Unwilling to Succumb (The Dragon Lorde #2)

Chapter Five: Short Hair Affair

"Breath in."

There are many wondrous punishments in this world for a somewhat respectful, ill-mannered young women such as myself. A lifetime locked away in my chambers was what I expected from my father, as he locked my door with a twinkle in his eye. But alas, I waited last night and no one came knocking.

Then a horribly wretched thought slithered its way through my mind, like a revolting snake in search for its squeaking meal.

Could it be that Father truly didn't care? That he is through with the never-ending predicaments I bring his way?

Somehow, I found this to be entirely more upsetting than an actual punishment.

The next bright and sparkling morning, I awoke to a mindset that demanded with raised fists 'to reestablish a clean and healthy relationship with my father'. Which would be rather tough, as I'm not the customary honeyed tongue female like the rest of society.

If only I could go to my father with spikes of heated words and hurl them to and forth, as I demanded why he would treat his daughters so terribly; as if we were nothing but a heavy burden of memories. Honestly, I knew my presence haunted my father, seeing as I appeared a young identical form of my deceased mother. But truly that wouldn't give him the power and right to treat us so?

It was with this unsuspecting mindset that left me defenseless and vulnerable the next morning.

How could I have known what father was up too? He must have known waiting to punish me the next day would have been far more effective, then right after being snitched on. With cerulean eyes sparking and a disappointed curl of father's lips, I was attacked, like a fox cornered in the woods with no way out.

But deep down in my chest hidden beneath a dark cloud of sarcasm and wit, sparked a blossoming glimmer of satisfaction. A hope I gripped between my two bare hands with a furious amount strength for a woman of my stature. I'm simply, foolishly pleased...because father still cares.

"Breathe out."

Presently, I sit in a creamy button-leathered side chair, with fingers clasped tightly together over the soft cotton fabric of my tawny colored gown. Listening, breathing, and attempting to be calm.

Before me, standing serenely and at peace with a twinkle in his dark chocolate eyes, stood an elf.

Besides the wild sight of his bushy, blonde hair that loved dangling across his dark eyes, there was also the rather peculiar orange tint to his grey trousers and tailcoat. As if he walked into a foggy orange mist on his way here. But if that wasn't enough to frighten one away, they would only need to hear his voice. A soothing sound at first, before transfiguring into the utmost horrifying scratch against one's eardrums; like a feathery legged spider nipping and crawling its way through one's ear.

Though if that wasn't terrifying enough, then one would only need to take a seat and listen to the horrific words spurting from the little, man elf. For this was the true punishment I was sentenced to in this lovely plush chair. A lesson stating the numerous productive ways to benefit those inclined to raging, snappish, and wrathful tendencies.

Otherwise known as Anger Control 101.

"Breath in and think cheerful thoughts." The elf rasped out, with eyes closed and a dazed smile upon his pale lips.

Mph, cheerful thoughts? What about smashing this pillow against your cheek, would that be merrily enough for you?

"Miss Emoriah, return to your happy place." The elf's foggy voice replied, as if he truly did overhear my thoughts.