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”How dare you do this to me!”

The huge Wyngro was pacing around the room, feet slamming heavily on a stone floor. Flames were flying from his mouth and licking at the air, filling the room with an angry pulse of heat with each breath.

“I can’t believe this nonsense!”

A Wyngling was huddled in a corner, scared but hanging onto a scrap of defiance that kept her from crying and pleading for mercy. She stared with wide eyes at the bigger creature as he paced around the room in a rage.

“After everything I’ve done for you…” he huffed, a plume of smoke curling over his nose, “I was gracious enough to buy your wretched egg from that street harlot before some egg-eater could. I sacrifice my time and energy to keep food in your belly and a roof over your head, and you have the audacity to disrespect me like this!” he growled, swinging his head toward the cowering Wyngling.

It took quite a bit of will to keep her from flinching away from his steely glare, which felt like hot bolts of flame shooting into her eyes and engulfing her tiny body. She held her ground as best she could.

The Wyngro paced up toward her, towering over her and filling the corner with a crushing feeling of claustrophobia, “All I wanted was a son who could earn his place in the world and pull his own weight under my roof. A son who’d be grateful for the care his father would give him.” His eyes hardened into a fearsome glare, and it took every ounce of the Wyngling’s willpower not to feel shaken to the core, “instead what do I get? An ungrateful little flower-picker! A soft mouth to feed, an entitled little brat who thinks he can play dress up in fantasy land!”

The Wyngling shuddered, ears drooping.

“I thought you were better than this, Hawthorne.”

The Wyngling felt her eyes averting as a tremble crept up her limbs.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you!” The Wyngro roared, and the Wyngling jumped, forcing her pale yellow gaze to lock with her father’s steely silver one, “you’d better be thinking of all the ways you could beg me to consider letting you stay in my house, boy.”

“I’m not…” the Wyngling mumbled something under her breath, shuddering as it earned a puff of angry smoke from the large Wyngro,

“You what?!”
The little creature looked up, her little body wracked with shivers but her eyes shone defiantly, “I-I’m not a boy…”

She squealed as the Wyngro punched into the wall beside her, barely catching her ear. She crumbled to the floor nearby, unsure if he was actually aiming for her or if he’d meant to scare her instead. The Wyngro puffed up with anger, before letting it out with a big sigh laden with smoke and tongues of bright red flames.

“Take that stupid bow off, now. You’re delusional.”

The Wyngling placed one claw over the yellow ribbon she wore around her neck. She’d been wearing it in secret for some time after finding it in someone’s donations pile outside, and today had been the day she’d show her father. He was not happy for the turn of events.

“I said...take off the bow, Hawthorne.”

The Wyngling hunched her shoulders, angling her upper body away from the Wyngro, “N-no...it’s mine…!”

The massive creature snorted, and turned away from her, “Fine, fine. Wear it then.” he eyed her with a deathly stare, “but you can walk out the door right now and never come back. Like I said, I don’t need a flower-picking soft mouth weighing me down.”

The Wyngling almost felt a glare touch her brows. She stared at the doorway across the room, picturing herself running out into the night. Her father had always been angry and bossy, not letting her speak and refusing to buy her toys or clothes or sweets. He kept insisting that she was worthless in the world and could matter if she worked herself to the bone all day, every day for the rest of her life. He had always disapproved of her naturally soft and gentle nature.

She pictured herself living in silence by herself, eating berries and mingling with forest animals. Making a bed in the wildflowers and falling asleep to the hoots of the owls. No more yelling, no more degradations, no more having fire breathed in her face to scare her back into work.

She paced her way to the door, looking over her shoulder as she neared it. Her father was still glaring at her,

“Think you’ll live better out there without someone like me providing for you? Ha! The world will chew you up and spit you out for being such a soft weakling. You’re worth nothing to nobody if you can’t be otherwise,” his voice lowered to a growl, “you won’t last a week at most. When they announce the news of a Wyngling corpse out in Chii-knows-where, I’ll be glad the worth will be one flower-picker less.”

The Wyngling almost glared back, and darted out the door without a word.

“I’ll show you…”

/////

ooh, flashback :y

1/412

Description

”How dare you do this to me!”

