#Long story short Angela's boo thing killed her parents when she was 15

[thejackalsden]

Throw Me To The Wolves; I Thought You Were One

    Young love was always the same; foolish and blind. The only daughter of a lower class family, Angela relied more on her wits and determination than anything else, Nora and Liam worked hard to let her have a fitting education, but she always was grateful. She still drove to be the best she could, catching many an eye as she grew into a fine young lady.

     Even the eye of the son of a wealthy family, Empire supporters that swore their money could buy anything they pleased - and that included Angela for their son, so they thought. Angela was foolish, hopelessly in love, so she believed, and she would’ve given him the world, or what she could of it. Even now, coming home from a long day, there’s tell tale signs of how it went - notably, the blood spot suspiciously like a hand print on the lower half of her skirt, and the fact that blonde hair was down around her shoulders for once, hiding her exhausted features. But seeing him - immaculately dressed, as always, in pressed suits and that blank indifference - had a smile curling her features. Perhaps he just hadn’t noticed her, and she could sneak up behind him.

     She certainly tried, arms about to wrap around him from behind, before the low ‘Angela’ caught her off guard. A smile, that didn’t reach blue eyes, as he regarded her, allowing her to wrap her arms around him and press her forehead to the back of a shoulder blade.

     “Ugh, don’t look at me, I need a bath and to forget today happened,” a sigh, leaning into him. The chuckle caught her off guard, as she peered up at him, “Dev?”

     “No worries, I’m to tell you dinner will be soon anyways, and they even invited me to stay this time,” she doesn’t see the smirk, but Angela perks up. Perhaps her father was coming around, and maybe there was a chance. She perks, knowing Devlin felt the house was too small, too cramped, and preferred to stay outside unless absolutely necessary, enjoying her mother’s garden instead. But she leaned up, a hand along his cheek to turn his head and plant a kiss there, “I’ll be back quick then,” she promises, darting into the house to be able to clean up and change for dinner. A glance back before she ducks into the house, quick to be greeted by her mother cooking - her father no doubt hadn’t returned, or was cleaning up himself.

     Dinner was the same as always - with the added tension of her father glaring at Devlin, daring him to make a comment that Nora Ziegler’s food wasn’t quite up to his standards as he picked at it - and Nora was just delighted to chat with Angela over her day. It wasn’t until they had wound down, that the tension broke, and even Angela was worried.

     “You know, Angela, you should come stay with me. Far better lodgings, plus you’d be closer to work,” a glance to the young woman, and that smirk was still there, “Though I don’t see why you even bother,” a shake of his head, “There’s plenty of healers tripping over themselves to go be in the line of fire.”

     A frown, and Angela’s eyes looked to her lap, fiddling with the skirt - dressed in earthern colors like she always did at home, greens and blues - but it was her father, Liam clearing his throat, “Angie has always wanted to help others. She’s almost a grown woman, free to make her own decisions on what she wants to do with her life,” a warning - clear as day - and Nora was busying herself with clearing the table. It left Angela to just sit quietly between them.

     “And she could do much better, that’s all I’m saying,” a shrug from Devlin, and Angela frowned, looking to him, as he reached out to tuck hair behind her ear, a finger under her chin to raise that gaze to his, and he hummed, “It’s why, Mister Ziegler, I’m here to request your permission to marry her,” He offered, that grin tilted towards Liam now, whose lips only set in a line. Angela, while admittedly stunned into silence, eyes wide as she blinked at Devlin, was speechless, fingers reaching out to rest on his arm, as she looked to her father.

     He knew her heart, and knew she wanted to be a healer, to help. Liam knew, without a doubt, that this man would keep her from that. But seeing those blue eyes watching him, and feeling his wife’s hands settle on his shoulders, he looked from Angela to Devlin, and maintained that stony composure, “Like I said, she is almost a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. I will not decide that for her.” A shake of his head, and he pushed himself up, excusing himself as Nora pulled him into the kitchen. Angela was only fifteen, and while the Zieglers were by no means rich, they were happy. They wanted the same for their daughter, and would a marriage so young truly offer that?

     It forced Devlin to be alone with Angela, looking to her as a thumb brushed her cheek, just under her eye and forcing her to meet his gaze, “Well, what do you say, my little songbird? Give up staying here, come be a proper wife and we can find you some better way to spend your time,” he murmured, leaning forward towards her, as if knowing he was going to be able to win her over and convince her. But Angela just frowned. Fidgeting, even.

     “I cannot leave my parents, Devlin, Mama still appreciates the help around the house, and papa doesn’t always get himself patched up before he comes home. Besides, I promised them I’d stay until I was eighteen. It’s the least I can do for them, after all they’ve done for me,” she’s innocent in telling the truth, looking up to him. She adores her parents, still. Even if she had a few years still to go - the modest birthday cake from a few days ago still was covered and on the kitchen counter, they had meant to finish it off tonight as a family, when they wandered into the garden to admire the night sky.

