"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Abby said. "Run this by me just one more time."

She found herself, yet again, in the Hall of Alumna, but this time she wasn't alone. Her sorority sisters joined her, all wearing black robes with hoods. Abby was the only one not dressed in a robe and the only one that apparently had no idea what was going on. They had all no less than dragged her here after boasting about an "announcement" of some sort. It looked just like when they tried to recruit her—it was at night and the lights were out, and only candles dimly lit the faces of her sisters.

"Your mother," Phoebe explained, holding a candle flame up the portrait of Dean Hardscrabble, "was a member of Eta Hiss Hiss."

Abby held up a claw in protest. "But—"

"But nothing, you're as legit as Arabella is!" Amber snarled, characteristically heated but uncharacteristically in Abby's favor. Abby glanced at her in surprise for a moment before turning back to the president.

"Okay, so?"

"So," Phoebe drawled, as if it were obvious, "you're a legacy, girl."

Abby pursed her lips. Legacies in sororities were members who have had family in the same sorority, especially if they were notable alumna such as her own. "I know," she said dryly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Abigail," the president sighed, beginning to circle around the young centipede girl with a candle in hand, "your mother, as much of a dick as she might be, was one of Eta Hiss Hiss' most notable members. Probably one of the most notable in the entire University. Your mother truly lived the name of a HSS girl by breaking social conventions of her time, excelling and surpassing in her studies, and finally earning the title of the "Living Legend" by breaking the All-Time Scare Record in a shorter time than any other scarer who ever lived."

Abby stared at her mother's portrait. The painted lady held her head high and her chest out, inflated with a sense of pride. Of course she should be proud. She had every right to be. She was the true definition of a scaring legend.

"I guess," the young Hardscrabble finally grumbled.

"So, clearly you come from a place of distinction. Of pride. And you've obviously inherited her legendary scaring skills. Therefore, the entire sorority has voted to elect you our new president."

Abby was still mulling over the part about her inheriting her mother's scaring skills that the last part didn't even register for a few moments. "Wait...what?"

"You're our new president!" Sophie tittered, using her free legs to pop off a confetti cannon. "Congratulations!"

"I mean—" Abby looked around helplessly. "What? Don't you have to run for presidency? And, like, not be a freshman?"

"You don't have to run, we already voted," Lily informed her. "Even Amber voted for you."

"Don't let us down, freshie!" Amber snapped. Then her scowl morphed into a smirk. "I mean, president."

"And you!" Abby spun towards Phoebe, who was observing the portrait of the Dean with her back to her. "You're totally okay with me replacing you?"

Phoebe didn't answer her immediately. "You know, your mother became president of this sorority in her sophomore year. But I think you've already proven yourself." With a snap of her fingers, Amber and Lexi pushed Abby to the end of the hall, below her mother's portrait. They laid a crown over her eyestalks and the rest of the sorority bowed to her.

"Time to see if you're your mother's daughter," Phoebe remarked before bowing with the rest of her sisters.

Abby glanced around at all the sisters, her friends, bowing before her and pledging to follow her every command. Then she turned, gazing up into her mother's prim, patronizing face.

When she turned to her sisters once more, the surprised look had faded into one of determination.

"Let's get one thing straight," Abby growled, folding her hands behind her back. "I won't simply live up to my mother's legend."

She paused for effect, as the rest of her sisters looked up in confusion.

"I'll surpass it."

And then she hissed harshly, a hiss of which her snake mother would be proud of, and raised her fist. The rest of her sisters followed suit, all throwing their fists in the air.

The rays of dusk poured through the huge windows of Arabella's room. Although her room was quite stark, with white walls and a pristine white marble floor, her things were anything but. Every color of fabric was scattered everywhere, along with her sketchbooks and colored pencils of every hue.

The occupant hummed as she danced around the room to her own beat, gathering up a few scattered pieces of fabric to better organize them. The rush to complete the HSS team's new outfits left her room a mess, and she needed to regroup before working on her next project.

Then the door opened. Arabella spun around with a smile on her face, only for it to melt immediately once she saw who stood in the doorway.

"Daddy," she stammered, swallowing hard. "W-What's up?"

Knight stepped into her room, shutting the door behind him. "Mind explaining this?" he growled, holding up a sheet of paper. Arabella recognized her transcript, along with her nearly failing scaring grade.

A cold fear crept into her heart, freezing her veins solid. She had a strong feeling that this would not end well. "H-How did you...? Where's Mummy?"

"Working late," he snapped. "And luckily, she doesn't know about this." As he advanced on her, Arabella stepped backwards until her back was against the wall. "How do you think she would react if she learned her only daughter was a scaring failure?"

Arabella's heart plummeted in her chest. As much as she loved her mother, there was no way the scaring legend would be happy that her daughter failed at her own study. "Not good."

