Fantasy Flash Fiction Festival

I stare at the ring, the pure black stone reflecting in my eyes. And my eyes reflecting in it.

My heart begins to pound faster and faster, the longer
I stare at it. My head is beginning to spin. Or is the
world spinning around me?
It feels like I'm falling into it.

Then a voice calls out behind me and the moment is
lost.

"Girl, what are you doing standing about? Those clothes won't wash themselves. What's that you're gawking at?"

Before I can stop it, the ring is snatched from my
hand, grasped between calloused fingers.

"Washed down the river, did it? Well, might fetch a
decent coin at market. Devil knows we need it."

He looks directly at me and I think he sees the longing in my eyes.
He snorts, long and hard. Sounding just like the
monster I secretly believe him to be.
"Reckon you'd like this, ey. Think it'll make you a
proper lady, eh. Well, nothing will. A scrawny brat is
what you are. And what you always will be. Now, get
those clothes washed and get back to the house."

I don't, I jump at him, fingers outstretched, trying to grab it back. He quickly raises it over his head, lashing out with his other hand.
I fall to the ground, blood trickling from my lip.

I pull myself up onto my feet, turning back to the river, grabbing the nearest shirt and shoving it into the cold water, as the tears run down my face. No one is around to see me, not that I would care if they did.

I hate my father. I would give anything to get back at
him, but he's right. A scrawny brat is what I am. I
know he never wanted me. Never a day goes by without
comparing me to his son, now having grown up and moved
away.
Last I heard, he was serving as a soldier in one of the big cities.

Not that he wanted to stay here anymore than I do.
But he is a man, and able to make his own decisions.
Being taller than my father, who is squat and fat,
didn't hurt.

I scowl, driving away the tears, hot angry thoughts
burning through my head.
'One day I will be free of him. One day, I will live
for me. I will live how I want.'

These thoughts keep me going through the day, a pulsing red hot core that burns in my brain.
They also keep me warm during the night, as I lie on my back in the attic, wrapped in a thin blanket, shivering from the draft that whistles around me.

I fall into an uneasy sleep, tossing and turning as I
hear a gentle voice whispering in my head.
It whispers so softly to me, offering me wonderful things, all the things in life I have ever wanted.

I snap awake suddenly, my eyes flashing briefly with a
deep indigo light for a second. I know what I have to
do.
I make my way down to where my father sleeps. I can
hear him snoring as I get closer.
The door swings open as I approach, without my even
having touched it.
Not that I notice. All of my mind is focused on one
thing. And there it is, just sitting on the rickety
cabinet in the corner of the room.
It seems to be glowing, a glow that gets brighter when
I approach.
My father lets out a deep, grunting snore, before
turning over in his bed. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
At least that means he shouldn't awake. I feel my hand
shaking, as I reach out for the ring. If I have this,
everything will be alright.

It pulses once as my hand closes around it, then again
as I slip it on my finger. The band fits like it had
been made for me.

Something seems different. Looking down at myself, my
clothes have changed. Gone is my thin and worn shirt,
the original colour having faded long ago.

Gone are my torn and patched trousers.
My shoes would have been gone as well, I'm sure, had I
been wearing any.

In their place, are the most wonderful clothes I have
ever seen.
A thick cotton shirt, white as pure fallen snow.
A long sleeved jacket made of animal hide with white
lace on the cuffs, complimented by matching trousers,
both dyed a deep indigo.
Heavy boots of thick leather wrap snugly around me
feet.

Like the ring, these feel like they had been made to my exact measurements.
My hair is different, as well. Instead of being an
untidy mess, it is smooth, tied back in a pony tail,
held together by a indigo ribbon. The bangs held up out of my eyes by a violet barette.

Around my waist, is a strong leather belt. It feels
heavier at the back, than the front.
Like something is hanging there.
I reach around, grasping it and drawing it out.
I am looking at a dagger, the blade made from the same
crystal of the ring.

My eyes flash again. Almost like someone else is in
control of my body, I stride towards my father, indigo
flames flaring around my feet as I walk.

I raise the dagger over my head, ready to drive it
down.
Something wakes my father at that point, his eyes
locking on me, wide with fear.

He makes to lunge at me, but purple flames surround
him, throwing him back down again.

They seem to hold him, he struggles but can't get at
me.
It doesn't stop him screaming at me, though.
Pleading, his eyes darting from me to the knife.
I ignore him. When did pleading do me any good?

The sound of his pleading brings back memories of all the times he beat me. And the pain comes back with it. The most painful is the bruise on my cheek where he struck me today. The pain from that particular wound flares, as more purple flames flow across it. The bruise and the pain fades, but the flames don't, leaving a constant mark on my skin, that twists and flickers.
My anger boils over.I let my hands fall, the blade sliding into his throat.
He gurgles, trying to draw breath, blood pouring from
his neck.

I watch, as he draws his last breath, drawing the blade back out. The blade is clean, strangely, as I slide it
back into the sheath.

Without looking back, I turn and run out of the house.