Please Don't Leave | Disney Descendants *FINISHED*

The Eyes Of A Broken Girl

I couldn't go home yet. There was still one last thing I needed to take care of before I could retreat to my house. I rounded the corner, picking a dollar out of a man's pocket as I walked up to the door. I rolled my eyes, sneering at a witch who tried to brush past me as I stepped into Curl Up And Dye, a strong whiff of burnt hair and nail polish smacking me in the face as I walked through the door. I sighed, flopping into an empty seat next to the small girl as she swept the floor.

"Hey, Diz."

I smiled as she spun on her brightly colored heel, her face lighting up as she looked down at me.

"Elda!"

She squealed, yanking me up before throwing her tiny arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. I sighed, patting her head as I tried not to melt in her embrace. It had been a very long time since I was shown any affection.

"I thought you left with Evie and Mal!"

She pouted as I peeled her off of me. I shook my head, feeling my heart break slightly as I heard the names of my best friends.

"And leave you here alone with... Her?"

I nodded in her mother's direction, giving her a bone-chilling glare when she looked up from the manicure she was working on.

"No way."

I smiled down at Dizzy, gripping her shoulders.

"Have you eaten?"

I asked, hearing the sisterly edge in my voice.

"No."

Dizzy sighed, looking at her shoes as she kicked the ground.

"Hey."

I whispered, tipping her head up with my finger as I smiled.

"You know I've always got your back."

I winked, slipping the few dollars that I had stolen throughout the week into her little hand.

"Dizzy's taking her break now."

I announced, causing her mother's head to snap up. She opened her mouth, preparing to protest. Trying to avoid a fight in front of a bunch of old, haggard retired witches, I bit my tongue. Instead, I just gently pushed the bottom of my jacket aside, my fingers resting on the handle of the knife secured in a holster on my hip. I raised an eyebrow... A silent threat I was known for. Knowing the reputation I had built for myself, Drisella's face took on an expression of terror as she nodded quickly, returning to the hand in front of her as she filed quickly. I chuckled once, rolling my eyes as I threw an arm around the smiling child, escorting her out of the door and into the busy lane.

I said goodbye to Dizzy, dropping her back off at the salon with a full stomach before I walked down my alley. It was nearing three in the morning now, and the night owls on the isle of the lost were starting to stir up their nightly mischief. I shook my head, a smile forming on my lips as two men stumbled from a bar, mid-brawl. I stepped over the rumbling villains and rounded the corner, only to stop dead in my tracks, the blood in my veins running cold. The sign was hanging by a screw from the wall, and the steps to my apartment were fully visible. I held my breath as I walked closer to the brick wall, my trusty hunting knife in hand. I ran my fingers along the newly made gash in the red brick on the right wall. The scratch followed all of the way up the steps. It was at the perfect reach for a six-foot stranger, made on the left wall. Not by a knife, or a sword. No. By a hook. I felt my breath hitch as I walked through the door. I don't know why I was shocked, but alas, my knife slipped from my fingers, landing on the floor with a sharp ping. I took it in... The massacre of my home. Posters were ripped to the ground, knick-knacks were thrown around the room, and the stuffing of our couch was peeking through the unsightly slash that was newly added. I wasn't worried about it though. The fact that our throw pillows were gutted, or the sight of our meticulously hung posters in shreds on the floor, these weren't the things that broke me. I walked closer to the couch, tears starting to form in my eyes as I looked at the mess next to it. I fell to my knees, picking up the first broken frame I could find, my shaking fingers causing it to fumble in my palms. They were all lying there on the floor, glass shattered, and frames cracked. Every single mirror I had ever stolen, every item I had ever loved, shattered on the floor in front of me. I looked down at the girl being reflected back at me in pieces of broken mirror. She didn't resemble me at all. Her hair was more unruly than ever, her lips were bleeding from her teeth that she had used to bite back tears, and her skin was a chalky white, having been drawn of any color. But her eyes. They were a pale blueish gray, similar to mine, but they were different somehow. They were wider, glossed over with tears, and filled with rage and despair.  They were the eyes of a broken girl.

I had moved to the couch somehow. My hands were shaking in my lap, and my eye was slightly twitching. I took a deep breath before I stood, deciding a glass of water might help. I walked over to the kitchen, reaching up to the cabinet before I let it flop to my side. There was something wrong. I took inventory of the room. Same chipped plates, all five muggy glasses, the rotting apples were still on the counter, nothing was out of place. Except... Mal's paint! I held my breath as I skipped the steps with a leap. Evie's door was flung open. I stuck my head in and smiled. Her room was undisturbed. Same blue sheets, same red rug, same ornate perfume bottle collection on the vanity, same fabric samples thrown across the floor, leading to her half-dressed dress form in the corner, sketches plastered all over the wall above it. I leaped over to Mal's open door. It was a mess, but it remained how she had left it. Her purple sheets and green pillows were askew on the floor around her bed, old sketchbooks were thrown on the desk, crumpled-up reject drawings were piled in the corner, and her walls were still covered in graffiti. I sighed, taking the five slow steps to my bedroom, pausing outside of the half-open, gashed door. I poked it open with my knife, holding my breath as I stepped into the room. It was destroyed. My sheets were ripped, my mirrors were broken, the fabric on the ceiling was torn down, and then there was the main event. On the wall opposite the door was a message. The red spray paint was obviously not applied by a professional, it dripped all of the way down to the carpet. The room stunk, but that wasn't the reason my nose twitched. On the wall in dripping red paint read the words:

THIS MEANS WAR