bodine toussaint | one, cb fin

I don't think I am special for my wants. Most people my age want the same thing where I come from: it's all about honor, and respect, and glory. I need all three in order to have my own family back- but so goes the game. I played it, and I lost. My father, owner of a prestigious and notoriously gruesome academy, watching as his eldest son and star pupil fails to win the tournament in celebration of his name day. His only way of walking away from that day with some semblance of respect for me was to demand a fight then and there, in front of everyone. I was afraid. And weak. And he bested me with ease. I still have the scar he left on my right cheekbone, blade of his knife leaving a reminder of my continued failure. He walked away with cheers in his name, and somehow beat me home that night to change the locks.

He left me outside of the front gates for three days before he'd see me at all.

"You're no son of mine. You're no Toussaint."

My sister sneers behind him, ever pleased at my destruction.

"Not until you earn it back. Until then," he waved his hand dismissively, "I've spoken to your uncle, and he's agreed to take you in for the time being."

I was stunned silent, fresh wound finally starting to close beneath the bandages covering the right side of my face from his knife.

"I will, sir."

"Will what? Speak up, boy."

"I'll earn back my name."

I was afraid then, and weak. But I'm not anymore.