Girls On Fire {an RWBY Novel}

Prologue: Our Worst Mistakes

It was dark.

That was okay, she liked the dark. In the dark, nothing could see her. It was the blanket she hid under, the shield she held up against the evils of the world. In the dark, she could close her eyes, and pretend that nothing was happening, and everything would feel calm. Better. Like she was safe.

But Weiss Schnee could hear the yelling.

Twenty-five feet away, out the door and down the hallway and into the living room. Her father was yelling again, throwing things again, scaring her mother again. Scaring Weiss again.

Weiss was in her room, in her closet. This was her dark place. Twelve square feet of nothingness, where she could not see or be seen. Not by monsters, not by her father. Whitley, her younger brother, sat beside her, crying, curled up with his head between his knees. He was afraid of the dark, a common enough trait in toddlers. But he was also afraid of the yelling. If Winter was there, she'd comfort him, tell him that everything was okay.

Winter.

The protector. The sister. She wasn't there anymore.

And somebody had to protect Whitley.

Weiss was a lot of thing, brave not being one of them. But, sitting in the dark, with her brother broken down beside her, she knew that she had to do something.

She stood, felt the ache of her muscles, frozen in one position for too long, and opened the closet door. The light of her room shone briefly into the closet, striking Whitley's pale body, and he looked up at her. "Where are you going?" he whispered.

"I'm going to see Dad."

"Don't."

"I have to."

"Please."

"Winter would have done it."

"Please," he grabbed her ankle, and with his face illuminated, she could see the tears on his face, the redness of his cheeks, "he might hurt you."

"If I don't, he might come in here and hurt you."

He stared at her, hands firm around her still.

She met his stare, "I'm the older one, it's my job to protect you."

Seconds passed, then minutes, until the weight of Weiss' stare overcame Whitely's will, and he let go. Without a word, Weiss closed the closet door to hide him, and walked out of the room.

The hallway suggested a happy family. Five pictures were hung on the wall. Her mother, father, two siblings, and herself. Winter's photo was in a black frame, made to symbolize the fake mourning her parents had gone through when she'd passed away. It was in the middle, between her parents, and her and Whitely. A wall. But the strangers that came every week just saw a girl who was no longer there. They didn't see what she had once been.

What Weiss now had to be.

Weiss moved on from the hallway, into the living room where her parents stood.

Her mother stood at the end of the room. Her evening gown, long and sea foam green, had the dark stains of red wine splattered across its front. Shattered crystal, once and elegant glass to drink from, made a mess of the floor around her. On the other end of the room, closer to Weiss, her father stood, yelling. A large build, white hair, the stench of alcohol reeking off of him. She could feel the beginning of something powerful in her stomach, something that growled and yelled and wanted him to go away. But she didn't yell, her voice was barely a whisper.

"Papa."

He froze, and Weiss felt herself freeze too. How had Winter done this?

Her father turned to her, and a smile crossed his face. "Ah Weiss," his voice was thick and slow, "what could this little princess want now?"

"Why is Mommy crying?"

"Mommy has been very bad," he sputtered and laughed, "now go back to bed."

Weiss gathered her courage, took a deep breath, and uttered the last words she would ever speak.