I lock my door and sit on my bed pad in hand. Miss Melody always knocks before opening the door, but I prefer to err on the side of caution. The moment I let down my guard, that’s when bad things will happen. This I know from experience.
It’s safer to be paranoid I’ve found. People change and I have to be ready for it always.
I lay back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The pad falls from my now lifeless fingers with a dull thud onto the wooden floor. I have homework on the desk that I should be doing, but I can do it later. It’s not hard since I keep my grades as average as possible so as not to stand out. Even though, back in my country, I had learnt all this by the time I was nine; in training to be the next Queen.
I guess I never had what everyone thinks is a normal childhood, but then, being royal isn’t normal.
I lay there silently thinking about my past, and my future. The future I am going to make for myself; where I save my country, redeem my parents, and finally get my revenge.
To do any of that though, I need money; but how is a girl like me going to get any? I solved that question years ago. The way I get money is completely unnoticeable, for normal, good people anyway.
For, I know that in every city there is an underbelly, where all the crooks and criminals hang out, and with my history, I navigate them with ease.
Miss Melody knocks on my door, “Please come out for dinner, Snow,” She calls softly. I get up and follow her to the dining room for dinner, unlocking the door silently and swiftly, so as not to let her get suspicious.
At the moment I have relative freedom, having given no trouble other than still refusing to speak. Once I made the mistake of making my foster family suspicious. They then kept a much closer eye on me and caught me in the middle of some not so legal proceedings.
With Miss Melody though, I have eight years of experience. I know how to behave and act, and she is much too trusting.
Dinner is a tedious affair. Usually, once people realize I have no desire or inclination to talk or involve myself in a discussion, they leave me alone.
All my foster families are told that I am not mute, I just refuse to talk. Some take it as a personal insult, some just don’t care. But they all want to try and fix me, no one can fix me, I’m broken too badly.
It takes a different amount of time for each person to give up. But with Miss Melody, it seems to be taking an extra-long amount of time for her to give up on me. It’s been just over two months since I came here, and still, she tries to engage me in conversation. Especially during dinner when its ‘family bonding’ time.
We take turns cooking at Miss Melody’s suggestion, and as I need the practice, there’s nothing I could give away by agreeing. It’s Miss Melody’s turn to cook tonight and she made Chinese, which is actually pretty tasty. Not that she could tell from the way I eat, the way I taught myself to eat. I eat with a stoic expression, neither fast or slow. So no one knows, no one can even guess what foods’ I like or dislike; that’s how paranoid I am.
It would be sad, if it wasn’t necessary. I must allow no cracks in my armor, or crevices in the walls surrounding me. Absolutely no one must be allowed to get in, to see the real me.
Dinner’s over and Miss Melody looks at me with sad, lonely eyes. She droops slightly, her determination seeming to melt away and leave her.
She looks so tired, it’s my fault, always. Why is she putting herself through all this for me? Someone like me doesn’t deserve that much effort, I’m long gone.
I feel sorry for her but I quash the feeling ruthlessly. If she’d just left me alone, she would be fine now. I’ll be gone soon, and she’ll be free. Free of me, of pain I bring.
Miss Melody stares at me for a time, I sit quietly and stare back, waiting to be dismissed.
“Why?” she speaks suddenly, “Why won’t you talk?” she’s starting to give up now, this is the first time she’s asked this question, the one question they all ask in the end.
“Is it me? Am I the problem?” She looks at me with desperate eyes, I cock my head and put a confused expression on my face. Some people assume I don’t talk because I’m mentally inept. So, I pretend, and I do it well.
Miss Melody puts her head in her hands and sighs deeply, “You can go now, Raven-Snow” The use of my full name seals the deal. She’s given up, and about time too.
I look at her face and my heart gives a faint throb of pain which I ruthlessly ignore. I have a goal I must complete and nothing, absolutely nothing must get in my way.
I wander about the reason she lasted so long as I walk back to the room I sleep in. The longest before her was just under a month, the shortest was one attempt at a conversation with me.
