A/N:So this is the very start of what I've been working on and has been consuming my creativity. I hope you all enjoy it.
Oh, and I don't own or make money off of Worm or any product belonging to White Wolf
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There once was a maiden...
Taylor Hebert had simply been existing, and it wasn't a very pleasant existence, ever since Taylor's childhood had been cut short with the death of her mother. Since Emma had... stopped being her friend. Since Emma had become Sophia's friend. Since Emma had betrayed Taylor's confidence and aired secrets told only to friends close enough to be family.
It wasn't a good existence, it was actually quite pitiful, but was something she could endure.
But her current moment of existence was actually torturous, cruel, and disgusting.
When she had been little, she had always been referred to as 'Annette's daughter,' by everyone who knew both of her parents. She looked like a mini-Annette. She walked, talked, and moved like a mini-Annette. Taylor even loved the same things Annette did, so much so that Taylor proclaimed, like many young girls, that she wanted to marry her daddy.
If Annette hadn't been married to Danny, people might have thought that Taylor had been born of parthenogenesis.
But she was also Daniel Hebert's daughter. And Daniel Hebert, smaller than many of his compatriots, was a dockworker. Amongst his co-workers and before his promotion, Daniel Hebert was famous amongst his co-workers for his drive to see a job done, a job done well, and his temper.
More than once, early in their relationship, did Annette have to patch Danny up after he got into a fight (and won) against several obnoxious dockworkers.
Taylor, when she was very small, got into a violent fight to protect a picked on Emma and got read the riot act by her mother. But it was the complex look and soft conversation with her father after that Taylor buried her temper.
But here, in this metal coffin full of filth, did the temper unearth itself. The time of 'peace,' 'ignoring her bullies' and 'passive-resistance' was over.
She was done sobbing, she was done pleading, she was done scrambling at the door. She wanted out, and. She. Would. Have. It.
A primal scream of rage tore from her throat as she did her level best to punch the door out.
...who struck an iron wall until it shattered her hand.
Her anger fueled her body as she twisted, driving her fist into the metal. Quickly enough, she was bleeding from her knuckles. Pain lanced up her arm, but she ignored it, just as she ignored the cracks of her knuckles breaking.
She did not stop, though cracks spread through her bones.
Every indignity that Emma, Sophia, and Madison had subjected her to before this flashed in her mind's red vision. When she was called such petty things as 'ugly' or 'stupid' despite neither being true. When her academic scores were sabotaged, with destroyed homework and projects. When her mother's flute had been stolen, her last non-photographical piece of her mother. When she was bullied at home through emails.
When she was shoved into a locker full of putrid used hygienic products.
There were more cracks from her hand as her metacarpals broke. The screams that tore from her throat were full of pain as much as they were full of rage at this time.
She did not stop, though blood sprayed her eyes.
Then there was the teachers. They could not possibly be as stupid and blind as to not notice the bullying. Mrs. Knott offered kind words but would ignore when Taylor was shoved and pushed. Mr. Gladly, who tried so hard to be 'cool,' ignored the cruel words, destroyed assignments, and 'accidents' that led to ruining Taylor's things.
And the other students, how could none of them say nothing? Taylor, in her darkest moments, wondered where the skinheads were. One of her tormentors was black. And she was a 'poor, defenseless white girl.' Or for one of them to fake befriending her just so the Trio could take that away? Did no one have any morals but Taylor?
Morals wouldn't get her out of her, but her wrath would. She would break free. And though her hand bled freely now, blood splattering everywhere, she kept punching the now warped and dented door that was stubbornly holding to where the lock kept the door shut.
She did not stop until she shattered the wall.
Finally the lock sheared off and a still raging Taylor tumbled to the floor, a quick squeal of surprise as she scrambled to her feet. She let loose a savage shout of victory, fists raised to the heavens in her triumph. Blood, fresh from her ruined hand, splashed onto the floor and splattered up onto the ceiling.
She decided, as she tumbled back to the ground, blood pounding in her ears and blackness creeping into her vision, she would fight back. Her mother's kindness had lead to her ruin, but it would be her father's rage that would lead to her survival.
"Survival is Fury," she said.
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A/N: Reviews are always appreciated.
