Chapter 1- Prologue
"Freak. You freak of nature. You shouldn't be alive."
His father took tongs and picked up a hot coal. He stood, his hands tied to the ceiling and his feet tied together. His tail hung loose between his legs. His eyes that are meant to shine were filled with fear. His father took the coal, burning his tail. He was used to this mistreatment, but the tears still came.
"Is the little wolf boy crying? Maybe if we got rid of this tail he would be normal."
"No. No! Please, please don't!"
He wasn't sure what his father meant, but it couldn't be good. He only realized when he returned with a knife, sharp and glittering.
That was when he began screaming. His father took the knife, and with one swift motion he hacked it off. He continued screaming.
The extra part of him lay on the ground below him. His unclothed body felt even more naked as he felt the absence of his wolf tail.
Strangely, he felt no pain. It was just emptiness. Then he tail began to grow back, quickly, right before his eyes.
His father stood in shock as he clutched the knife. With his eyes wide, he began yelling.
"Get out! Out! You aren't human and you are no son of mine! Leave! Devil worshiper!"
His ropes were cut and he was thrown on the ground. He wasted no time in running out into the rain. His mother's tearstained face watched as he ran away from this abusive life.
Raindrops fell upon his bruises as he did.
"Turn her in, Agnes! She's a witch, we all know. Devil worshipers must be killed!" Shouts of agreement came from the riot in front of her house.
Agnes held her baby in her arms. Wings came from her baby's back, wings of changing colors and eyes to match. The woman refused to let her baby die, no matter what she was. She ran from the door, ran far into the house. She pulled back the wood on the floor, placing her child beneath it. Her eyes changed from yellow to light blue at the same time her wings did.
The small girl's mother kissed her child once more before replacing the wood. She went outside, slowly and calmly walking into the crowd.
They did their worst.
The girl still remembered her mother's face on that day. Her father- rather, stepfather- had too. So although he despised the child, he protected her, for her mother. If you could call it protecting.
"I didn't save you for nothing, bird. Work!" he screamed, kicking her in the gut. Her wings were black, along with her eyes, most of the time now.
Her stepfather liked drinking and loved using her as a punching bag. And when he didn't punch he plucked, plucking her feathers out one by one.
"Lay eggs, little chicken! Be good for something!" he'd say as he ripped out her feathers. She'd reply with screams of agony.
The day he died, a bottle in his hand, was the day she ran. She was too afraid to do it before, but now she was able to do it without fearing he'd find her and hurt her.
She climbed to the roof, spread her wings, and flew. She didn't know where, but that didn't matter.
She was free.