Flames Of Redemption

1

The room was quiet and calm. There was a faint sound of music coming from a phone. She took the phone and stopped the music. Then, she gazed at herself in the mirror. She didn't like how she looked, but if you want to know what she was wearing and how she looked, oh well.

She was wearing a green dress that reached down her legs. It was short-sleeved and v-necked. There was a necklace hanging on her neck, with an 'R' letter. It was made of gold, and she had been wearing this since birth, her aunt told. It was a gift from her parents, and she hadn't taken it off since then.

Her wavy black hair reached some inches past her upper back. Her eyes were the prettiest color of the sky, azure. She was slim, pale. Her height was average, 5'3. Oh, but her face. Well, that was the thing. She didn't like her face either. Her eyebrows were softly arched, her cheeks were hollow and her lips were thin. But it was something else she didn't like.

A scar ran across from her left eyebrow to her cheekbone. It was deep and white.

Yes, she was beautiful. But she never saw or thought that. Yes, there were those who had told her, but it was just to make fun of her, ironically. They'd say, "Oh, look how pretty she is," and then they'd burst into laughter. She didn't mind. Not really. It had always been that way, they'd always notice, they'd ask, they'd bully, and she'd fight the urge to slap them. She didn't like attention. It made her feel even more terrible.

She didn't like people either, she hated them. Well, not everyone, but most of them. They were selfish, cruel, they were wicked and always serving their own interests. And, it was alright for her. She didn't need anyone. She was fine on her own and with her aunt. She didn't need anyone else.

As for the scar, she had been a troublemaker when little, her aunt told. She had always been a bit of a daredevil, running around, climbing things. When she was five, she had gone into a run and tripped on a rock, falling face first and cutting herself open. Her aunt had taken her to the hospital, but the scar had remained. And, she didn't remember all that. She didn't remember herself as little, or as a troublemaker. She didn't even remember her parents. All she had were the stories her aunt told. And it was strange, she thought.

"Regan, are you ready?" her aunt called from the other room.

"I'm coming!" Regan yelled back. She sighed and straightened her clothes. Just then, a sudden noise from the window got her attention. The window was left open before.

Now, closed.

Regan's eyebrows furrowed but then she called it the work of the wind.

She sighed and went to get her luggage. Just then, she felt something strange. She felt as if she was being watched. She felt it in her mind and glanced around her room, not noticing anything.

She sighed again and grabbed her luggage. As she went to check the bag, she saw a framed photo of her parents. It reminded her of how different she looked from them.

Sometimes she wondered about it. Was she even their daughter? Of course, she was. She thought so.

Checking the room if she forgot any stuff, she finally left.

Her aunt was waiting for her in the living room, her blonde hair in a neat bun, her bags by her side. She had a wide smile on her face, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

"You look nice, dear," she said, her voice gentle, "are you ready to go?"

"Yes, aunt Monica." Regan said. She was happy they were going to finally leave their old flat, but she couldn't help the intrusive thoughts that always accompanied her whenever she did something.

They both headed out of the apartment, going downstairs and in her aunt's car. Regan had gotten her driver license two years ago, but she didn't have a car.