WITCH’S EYES

03

Melany's POV

Even for me, today was very unlucky. A bunch of boys and girls of my age came into the kitchen, most of whom were Victoria and Dominic advocates, so their attitudes towards me would be easy to guess.

"Look at her, you had think she just crawled out of the fireplace."

The memory of Alex, Victoria's suitor, flooded my mind with a surge of dread and anguish. He was a towering figure, filled with an unsettling mix of arrogance and cruelty.

I could still feel the haunting sensation of being forcefully hurled from the second-floor landing, my body hurtling through the air in a sickening display of his supposed dominance.

The twisted spectacle was carefully choreographed to impress Victoria, a twisted display of his distorted notion of manhood.

The cacophony of screams and gasps echoed through the hallways as I descended, suspended in a moment of terror and helplessness. Victoria's eyes, once filled with malicious glee, would gleam with a cruel satisfaction at this grotesque demonstration of power.

Each time, the impact with the ground seemed inevitable, and the pain that followed was an excruciating reminder of my own insignificance in the face of their sadistic game. It was a moment that etched itself deeply into my being, forever branding my soul with the scars of their power play.

"That is right. She is so dirty. My family's slaves are ten times cleaner than her."

I tried to flee the kitchen on unsteady feet and Alex immediately grabbed my right hand to block my way. I let out a cry of pain as he just caught me where I had broken my bone.

"Oh, you are hurt." He exaggerated, "I am sorry about that." and pushed me back into the crowd.

"Serve you right, traitor's daughter."

"Keep her away from me. She has the filthiest blood on her."

Alex casually picked up a croissant from the table and dangled it in front of my eyes. "I suppose you've never had one of those."

Indeed, even just a piece of croissant was a luxury for me. Every time I made a croissant, its scent could make my mouth watery.

"I'll give you a treat if you bark like a dog." They gathered their eyes on me as if I could bring them so much joy by barking.

My silence made what they said harder and harder. "Bark, puppy. Say 'I am a traitor's daughter, I am a bitch.'" Alex mimicked me in a thin voice.

"You see she doesn't even react. No less than a witch's child."

"Witches are dirty bitches."

In that pivotal moment, a surge of memories flooded my mind, my mother's face vividly etched in my thoughts.

The years of pain and torment that I had endured under the watchful gaze of these heartless individuals came crashing down upon me, fueling a fire within me that burned brighter than any fear or apprehension. It was as if a reservoir of courage had been unearthed, rising from the depths of anger and indignation.

With a steely resolve, I locked eyes with the man who dared to insult my beloved mother, his presence a constant reminder of the cruelty that had consumed my existence.

Without hesitation, I let my lips curl into a grimace, aiming a fierce spurt of saliva directly at his feet. "You son of b***h, my parents aren't traitors!"

The room fell into an eerie silence as my action hung in the air, the tension palpable. A mix of shock and anger contorted the man's features, momentarily robbing him of his oppressive confidence.

He kicked me in the stomach, which made me vomit even though I did not eat. I was kicked to the ground and one of them grabbed me by the neck, "How dare you! Your traitor parents were executed by Alpha."

"Go ahead. Admit that your parents are traitors." The others chimed in.

I gritted my teeth and tried not to make any sound until I felt a strong blood smell in my mouth.

"That is enough!" a commanding female voice came from Luna.

The children's "play" had obviously affected her mood for dining. The crowd surrounding me finally dispersed and I got up from the floor, bowed to Luna and left the kitchen. Luna had not even looked at me all that time. I was like air to her.

Now I felt like the basement I lived in was heaven compared to the kitchen. A place that was damp and dark, yet undisturbed by anyone.

I made a simple splint out of twigs and rags to wrap my broken hand. Then I took out the herbs I had hidden in the cupboard, crushed them and put them on the wound, as taught by my mother.

Witches always kept their habit of seeking out the right herbs to treat injuries. It was a good thing that my mother taught me these when I was a child, or I would have died long ago. After all, no doctor would treat the daughter of a traitor.

Tending to the wound, I pulled a well-worn picture book from under the floor tiles. By the faint light of the candle, I looked intently at the world in the picture book. It was a completely different world than mine, a warm and soft world.

As my gaze fell upon the calendar adorning the wall, the days marked with vibrant crayon circles stood out like beacons of possibility. With each passing day, I inched closer to a significant milestone: adulthood, a notion that both frightened and exhilarated me.

In just three short months, the chains of this wretched existence would loosen their grip, and I would step into a world beyond the confines of this tormenting hell.

The mere thought filled my heart with a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light amidst the suffocating darkness.

With each circle on the calendar, I counted down the days, my fingers tracing the colorful symbols of impending liberation. The promise of freedom whispered sweetly to my weary soul, reminding me that there was an existence beyond the walls of this desolate place.

As I envisioned the possibility of a life untouched by the cruelty and abuse that had become my daily reality, a renewed sense of strength welled up within me. The hope that had waned and flickered began to burn brighter, igniting a flame of determination.

**

When I woke up, it was noon.

Since yesterday's injury was still very visible, I decided not to go to school today because teachers never cared about me.

And I could not have the energy to deal with stuff like book bags thrown down the stairs, tables and chairs collapsed in the hallway and how to get out of a locked locker.

Yesterday's clothes still had dust and grease stains on them, which might cause me to get beaten up again when someone saw that.

With no alternative at hand, I found myself compelled to embark on an unconventional journey to the river. Clad only in my worn-out pajamas, their fabric bearing the remnants of countless hardships, I made my way through the winding paths that led me towards the flowing water.

The world around me appeared oblivious to my plight as I trudged along, the dew-kissed grass tickling my bare feet.

Arriving at the river's edge, I hesitated for a moment, my gaze transfixed by the reflection of my disheveled figure mirrored in the water's gentle ripples.

As the chill in the air grew more pronounced, my surroundings transformed into a desolate landscape along the river. Few souls braved these waters during this time of year, offering a glimmer of hope that my solitary ritual would go unnoticed.

But fate had a different plan in store for me...

In the distance, a familiar face emerged from the solitude, instantly recognizable yet unwelcome.

My heart sank, burdened by a mix of dread, anger, and helplessness.

God, could not I have this one little wish?

What's Dominic doing here?!