Scream
There was a crack in the window pane. It distorted the view of the yard outside, down below. Not that there was much to see.
Hard packed red dirt. A broken swing set. A couple of rough, splintery, wooden benches.
Unbearable even to sit on fully clothed.
Excruciating with your clothes ripped from you, your body exposed. Rubbed raw and bleeding against the wood. The splinters embedding themselves in your naked flesh as you struggled to escape.
Pain.
It hurts. Passes. Scars. Heals.
Everything heals.
If you allow it the grace to do so.
Sola had repeated it often to her, smoothing back her hair and shushing her cries. It was Forest wisdom. Even Vanquish could remember it. It was the only thing of the Forest she could remember.
Grace.
Allow Everything the Grace to be done by Grace.
Sola said it to her here. But who had said it to her in the Forest? She did not know. That bit she could not remember.
Not that it mattered anymore. Four times she had escaped and tried to penetrate the shield back in to the Forest. Four times shot down, brought back and punished more brutally than the last.
And nothing.
Her Forest family did not come for her. No-one came for her. No-one came for any of them.
But each time she had seen the violet eyes staring back at her. They knew they existed here. Did they know what was being done to them?
Of course they did. She could not delude herself on that count anymore.
Did they think the line which could not be crossed with them, was enough? Did they think the curse that came into play if they were overly dealt with while they were still children, was sufficient? Did they think that was compensation for what the Echelon did do to them when they came of age?
But the Echelon did not take all of them, did they? Only the females. And only certain females. With something in them only the Echelon could discern.
Perhaps, the Forest Silff thought this fair trade. To sacrifice these so that the rest may live and not suffer.
Live! Vanquish scoffed. With wings bound and almost every freedom curtailed. In the ghettos where they were tolerated and afforded the most meagre means to survive.
The only way out was to fight. In the underground world of the Fighters Guild, for cash and fortune.
Or with the Rebel Alliance, for freedom and glory.
Not a few, tested their skill in the first. The winged are natural fighters. Even with wings bound, they are not to be taken lightly. But with wings unbound, what a spectacle their battles make.
It is a path that proves very tempting. But even when she was young, she was certain, that for her, it would be the Rebels in the desert.
But here she was. Not in the desert with the Rebels, but still here in F-Sector, her only mission to school and guard these free-childs. Those not come of age, that could not be harmed. And as far as possible ensure that what was done to her, did not befall another.
Vanquish shivered, watching the swing move jaggedly in the wind. The remnants of a sand storm sweeping the desert.
The swing had creaked that night, cloaked in darkness. A pitch so black she could not see who stood before it.
But they could see her.
She reddened at the thought and pushed it away from her. That is how she coped with that night. Pushing it far from her, whenever the bits of it that were still too much to deal with, came too close.