𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟒 - 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙬𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩, a bright light surrounding her vision which made her regret existing at all with the sharp pain it caused shooting through her head. It felt as though she had Cornish pixies messing around in that skull of hers and she wishes she could confound them or just, at the very least be able to string a thought together.

But she didn't have to before she could even see she heard someone quickly shuffling over towards her side, and a cold and slightly rough hand pressing against her forehead. Then she took a breath and realised who it was.

Dad.

She forced her eyes to open to look at him, she needed to make sure he was alright and at least not as much in a bad shape as she was. But when their eyes met she saw the shell of her father looking back at her, and it broke her heart. He looked weary and weak, eyes surrounded with dark circles that she only knew came with worry and lack of sleep, as she had seen that look on him before.

Guilt, concern, and the most heart-crushing of them all, shame.

The shame only he felt for the fact he was debilitated like this, cursed with an incurable disease that wreaked havoc on his life and constantly caused him misery, it was the bane of his existence, but seeing his daughter having to pay for what he was, broke him.

As she looked closer she noticed his lips were slightly chapped and his hair was all messed up and he looked so much older than he was, he hasn't been taking care of himself again, those worry lines that had once been a faded line in his features had hardened, as though it had been etched into his skin.

Despite the pain in her chest, her head and in her arm she forced herself up into an upright position with little more than a wince to pull him close to her in an embrace.

They both needed it.

"It's not your fault dad." She heard her say out loud, her voice dry and hoarse, she wasn't sure how long it had been since she last spoke and she wasn't sure she was prepared for the answer.

"'Phelia, I thought–" he paused in her shoulder and she felt him gently weeping against her, a few tears managing to slip out of her own eyes.

"I thought I had killed you, the last thing I saw before I turned was your face, you were terrified of me. When I saw the blood, I thought I had-" He managed to finish, his voice sounded dark and broken, it endeared her to hug him tighter.

"You didn't though dad. I'm still here." She said, closing her eyes as she embraced him dearly, holding in the pain she was feeling so she could comfort her father.

All these years it had been the same lesson over and over; never come near him while he's in that form.

It had been engrained into her when she was a young child, as he taught her how to look after herself on her own while he was upstairs, for the life of him he couldn't bring himself to show her what his other side was, though she put two and two at a young age when she noticed he refused to read her stories such as Little Red Riding Hood, or the Three Little Pigs and that quite obvious scar that stretched across his features. But it never bothered her, and when he finally explained how it happened to him, and why he has to disappear for a few days each month, he was pleasantly surprised to see that she wasn't terrified of him, or scared of her only living parent.
In fact, she responded to how any curious child would.

Do you have a pack? (No darling, you're my family.)
Do you have werewolf friends? (No, we're particularly anti-social, or I am. Either way, I am happy.)
Can I be one? (A very strong NO)
Have you met Dracula? (No, but I have met a vampire in a bar once.)