'Do you really think it matters who I come from. It doesn't.'
Genevieve Lowry had always been different, unusual to those who didn't know her. From a young age she had been the 'Weird Little Girl' in her village. Raised by her father, she showed ten...
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⏤ GENEVIEVE LOWRY WAS A NAME that came with almost immediately mixed opinions. Some would say she was a lovely little girl that kept to herself, never wanted any trouble. Just a shy, little redhead that was raised by her father. Others, however, would. call her weird, a freak, a disgrace of nature. They thought her to be a heathen, devil of a child that existed for nothing more than pain.
Genevieve knew she was different from others, her father Stephen, knew this also. The events that occurred around Genevieve numerous times, mainly when she was angered by a rude comment aimed at her father or when she was in pain from being shoved to the ground by the kids in her village.
Her father recalls the first time it happened, like it was yesterday. The young girl was a mere toddler, unaware of her surroundings.
Her father had ventured into the living to see his three-year-old daughter playing with her stuffed toys. He leaned against the doorframe admiring the small girl. It had been tough in those recent times in the Lowry household with the sudden departure of Genevieve's mother, Marion, leaving Stephen to raise their daughter alone.
He'd caught on that Genevieve knew something was wrong, but he tried his hardest to play it off as nothing, when in reality Stephen just wanted to lie in bed, curled into a ball and cry at the sadness. Marion had never told him as to why she left him and their child, not a glimmer of anything. The only thing she had left him were empty drawers and cupboards. A single note on the kitchen counter that had told him 'Goodbye.'
He sighed as he looked down to his watch. Bedtime was always the most frustrating time of night for him, with Genevieve being so stubborn. He composed himself mentally for the arguments he was almost positive would happen.
He crouched down onto the floor across from his daughter. Crossing his legs, he waited patiently for her to look up at him. It took a few moments but she finally did. Her big blue eyes she'd inherited from her mother stared into her father's dark ones. She tilted her head like she always did, her red hair falling into her face.
Pushing the strands away, Stephen held his daughter's face in his hands. "Time to tidy up a leannan." He informed her. Her soft smile fell quickly, revealing a face of thunder. "Come on, Genevieve, don't be like tha', love." He begged half-heartedly.
Stephen wasn't in the mood to argue with anyone, let alone his three-year-old. He pointed to her toys. "Tidy up please."
The young girl grumbled under her breath, before snatching the toys up from the living room floor. She stomped her way over to her box and threw them angrily into it. She turned to her father and crossed her arms. "Nae fun." She grumbled.
