I’m sorry Amaryllis, but we can’t go back. This is our home now.
It was an old memory. Before moving to this city, she and her family had lived in a modest fishing village, just off the coast of the peninsula.
2,000 people. That was the population of her hometown. It was only natural that a country girl of such a small town, having moved to one of the largest cities on earth, could not adapt. The towering walls that seemed to pierce the sky, the fleet of ships constantly coming and going, it was all overwhelming. And the people. The people were numerous, a constraint stream of traffic in every direction, seeming to feel every gap the city had to offer.
Amaryllis, as young as she was, felt suffocated. She remembered how much she cried on the daily, wanting to go back to the peaceful village, to her old friends and kind neighbors. The oppressive weight of the massive city felt like it was crushing her. She understood that her father was being scouted, that her family would be better off. Her life was improving, is what they told her. She didn’t care. Being a child, her desires were naturally more important to her.
But, one by one, she had to adapt. She soon got used to the people, to the never ending noise that used to block out her own thoughts. The fervent life of the estate where her father, and later on she herself, worked.
She managed to adapt. Too bad her family couldn’t.
Each day, her father came home more stressed than the last, the pressure of his new work never leaving his shoulders.
She still remembered it, so clearly. One day, her father stumbled in the door, a bottle in hand. He had been drinking with some coworkers and seemed relaxed, happy even. She thought that he might be getting better.
She was wrong.
That was the day everything changed.
The bottles began appearing more frequently. The foundations of their family started to shake. Her parents fought more often than not, well, whenever they spent time together.
He grew violent one day.
Her mom left with her brother the next.
She learned that his job had fallen through, that he was replaced with ‘someone more competent’. He always screamed such words when he was drunk, mocking and cursing the ‘superior mages’. His own magic capabilities were deemed weak, worthless.
And one day she herself awakened.
Wind magic, as gentle as a breeze. She was delighted.
She had raced home, hoping to tell her father, hoping that he would share in her joy.
What returned was a bottle.
Her face was cut, a mold pain generating on her head, but what had hurt her were his words.
“You filthy BITCH. You think you’re special, huh? That you’re cool? Wow, look at me, I can use wInD magic, I can clear most status effects while still being tied for third fastest attacks, aNd I get knockback, oooooo.”
“Dad, I…”
“DO YOU KNOW THAT PAIN THAT I WENT THROUGH?!? THE RIDICULE, THE PVP CLAPPING, I ENDURED IT ALL AND TRIED TO GET BETTER, YET MY OWN DAUGHTER DARE COME TO ME WITH A META?!? ”
“I’m sorry…”
“OUT!!! GET OUT AND NEVER RETURN!!!”
For better or for worse, it was the last time she had seen her father.
I tried something, give criticisms if you have any.
