Diary of the Broken- Blood Flames

I woke panting as my heart raced. For a few moments, I expected Azarel to be there, holding me tight and telling me that everything would be alright. But he wasn't here. He hadn't been there in three years. He had left to fight. I sighed after I calmed down. I got ready for school as I normally did. Same blue dress, same bag, same small scepter even the same small teddy bear. I walked down stairs saying good morning to my brothers and sisters. As always they only glared at me. I gave a bow to my father before heading out, but he never looked up from his paper. But, that day was never going to be the same. At the front door, my mother stood there with a small smile. " Have a good day." she spoke to me for the first time in three years. And those small words would change everything.

My father stood from his seat and walked over to my mother with his dark eyes. "And why would you wish this little magic user to have a 'good' day?" He had lightly grip onto her arm and she only smiled at him as she answered. " because she is my child." He glared at her. " You would wish good to magic then? To the same thing that killed your grand parents, your parents, every thing that you held dear?" He griped more tightly lightly pushing her against the door.

I had never seen my father like this. The anger, the hate. It just seamed to be radiating from him. And I was scared. I was scared for my mother. With out thinking I dropped my bag and jumped at my father, hanging on one of his arms. "Let her go! Let her go Father!" I cried trying my hardest to pull his arm from her.

And he did let go of her, but he grabbed onto me. "Father? I am not the father of a magic using demon!" He threw me to the other side of the room. And as I hit the wall I tried hard to think of what I could do. I could not fight my own father, but I couldn't to let him take his anger out on my mother. By the time I was starting to get back up, I realized that what I had hit was not just a wall, but the fire place. I was lucky that it was summer. I lifted my head to see my siblings standing in the door way watching as my father made his way over to me. He gripped onto the mantel as he began to yell. I tried hard to listen to what he was saying, but the world was spinning around me a bit and I had a throbbing pain in the back of my head. When I touched it and looked at my hand I could see little bits of blood.

I guess my father could tell that I was not listening to him. He grabbed a vase on the mantel and threw it down, smashing it in front of my face. I cover what I could of my face, but a few of the shards cut deep into my skin. To this day, I still don't understand him.