Never Good Enough (II - Chapter 1)

Mild trigger warning: Deals explicitly with child abuse in a fantasy setting.

“Not good enough. Return to your room.” The stern-looking blonde woman, in an elegant dress, commanded. “Y-Yes Mother,” was the meek reply offered by the young girl being addressed. A small bow, and then a retreat. Hastily traversing the corridors of the seemingly huge mansion, Kilareyala Elimeria’s thoughts soon shifted from fear and despair to anger and frustration. When safely behind the doors of her bedroom, she let it show on her face. It’s never good enough – I’m never good enough. I spend most of my day studying and practicing, yet I can never truly perform to their satisfaction. Under normal circumstances, anyone would enjoy the luxury that being the daughter of a Lord and Lady afforded. Unfortunately for Kila, her parents had high expectations – unreasonable ones, at that. She understood them wanting her to achieve, being the descendant of a revered bloodline, but their demands for progress were extreme. And they were even harsher, just because of her gender. They’d wanted a son, to continue their name, but all they got was her. The less desirable sex, in this era. Yes, there were women achieving great things, but men were oft the ones in power. And with the rivalry between House Elimeria and the other Lord’s Houses in Stagalia, power was greatly desired. But she couldn’t provide that power. She was just a useless, worthless girl. That’s what they kept telling her. It happened the same way every day. She worked and studied with unparalleled effort, presented her work to her parents, got told it wasn’t good enough, then was sent back to her room and left alone for a while. Then – after a while – came the pain. Her parents returned and dealt her punishment. Sometimes it was her father, sometimes it was her mother. Her mother was by far the worst. While her father was despondent and detached, with a mild look of disappointment, he wasn’t entirely interested in causing her pain. He didn’t mind hurting her, but he didn’t particularly care for it either – he was just following her mother’s orders. Her mother, on the other hand, had somewhat of a sadistic streak. Her mother took enjoyment in her pain, and felt passionately about the “lesson it would teach her”. And, in some ironic joke by the Gods, her mother was skilled with healing magic – so no mark was left upon her skin. There was no escape from the endless cycle. No way to get help. Who would take her word over the Lord and Lady’s, especially without any physical evidence? They even fed her enough to make it appear as if she was in perfect physical condition. That wasn’t entirely the truth, though. She was healthy, yes, but the regular abuse had taken a toll on her physical health – it had left her with little muscular strength, and below average stamina, due to the fact that her body was constantly focusing on repairing itself, and not so much on building strength.
Thus, Kila focused on harnessing the power of her spirit. After all, magic was affected by the power of the mind, not the body. In the hours between being reprimanded and assaulted, Kila practiced harnessing the restorative magic that she inherited by her mother. Currently, she couldn’t use it much. For reasons still unknown to Arcane Scholars, magic could not be used on one’s self, only on others – therefore, she couldn’t even heal the damage her parents inflicted. But maybe, one day, she would be able to help someone. And if she weren’t practicing her power of healing, she played her Lyre, harnessing the Bardic arts to empower the many “servants” of the mansion. They, too, were treated horribly. More slaves than servants, really. It was extremely unfair on all of them, but none of them had it as badly as she did. If they performed their jobs poorly, they’d lose their job. And, even though jobs were scarce in the city, they’d eventually find another one. She was stuck here. Trapped. There was no way to escape.

Despair began to wash over her mind and heart – the temptation to break down into tears was all too great. The sound of footsteps wrenched her mind away from those thoughts, however. A quick glance at the antique clock and she knew what time it was. Fourteen seconds until 5:15PM. Without a doubt, Kila knew it’d take exactly that amount of time for her punisher to traverse the lengthy corridor to her room. Twelve seconds. The footsteps still sounded too distant to distinguish between male and female. The only reason she could hear them at all was because of her musically trained ear. Nine seconds. No matter how often she heard the sound of footsteps – and sat anticipating them – it never became any less intimidating. Each second felt like an age. Seven seconds. Each tick like an impact in her heart. She made a conscious effort to combat the rising fear. Five seconds. She couldn’t tune out the ticking, no matter how much she wanted to. Three. Definitely female. Two. Again!? This was the third night in a row. One. Please, not again. The handle on her door moved perfectly in time with the clock hand reaching north. The final tick signalling the beginning of what she’d soon wish was the end.
Time was meaningless, as soon as pain moved to the forefront of her mind. Everything else was lost in a red blur – even her mother’s insults soon became sounds, as her senses lost their struggle against the overpowering, all-encompassing agony. Nothing else existed. Only trails of fire, as blood was drawn and bones were shattered. Her body was thrown across the room, but she was indifferent. Her senses having completely shut down, the only thing she understood was the spike of pain it caused. And the pain was all she continued to understand, with her body under a magically induced state of tactile hypersensitivity, courtesy of her mother. Her world was one of pain, everything else was void. And it continued like that for what felt like eternity.
6:45PM, exactly, was the time when her mother’s knife left its final ravine in her skin. And by 7, the healing was complete. Her mother left her room, having not uttered a word since the abuse ended, taking her knives and other “tools” with her. Examining her body in the mirror, Kila noted that she looks as good as new. She didn’t feel it, though. The pain haunted her, and the numerous aches continued to linger, long after her mother had left. She’d endured it: Once again, she’d weathered the storm of blades and pain. It was not the first time, and it would not be the last.
The hopelessness was soon to return. There’s only so long you can stay optimistic, when confronted with eternal pain. Physically, it wasn’t eternal. But her memory was scarred; she knew she’d never forget – even if by some miracle, the recurring assaults were to end. She’d never be free of her parents, or the words they’d drilled into her head. She was never good enough. And it was said so often, that she believed it to be true. Her parents had forced her into the darkness. And once the darkness had touched you, it never left. The was no light at the end of the tunnel, for Kila.
And with that thought, her walls broke. The tears flowed, and she sobbed into the pillow. Only ceasing to do so, when she fell into a peaceful – yet melancholy – sleep.

Author's Note: It's been a long time since I wrote this, so I don't really remember if there are any flaws. I don't know whether to hope you enjoyed or not, cause it's pretty damn dark, but I hope you found it interesting at least.