purple diamond in the rough

One paw, then the next, Gypsy made her way out of the thorn bush. Indigo’s soft voice met her ears and she tucked them against her skull, curling in on herself when she was free of the bush’s hold. She didn’t know what to do. Her father should have shown himself by now if this was a trick. How long had she been asleep? How far had they gone?

‘It’s alright,’ he assured her. It was never alright. Never. Gypsy had come out of the bush, but she couldn’t make herself go forward anymore. Maybe this man was exactly as he came across. Maybe he was sweet and kind and really did care. All of that was so foreign to the little fae that she didn’t trust it. Indigo seemed nice now, but at some point he would change. He would snap at her, bite her, use her, abuse her. It’s what she expected.

She couldn’t find her voice. There wasn’t anything to say anyway. If she spoke out of turn, she would be beaten. If she voiced concerns or a contrary opinion, she would be starved. If she showed fear or spoke ill of her father, maybe he would finally kill her this time. It was all about appearances with him. If she made him look bad, then she would have outlived her usefulness.

The diminutive lady curled into a ball, tears finding their way freshly down her cheeks. She didn’t know when it was coming. When in her father’s presence, at least she could tell when the abuse was coming. With him hiding, she didn’t know. The anxiety was enough to make her sick, but there was nothing in her stomach to throw up.