aspen vindicta {d9 - fin}

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Her voice was silk, woven into a scarf wrapped around Aspen's neck.

"I wanna draw!" She exclaimed, child's eyes sparkling with ignorant hope.

I want to be an artist.

Her mother didn't have the heart to tell her that it was unrealistic.

There was a shadow in her bloodstream, a curse cast down by a father she never knew. His hands were cast iron and wrapped in gold brass knuckles. His history was drawn in blood, a sharp contrast to her ink; he was a ruler, reigning supreme in a world of crime that a loving mother could never keep from the most innocent of children. Sooner or later, a shred of light would illuminate the reality of their district. Filthy, sinful, and deadly. Aspen's mom never bothered to hide it, but never warned her either. It was thrust into her hands the moment she asked why everyone else had loving fathers.

She couldn't understand how a sweet, well-off woman could mesh with scum, even for one night.

At the word crime, her naive brain thought of thieves. The little boys in school who stole her pencils and slipped their grimy hands into her backpack. She thought her father lurked in the streets stealing people's food and jewelry, and felt shame. But shame didn't even scratch the surface. The older she grew, the more she noticed how eclipsed everything was. Even on a sunny day, people were being murdered in alleys for the sake of drugs, weapons, and pride. A boy she knew from school vanished one day and never returned. The teachers ignored it after two weeks of gentle concern. Dead or taken, they said. "It happens."

Her father wasn't a thief. He was a shadow in the night, a nonexistent entity in her life, and a crime lord. He was a murderer and a mystery beyond that. His blood runs in your veins. But she would not be like him. She was just a girl - spoiled, secluded, wanting nothing to do with a mother she couldn't understand. Her blood was tainted. Half-human, half-something monstrous. When she learned the truth, she went out of her way to avoid her mother. She closed herself off and sketched a thousand drawings. When she turned eighteen, she would take her share of money and leave.

Life wasn't that simple.

The pride wasn't something she could escape. There came a knocking at her door, a demand to join a terrible legacy. She chewed the bottom of her lip and thought of the boy who disappeared, and her dying aspirations to become an artist. I can't be him. She didn't want to be a part of what her father built, but she was apparently one of many children scattered about the district with his tainted blood. She wanted to say she didn't value family, that she didn't care about her mom. In reality, she cared too much. She pushed her away because she couldn't understand her, but she wanted to.

You're lonely, Aspen.

Characters in her drawings were not enough. Her dreams were withering, and family was her last savior.

She said yes, and painted her soul red.

They put a loaded gun in her hands, expecting a lioness to grow out of a lamb. The pride was a frightening, feminine power she could not harness. It felt as if she shared blood with strangers. No matter how much she spoke to them, she could not understand them or their desires. You've always been simple. She wanted to draw people instead of blood, collect frames instead of bodies. Family was family, however, and a lioness could not back out. The weapons became her pencils. She learned to fear them, conquer them, and use them. Her heart was not invested, but she could pretend.

Her only expertise was an eye for detail. She could draw maps of any part of the district she visited, and therefore assist with navigation on the darkest of nights. Other than that, she knew she was essentially useless. She could fire a gun, but she felt blind. Hesitation did not make kills. At least you're pretty, they said, but she didn't care about being pretty. She needed to belong somehow. Drawing was a dead dream. Surviving for the sake of this powerful family was the priority. Watching them thrive was the goal.

In that respect, she could understand her father's darkness.