Misery

Strength is a trait most often attributed to males, and in the physical sense of the word, it is true, but females also hold within them the power to be strong. I have known many women who possess this quality, the characteristic of willfulness, the badge of stubbornness, the birthmark of pride. These virtues have often been absent in me, whether due to my genetic makeup up, or the fact that I was raised with a more gentle hand, my parents knowing what lay ahead of me. I held no illusions, no prefabricated fantasies of how my life would play out, always leaving my destiny to chance, and the cards.

I have been many things in my life. A slave, a mother, a lover, a companion, a reader of worlds. But now I play my most important role, that of whore.

He holds my daughter captive, as he does me, promising to keep us safe, but only if I do as he says, will we both come out of this alive. I have my doubts, but fate has left me little choice.

I cannot, will not deny him the shell of my being, for to do so would bring more misery than I could bear. The loss of Magnus haunted me, the loss of Olivia injured me, but the loss of Charming would annihilate me.

My word has been given to a man whose promises I do not trust, my future, my life, my very existence his. When I look upon him, I feel true terror, an undiluted emotion that flows like a river from every yawning pore.

I am an open wound, an unperfected poison that spreads like a liana vine, whose toxicity continues to contaminate those I love.

Just add water..