Donna
When my mother was alive she used to lock me in my room for hours on end. I would bang the door until my fists got sore then I would retire to my bed and douse my pillow with incessant tears. My mother was a smart woman. She never did any of this when my father was around. She would wait until he had a council meeting away from the palace or when he had gone for a hunt. She would then send the servants away, giving them the nights off. Of course, they were delighted, a night off meant visiting the tavern or one’s family. In their eyes; my mother was a saint.
In mine, she was the devil incarnate.
After hours of not feeding, I would feel a battle ensue within my body. I would get angry, vicious, violent. I would scour my room for any living thing; a rodent, an insect, anything th
