dottie / avox / wip

[attr="class","mary2"]

[attr="class","mary5"] Evil blood. That’s what my father called it. Before I killed him. He would beat me until it ran from my nose and beaded up along the scratches on my arms and my legs and my stomach. Then he’d put some on his finger and hold it in front of my eyes. See that? Evil blood.


I believe it still, that maybe my blood has evil in it. But not from my avox mother. From my perfect capitolite father. He told me all about my mother’s crimes. He called her a thief. A murderess. A conspirator. A whore. A lesbian. Anything to make her seem evil to me. Maybe she did those things, but I’ll never know anything for certain about her except that she was an avox… and that she was my mother. But I knew plenty of things about my father. Hair that grew from the roots in three separate colours: red, yellow, blue. Eyes of green and blue. I’m glad I didn’t inherit that. I’m not sure it is even inheritable. I assume my mother had curly brown hair and dark brown eyes, unless my father had different hair at one point. I know I somehow have his little designer nose. I had his sharp tongue.

I’ve heard stories of children born to avoxes being made into avoxes. That was not the case for me, or so I was told. He passed me off as a purely capitolite child and sent my mother away because an evil avox has no right to offspring. How he lorded it over me. That I should’ve have been a slave. That I never deserved the life he gave me. So I worked like a slave, and he never hired anyone to cook or clean because I would do just fine on my own. It built resentment. Distrust. Hatred.

[attr="class","mary2"]