All The Evil

Heart pounding. Breath quickening. Is she really going to go through with this? Is she ready to live with the repercussions?

...yes. She is. Her mind goes back to all of the beatings. For the past three years, she's been getting abused every night by Him. She just has to look down under her clothing to see all of the marks and bruises left behind by him. He tells her He loves her every time, but it means nothing anymore. His words are as empty as His eyes, just a habit by now. She knows that. After all, how could He possibly love her after what she's done?

What she's done? No, what He's done. She hasn't done anything He hasn't caused. Her hands, barely large enough to hold the blade, grip down on the hilt tighter, making sure she's ready. Her eyes go up to the mantle, the 'shadow' of the blade in her hand showing in the form of an area of missing dust on the wall where it once was crossed with its brother. The brother remains; at the least, she will not sully both of the family heirlooms with His blood.

The lock on the door clicks. She tenses up, ready to pounce. The door opens. He walks in. She lunges forward, skewering him through the spine with the blade. He crumples, pulling it out of her grip, leaving rugburn marks on her palms from the hilt wrapping. She hadn't thought to take that off, and now she's paying for it as she stares into His eyes. The eyes of her dying father, his eyes growing dull, canines elongating, body sprouting fur.

What is this creature? Surely this isn't Him. What did she do to Him? Is it all her fault, what he's become? The sound of screaming is the last thing she hears through the open door before her knees give out and she falls, unconscious.