. She'd finally felt warmth once again as the arms of another took her in, stroking her head ever so gently. The soft heartbeat of her mothers chest. That face was the first thing she'd truly seen. She remembered it exactly. Every details every voice. Every moment. Second. Her head snuggled against the woman... Hearing her talk sweetly above her.

"Such a beautiful sweet girl you are..." her voice like a song, the accent the wings which carried it. A slight smile was on her face, blurred by infant's lack of sight. "Isn't she wonderful? Oh! My sweet baby... My little Taco..." That was her name, wasn't it?

Taco.

She'd remember that.

She always remembered.

Days went by, she felt betrayed when her mother stuck her in a hospital to get poked full of holes! How uncouth... She'd scream and cry, not that it mattered since she was a small weak baby! Nothing could be done. Her mother comforted her soon after, she would rock her and shush her in a hushed sweet voice. Her father was never there. God knows why. But when he was around he'd always toss her up in the air as she kicked her feet and giggled childishly. Her mother wouldn't sleep unless Taco was in her arms. Taco didn't mind. She loved it in the arms of her mum. Warm and comfortable. Safe. She was really quick learner. Started speaking way before anyone else in her age group had. Screeching her "mama!!" At the nearest convenience. That girl could sense when her mum had left the house. She never did call for her father, but when he was around he'd always playfully put down whatever he was holding—usually paperwork—and rush to lift her up and play. She'd laugh madly and kick her tiny feet with joyous glee.