☾° Compelled. ⌜ d. swing. ⌟

☾° › eleven.

Zᴇɴᴀ Pʜᴏᴇɴɪx.

Five years old.

That was the first time I stood on these steps. I was only five years old. The day of my parents' funeral. A little quaint black dress dawned my petite frame, and my hair was freshly pressed for the occasion. They both died in a robbery gone wrong, at least this is what I was told. It seemed as though that was just suppose to be my life — parentless and directionless.

My grandparents took me in, graciously. I adored being around the both of them, my grandmother was beautiful, smart, funny and could cook like nobody's business. My grandfather was doting, loving, but still very stern. I love my grandparents — even though they are considered to be the most dangerous two people in the city.

Apparently, some urban legend placed by grandmother in the lineage of the most prolific witch doctor and voodoo princess that ever lived. She was a descendant if black magic and proud of it. My grandfather was a self-proclaimed witch doctor, which was also passed down from generation to generation. However, I never saw anything that lead me to believe these things to be true.

At times people would storm their house, rant and rave that my grandmother and grandfather had put some sort of "root" on them. Crying about how they caused the death of a loved one, or begging for them to exact revenge on a foe. As a child, I was more afraid of those people than the two people who everyone else feared.

Eventually, kids began to make up scary stories about the last house on the street. The house that I frequented every weekend. I wouldn't say that this hurt my reputation. Being the girl that everyone thought had connections to the "other-side" was pretty damn cool. Everybody was nice to me — even if it was because they thought I could turn them into a barnyard animal.

It had taken me days to gain the courage to go talk to my grandmother. I had spent most of that time trying to avoid anybody that had any ties to DeVanté and somehow I was successful. That, or he was just letting me live for now.

"Zenny. You get your butt in here. Where you been?"  My grandmother asked as she ushered me into her place a residence. I couldn't help but to let a sense of nostalgia engulf me every time I walked in the threshold of their home.

"Hey, grandma. I been busy. Working. School." I answered in half-truth as we walked to the kitchen and I immediately sat on top of the counter as she cooked a meal. I knew the smell anywhere. Gumbo.

"What I tell you about lying in my house? You been with some boy. With light eyes. Don't even try it." I froze immediately. It was the first time that I believed my grandmother had some sort of powers instead of just good intuition. I reached back and I rubbed my neck before I nodded.

"His name is DeVanté. He's kinda why I'm here." 

"And here I am thinking you just missed ya' old grandmother. Silly me." She turned around to face me and I smiled sheepishly. She knew I loved her, but it wasn't just something we always said. Actions speak louder than words — and my actions weren't reflecting my love. "Okay, tell me about him." She encouraged.

"He's tall...cute..."

"Zena, I know what the boy looks like. What I can't see is why he's troubling you. That's what I need to hear."