The huge Wyngro was pacing around the room, feet slamming heavily on a stone floor. Flames were flying from his mouth and licking at the air, filling the room with an angry pulse of heat with each breath.

“I can’t believe this nonsense!”

A Wyngling was huddled in a corner, scared but hanging onto a scrap of defiance that kept her from crying and pleading for mercy. She stared with wide eyes at the bigger creature as he paced around the room in a rage.

“After everything I’ve done for you…” he huffed, a plume of smoke curling over his nose, “I was gracious enough to buy your wretched egg from that street harlot before some egg-eater could. I sacrifice my time and energy to keep food in your belly and a roof over your head, and you have the audacity to disrespect me like this!” he growled, swinging his head toward the cowering Wyngling.

It took quite a bit of will to keep her from flinching away from his steely glare, which felt like hot bolts of flame shooting into her eyes and engulfing her tiny body. She held her ground as best she could.

The Wyngro paced up toward her, towering over her and filling the corner with a crushing feeling of claustrophobia, “All I wanted was a son who could earn his place in the world and pull his own weight under my roof. A son who’d be grateful for the care his father would give him.” His eyes hardened into a fearsome glare, and it took every ounce of the Wyngling’s willpower not to feel shaken to the core, “instead what do I get? An ungrateful little flower-picker! A soft mouth to feed, an entitled little brat who thinks he can play dress up in fantasy land!”

The Wyngling shuddered, ears drooping.

“I thought you were better than this, Hawthorne.”

The Wyngling felt her eyes averting as a tremble crept up her limbs.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you!” The Wyngro roared, and the Wyngling jumped, forcing her pale yellow gaze to lock with her father’s steely silver one, “you’d better be thinking of all the ways you could beg me to consider letting you stay in my house, boy.”

“I’m not…” the Wyngling mumbled something under her breath, shuddering as it earned a puff of angry smoke from the large Wyngro,

“You what?!”
The little creature looked up, her little body wracked with shivers but her eyes shone defiantly, “I-I’m not a boy…”

She squealed as the Wyngro punched into the wall beside her, barely catching her ear. She crumbled to the floor nearby, unsure if he was actually aiming for her or if he’d meant to scare her instead. The Wyngro puffed up with anger, before letting it out with a big sigh laden with smoke and tongues of bright red flames.

“Take that stupid bow off, now. You’re delusional.”

The Wyngling placed one claw over the yellow ribbon she wore around her neck. She’d been wearing it in secret for some time after finding it in someone’s donations pile outside, and today had been the day she’d show her father. He was not happy for the turn of events.

“I said...take off the bow, Hawthorne.”

The Wyngling hunched her shoulders, angling her upper body away from the Wyngro, “N-no...it’s mine…!”

The massive creature snorted, and turned away from her, “Fine, fine. Wear it then.” he eyed her with a deathly stare, “but you can walk out the door right now and never come back. Like I said, I don’t need a flower-picking soft mouth weighing me down.”

The Wyngling almost felt a glare touch her brows. She stared at the doorway across the room, picturing herself running out into the night. Her father had always been angry and bossy, not letting her speak and refusing to buy her toys or clothes or sweets. He kept insisting that she was worthless in the world and could matter if she worked herself to the bone all day, every day for the rest of her life. He had always disapproved of her naturally soft and gentle nature.

She pictured herself living in silence by herself, eating berries and mingling with forest animals. Making a bed in the wildflowers and falling asleep to the hoots of the owls. No more yelling, no more degradations, no more having fire breathed in her face to scare her back into work.

She paced her way to the door, looking over her shoulder as she neared it. Her father was still glaring at her,

“Think you’ll live better out there without someone like me providing for you? Ha! The world will chew you up and spit you out for being such a soft weakling. You’re worth nothing to nobody if you can’t be otherwise,” his voice lowered to a growl, “you won’t last a week at most. When they announce the news of a Wyngling corpse out in Chii-knows-where, I’ll be glad the worth will be one flower-picker less.”

The Wyngling almost glared back, and darted out the door without a word.

“I’ll show you…”

/////

ooh, flashback :y

1/412