House Of Night aftermath fanfiction

Constance sat at the foot of Nyx's statue and slurped her milkshake. No one here actually knew how to make milkshakes, Stevie Rae had gone out and gotten them. Out was way farther than anyone was actually willing to go, but Uncle Aurox was glad to go—part way—even if that meant he was kinda hurt. Sometimes, Constance felt as if her mom spoiled her a bit too much, even though Stevie Rae did this for the other kids, too. Constance would much rather like raspberries instead of sticky strawberries, because they made her throat hurt. But, she would just do this, like always, and drink the milkshake, for her mother's sake.

Almost everyone who met her, Stevie Rae, thought that if they were mean to her that she would be helpless, because she was so nice. But, one time, Constance told her mother about one of the village boys who liked to push her down when they played soccer. Her mother said that she'd dealt with it and that boy never went to play again.

When Constance came home, the sun was setting and The heavy oak door was shut and chain locked and her mother was finishing the dishes in the kitchen. Black out curtains were drawn across the window above the sink. The lights were dim, but Constance didn't need them bright—the combined sight of being both a fledgling and a red fledging had it's perks. Constance picked at her nails, leaning against the bar. She looked down absentmindedly and saw a couple envelopes with writing in red ink saying something, only it was smudged. Constance picked up the letter and leaned closer, trying to make out what it was saying. Stevie Rae snatched it out of her hands. Years had not aged her , on the outside, though, on the inside, she wasn't as naïve and friendly as she once was, now quick to defence. She'd needed to learn to fight, if her warrior was going to turn into a bird every day.

"Yes?" Stevie Rae's voice was shaky as she quickly folded up the letter.

"We lost our game the other day." Constance said. She was one of the team's better legs, mostly because she was the only one who was always there.

"Yeah?" Stevie Rae's voice was nicer now, not as sharp as her first words had been. She was curious to see what her daughter wanted. But she was still kind of stressed and fatigued. "I know. I was there."

Yeah, Constance thought, you were there. Dad was off doing whatever. He never watches my games.

"Nothing," She said lamely, turning to go to her room. Her mother grabbed her arm and kneeled in front of her, looking her in the eye.

"What happened?" She asked. Constance hated this. She hated it when people sat her down, looked her in the face and said "You're too young to do anything about it, anyhow." It made her want to scratch their eyes out. She narrowed her eyes slightly, though not enough that her mother noticed. Stevie Rae acted as if Constance were lower than her—for the millionth time, Constance thought.

"Nothing,"

Stevie Rae narrowed her eyes. Unthinkingly, she'd begun to squeeze her daughter's arm.

"Uh, for the record, ow!" Constance said, and Stevie Rae removed her hand and stood, pushing Constance slightly toward the gap in the dining room that led to the hallway.

"Go to bed." Stevie Rae said, and turned back to the dishes.

"Might as well put me in a baby carriage and call me Penny." Constance mumbled, walking away and turning into her room—her green and black room, painted a dark green and textured like grass, with lines all over it in various browns and blacks that formed cracks that looked as if there had been earthquakes all over the place, and they cut open the ground. The wall to her left had a textured tree on it, at the base of which was her desk and a lamp and a trash can. On the far wall was a window covered with black out curtains, not all the way closed. On the right was her bed, a night table and a door leading to her closet. Constance had pushed open the door and stumbled out, avoiding the sunlight. She'd seen what it could do, in first hour. The textbooks were horrific. She was failing first hour. "Mom!" She said, voice raised slightly and shaky. Then, she thought of an experiment. She reached out her hand into the sunlight. It felt as if her hand was too hot and prickly, but didn't hurt. She stepped back into her room and flung open the curtains. She just felt hot. She smiled slightly, and tugged the curtains shut.