Ok, I received several reviews, from people, who seemed to be rather concerned about the violence and bloodshed in this little fic. I'm sorry, if I left anyone of you with a queasy feeling, but as I said before, the story wrote itself, once the poem was sketched. No, I'm not trying to blame this on my muse, or something, but sometimes..a story needs to be told. And I couldn't have Helga kill her father, without a good reason. Yes, I do realize, doing so because of a ruined birthday, might appear to be rather childish, but bear in mind, that Helga is exactly that:

A lonely, scared, ten years old girl, who's father's only way of communicating with her consisted of verbal and physical abuse, neglect and indifference. Basically, all of her negative feelings had pent up, and if it had been any other day, she would have probably swallowed it down as so many times before. The fact, that it was her birthday, was what set of the tragic events.

Thusly explained, I still hope, you like the story…there is one more chapter coming after this one.

Oh, and thanks to all of you, who reviewed. It's always appreciated.

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Tempered souls

Sobs whacked her thin, lean frame.

Everything hurt, her stomach, her face, her head, but none of them as much as her heart.

Silent tears streamed down her pale cheeks, caressing the bruise on her left.

Finally, hesitantly, she got up, and snuck up the stairs, stopping on every second step, to catch her breath.

Her head swirled, her thoughts tumbling like dice in a cup. But the only question that always came upfront, was:

Why? Why did he had to hurt her so much? Why did he hate, despise her? Why couldn't he just..accept her, or at least, leave her be? Why couldn't he just..see her, for what she was? A scared, lonely little girl, who only wanted to be loved?

Huffing, she stumbled through the corridor, past the pictures and proofs of her perfect sister's past.

She paused at the large 'shrine' as she had dubbed it, and her dazed glance flew across all the things, which proofed, how much her father loved Olga, and his work. Something disturbed her, though, something didn't seem to belong here.

Blinking away tears, she saw it:

A present from his japanese business partner, Makoto Hasegawa*, the tanto appeared to be as lost and misplaced as herself.

It seemed to call out to her, and her hand reached out on it's own volition, touching the dark, warm wood of the sheet.

Like a extention of her own arm, it seemed to flow into her hand, sending tiny jolts of electricity down her spine.

It seemd to have been made for her.

Helga pushed the door half-closed, and turned back towards the stairs, decided to righten the wrongs done to her.

Blodd dribbled down her neck, soaked her dress and left smal trinklets on the floor.

Bob was sprawled lazily in his favourite chair, when she entered. Walking calmly towards the TV, Helga never cared to look at him. Instead, she turned the on/off knob, quenching the moderator's comment.

"Hey! What the heck do you think, you're doing, Olga?!?" shouted Bob angrily.

Instead of an answer, Helga pulled the sword from it's sheet, and pointed it at her father.

"You are going to apologize, right know, or you are going to regret it." She couldn't feel her tongue moving, or her lips forming the words, but she must have said something, because Bob stared at her in utter dispelief. Then his face turned into an deep, almost purplish read, as he shot up from his chair and screamed:

"You insane, crazy little brat! How dare you threaten me in my own house?  I swear, this time I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget. I tried to knock some sense of manners into you, but you -"

In a single, blinding arc the blade glid through the gristle of the earshell, cutting it off neatly. A choke escaped Bob, and then he screamed in pain, as he held the bleeding wound.

"I'm still waiting for that apology, Bob" she hissed, as she drew away from him.

Needless to say, he was now seething in hate, his fist pulled back, aiming for her face, and Helga only barely managed to move out of the way. The blow still struck her slightly, nicking her skin and bruising her cheekbone. For a second, her sight was blurred, and when she could see clear again, Bob stood there, gagging, as he held the stump, that used to be his left hand.

A slight tingle had started in the back of her head, as the wound, which had clogged up, broke open again.

The slow, but continuos seep of blood made her somewhat lightheaded, but her arm, holding the tanto, didn't even quiver, when she aimed towards her father. A strange, choked sound escaped her throath, and she recognized it dimly as her own voice, saying coldly:

"This is your very last chance, old man. Say that you are sorry, for everything you ever did to me, and we might try to start all over again. Make a new beginning."

Bob's answer consisted of a snarled curse, as he grabbed the empty popcorn bowl, and tried in vain, to connect it with her skull. It hit the empty air, as she swiftly danced out of harm's way. The cold steel flashed across Bob's throath, as he made an attempt to rip it from her hold. It was a bad aim, for it slipped through his adam's apple, leaving him void of speech and breath.

Collapsing to his knees, he searched his pockets for his handkerchief, pressing it on the gaping hole.

Small, white-clad feet stepped into his vision, then an equally small, cold, sweaty hand grabbed his shoulder and forced him upwards with amazing strength. Bob's eyes searched for Helga's, and widened in realization and terror, when he saw the pain and darkness reflected in them.

From far away, he could hear her whisper:

"I hate you", and then a blinding, white pain exploded in his chest, before he was thrown into the abyss.

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*With a nod to my ex-neighbour and friend-ganbatte kudasai, Mayumi-san!