Miss Melody is also more different than anyone else I’ve seen, she says’ she’s a ‘Christian’, but I’ve met many other ‘Christians’ and they are nothing like her. I don’t believe in God. If there is a God, I want nothing to do with Him. He must be cruel and vindictive if He made the world I’ve seen.
I go to bed, even though it’s early, barely 8pm, I need the sleep. I check my alarm is on then flick off the lights and sleep dreamlessly. It wakes me up at quarter to one the next morning and I get ready for the day.
I dress in all black; black jeans, black singlet and black sneakers. The only hint of colour is in my belt which is a deep, rich, blood red. I put my hair into a braid, my bangs covering my face. I cut a section at chin level on either side of my face. So that even if my hair’s up I can still cover my scar, still hide.
Lastly, I grab my mask from its hiding place. It only covers my eyes and nose, but combined with my clothing it’s enough to disguise my identity. And where I’m going, that’s all I need.
It’s shaped to look like a raven, all black with a sharp beak over my nose. I painted red on the inside of the eye holes, so when I wear it, my eyes seem to glow red. All in all, I look vicious, mysterious and mad.
Dangerous. A very intentional look, and perfect for the place I am going.
I sneak out of the house with practiced ease (though to be perfectly honest, it wasn’t exactly difficult to begin with) and make my way to Hell.
That’s what the place is called, to those in the know. And to some, it’s everything the name implies. To me though, it’s just my workplace; the only place I allow myself to stand out, to be seen. Down there I’m famous, though no one knows my name.
In Hell they know me only as The Raven Queen, and they fear me.
Hell is an underground fight club of which I am the rising star. At least, that’s how it started out. Many illegal businesses sprang up around the centre, the fight club, and now it’s a mini underground outlaw city.
The main entrance is located in the middle of down town, the seedy part of town. Behind the façade of a lawyer’s office.
I go in and the receptionist lets me through to the real office, so to speak. I’m met by Vampire, my manager/liaison of sorts.
“You ready to kill?!” he asks me, eyes blood red, his face wearing a crazy grin. I ignore him and keep walking, face impassive.
Tonight’s the night, the ultimate battle between the rising champion and the reigning one, The Blood Queen. If I win this, I’ll finally have enough money to start my revenge, my plan. So, I’m going to win, no one has more incentive to win, more to gain, than me.
I’m undefeated, but so is she, and she’s been at it longer. I’ve been watching her, studying her, looking for weaknesses, and learning her tactics. There’s a chance she could win, she has years more experience than me. But I’ve got terror and unpredictability on my side.
I’ve seen her watching me. Just as I watched her. I’ve seen the look in her eyes, the tiniest glimmer of fear as I utterly destroy my opponent.
While I’m the mysterious, dangerous newbie--she’s the loved and admired champion; they know her real name, her likes, dislikes. On the other hand, I am an enigma. I am a ruthless and emotionless victor. That scares them--the knowledge that they know nothing about me unnerves them.
I walk noiselessly through the hordes of fighters and spectators. Everyone’s here tonight. No one wants to miss the most epic fight of the year.
They part in front of me. Leaving a clear trail to my way station; it’s the place I get ready for my fight and wait for it to begin.
Most fighters have friends and managers in their way stations. To hype them up before they fight. In mine though, no one waits for me to cheer me on--and Vampire knows when to leave me alone. In here is peace, quiet, a place where I can think without interruptions on my fight and how I’m going to win, why I have to win.
There’s a small semi-circle of empty space around my way station. Everyone knows better than to encroach on my personal space.
Once at one of my earlier fights a couple of people wouldn’t leave me alone. I was fighting their friend, and they were trying to put me off my game. I was still a newcomer then, fresh meat. They called me The Raven; I hadn’t yet earned the title Queen.
They wouldn’t behave and I got angry, I was fighting for my revenge and I wasn’t about to let a few upstarts get in my way. So, I attacked them, I broke a few of their arms and noses, and they couldn’t lay a finger on me. I then took the rest of my anger out on my opponent. It was after that fight that they started calling me The Raven Queen.
The only other person addressed with the title of Queen was the champion, The Blood Queen.
After that, people left me well alone, and even though I regret losing my temper over something so trivial. It’s made my life that much easier down here.
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