"Exactly." Knight's dark eyes swept over Arabella's room. "Pathetic. The great Dean Hardscrabble's daughter, a scaring failure and spending her time...making arts and crafts!"

Arabella suddenly felt great shame for her art. Her father was right. How could she waste her time with this nonsense? She was Dean Hardscrabble and Professor Knight's daughter, a scaring legend in her own right, and she should act like one. Like Abby did.

If only she was more like Abby.

But she wasn't.

And she was helpless as Knight ripped through her fabric, tore through her dress forms and drawings, and destroyed her sewing machine. She could do nothing but watch the destruction in equal amounts of terror and shame. It was horrible, but it was what she deserved. She should have been a scarer.

By the time he was finished, Arabella could no longer watch. She was bent down on her knees, her hands covering her face. As much as she hated herself, she could not stand to look at her ruined work. Her father stood over her, his claws out. He was bigger, stronger, and more powerful than her, and he showed her that.

"From now on, you're going to be a scarer like your mother and I. And you'll get rid of this garbage," he told her, his voice calm but firm. Like he was just giving her a lecture. Like he hadn't just razed her room to nothing but irreparable pieces.

Arabella didn't respond. She still had her hands clasped over her eyes, hoping she would wake up from this horrible nightmare.

"Arabella."

"Yes, Daddy," she answered immediately.

"Good. Now, clean this up." Arabella uncovered her eyes just soon enough to watch him stomp out of her room, hands behind his back.

Her gaze was immediately drawn towards the wall, where a full-length mirror hung. She could not even bear to look at the wreckage of her once beautiful room. Stumbling over to the mirror, she simply stared at herself, at her orange cream scales that were so much like her father's. She looked just like him, and her mother always told her that. Her head was round like his, her horns were the same color, and her arms were just a little chubbier than most girls.

She absolutely hated herself.

She could not remember a time where she hated something as much as she hated herself right now. She could feel the venomous bile in her throat, the disgust twisting her stomach. This must have been what Abby felt when they met. Arabella finally understood.

She looked so much like her father. Her destructive, crushing father, who used his power over her to ruin her dreams. But he was right. She was letting her mother down, after all she had done for her.

Pulling back an arm, she slammed her fist into the mirror, shattering her reflection into a thousand pieces. Her hand screamed in agony as it was pierced with shards of glass, but she found that she could ignore it. Her anger was more important, more potent.

Through the broken mirror, she could still see the reflection of herself. She locked eyes with the monster she hated most, even if its image was scattered. Her hatred flared and spiked. She was sick of looking at herself and seeing his face.

In a fit of rage, Arabella reached up and clawed streaks down her face. Her dark red blood flowed from her marks as she dug her claws as deeply as she could go. Her goal was to mar herself so badly that no one would mistake her as his daughter ever again. All of her fury, her tears, and her pain flooded through the blood down her face.

Eventually, she could no longer ignore the searing pain and fell to the floor. Abby was right. Her father was right. Everyone who had ever met her was right.

She was so weak.

When her mother returned home an hour later, Arabella could not hear her scream or hold her unconscious daughter in her arms, pleading for her to wake up.

"Please, Arabella...no. Arabella..."

When Arabella awoke hours later, she thought she was in her room. The walls and ceiling were just as stark white as her own. But then she heard a beeping noise, and looked to her right to see medical equipment. She briefly wondered what medical equipment was doing in her room, but then it hit her.

This wasn't her room. It was the hospital. She could barely see through the bandages, and her face really hurt.

"Arabella," her mother gasped, and the girl turned to see the dean on a chair by the window. Abigail rose, rushed over to her, and leaned down to capture her daughter's hand in hers. "Oh, Arabella. You're alright. Thank goodness, you're alright." Her normally succinct mother could hardly find the words to describe the relief she felt. "What happened? Oh, Arabella, who did this to you?"

Arabella didn't answer her, her eyes darting around as she mentally pieced together what had happened. Her father had destroyed her room, all of her things, and then she...she had hurt herself.

"Daddy," Arabella coughed weakly.

"Daddy's okay," Abigail informed her, in an attempt to soothe her. "He wasn't home. My dear, please tell me what happened."

So her father already had an alibi. She shut her eyes. Not for the first time, she wished she could tell her mother everything. But she knew that if she told her legendary scarer mother her deepest secrets, she could not take them back. Abigail would hate her. Arabella would rather live a lie than have her mother hate her, like she did with Abby. And she knew how well Abby was taking it.

"Robbers," she croaked. "They came in, and...they wanted to know where all the money and valuables were...I said I didn't know, and they..."

She let herself trail off, as if the memories were too harsh to recall. In a way, they were. Abigail embraced her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Oh, my brave little girl," she praised. "Don't worry, Mummy's going to get to the bottom of this. Okay? No one is going to hurt you anymore. I promise."

Arabella knew that was a lie.