     But instead, Devlin just rolls his eyes, that disgust there as he moves to stand with a sigh, “You’ll come around, little girl,” a pat to her head, and she just offers a quiet smile, “You could still visit them, you just wouldn’t have to stay here all the time. Free to come and go, almost,” though it was a lie. Devlin merely wanted the trophy of an attractive wife, and Angela certainly fit the bill. Naive enough to trust him, and follow him blindly. He just...could see the obstacles in his way now. And it was a quiet murmur of parting, insisting he would see her again before they knew it. Parting with a kiss, he was quick to duck outside, and head back towards home. It had Angela watching him go, before turning to see her parents there, waiting. It was a simple matter of stepping back inside, enjoying their company as Nora insisted on cake for dessert, anything to see Angela’s smile come back.

     It wasn’t until later that night, however, when she had settled in for the evening with her favorite book, that the chaos had truly begun. 

     The shattering of glass, and Angela was already moving to her feet, poking her head out of the door. She can see her parents’ door already open, and the room empty - so surely they were downstairs and she could just go back to bed, but there’s something about how quiet it is afterwards, and no sooner is her hand on the banister to head downstairs, is she stunned into silence.

     Blood seeps into the floor, the carpet ruined, and her father is clutching at a gaping wound on his throat, front coated with his own blood, and he’s so very pale. She knows it’s a lost cause - her mother is curled on the floor in the kitchen, so very still, and still laying in a puddle of her own blood, and Angela sees the source of shattering glass. The kitchen window is gone, an Imp perched upon the edge of it, watching her, even as she grabs a towel to kneel - soaking that night gown with her father’s blood as she tries to press a cloth to his neck, to try anything she can think of, though her mind goes blank. This is stress she isn’t accustomed to. Strangers she doesn’t know? She can heal that, bumps and bruises? Sure. Wounds more suited in torture and war? She’s frozen. 

     Liam is mouthing something, and it’s a weak attempt to push her away, trying to urge her to flee, to run, to save herself. He can’t bear to see when the tears start, when she wraps arms around him and sobs - it’s the last thing before his vision and conscious fade, that Angela has him in her lap, stunned, and uselessly trying to clean him up.

     But the front door is all but kicked open, imperial infantry seen there - and she’s grateful, gesturing to the imp upon the windowsill, where it screeches and tries to flee. But when she’s the one yanked to her feet, forced to stand and pulled from her parents, she’s back to confusion. She’s too stunned to notice when she’s handed off, and it isn’t until she feels arms around her - that first instinct to flinch and cry out - before recognizing Devlin, and she turns to hide against him, sobbing. Incoherent sobs, drowning out whatever he’s said to the infantry that tried to grab her, dismissing them, or at least getting them to stand down.

     “Darling songbird,” a hum, and he’s fighting that smirk, “I was merely making a choice for you, so you can be free from your cage,” he murmured, and while it took a moment for his comment to sink in, when it did, she froze. Horror is on her features as she tries to back up from him, shaking her head, “Now, don’t be like that, you deserve a better, bigger cage, gilded and pretty just like you,” that snake like grin is back, and he goes to reach for her only for Angela to lash out. Hands lash, a smack connecting as she flees back towards the house, cut off by a group of the imps now. She’s stuck in the garden, soaked by her father’s blood, horrified by what had happened, and the rest was nothing more than a blur. A rage settling deep in her chest, and blanking out the pain, the anguish, as movements became automatic.

     Later, when she’d come down from her rage - and the crippling pain radiating from her spine, from where an Imp had sliced her back open - she’d realize she had torn him apart for the demons. A garden spade - small and conveniently tucked into a flowerbed her mother had tended just hours before - had been her weapon of choice, and even now, collapsed on the ground like she was...She was numb. Skin crawled, and she was sagged on her side, unable even to roll, as tears fell freely from closed eyes.

     It only makes it worse when she feels hands on her - wanting to scream, to lash out and rip them apart for daring to try and touch her, but she can’t move. There’s no response and her limbs feel so very heavy, unresponsive. Is this what it felt like to die? Or was it something the Imperials had done? Angela couldn’t even fight when they unceremoniously scooped her up, the words nothing but a heavy, dull roar in her ears as they moved about. All she heard was something about tests and something being promising. 

     All Angela Ziegler knew, as her world went dark, and quiet, was she’d been betrayed, and while her limbs were heavy, and she couldn’t move, nothing compared to the hollowness in her chest where her heart had shattered, at the first bitter taste of betrayal and heartbreak.