Reality is an Illusion
Chapter Four – One Stroke, Two Stroke...

4:00AM; Monday, April 2
Nairobi, Kenya – Africa (Umano)

With every stroke of the brush, a new line of vivid color was intermixed into a creation of greater design. The blue merged with the yellow and linked to the opposing orange and purple. Green was sparsely sprinkled over the canvas, mostly covered with the strikingly brilliant red. The colors continued to swirl together, creating a design whose endpoint was an unknown destination.

The twenty-year-old African woman blinked a few times to clear her mind of the haze that it had fallen into while she was lost in the paints. As Rasida Nantale slowly snapped out of her unaware state, she glanced at her bedside clock and placed her brushes aside. Yawning widely, she rubbed her eyes as she gazed at her latest piece, trying to determine what it was. ‘I have a feeling that this will turn out nicely. Not that that will matter at all if Father finds it.’

Rasida knew that, by painting, she was disobeying her father’s wishes of becoming the perfect housewife, like “all women should be”. However, she also knew that she would never concede to his opinion on this matter, because it was her one and only passion in life.

Shaking her head, Rasida began to collect the used brushes, placing them in a water-filled bucket she had pulled from under her bed. After replacing the bucket, Rasida stepped towards the canvas, reverently caressing her piece of work. Her hand came away slightly wet, and, after a moment of deliberation, she left it out to dry. ‘I have a few hours before Father will wake up. It should not be a problem to leave it out for a while longer.’

After taking the time to silently clean off the dirty brushes, refill the bucket in the kitchen sink, and make sure to rid the area of all evidence, she carried her supplies back to her room and walked over to the canvas. After checking that it was dry enough to store, Rasida gently covered the piece of art, picked it up, and hid it in the small amount of space between her thin mattress and the wooden frame that supported her bed.

Considering it was unfit for a woman to show any hint of character within the Nantale household, Rasida’s room was filled with sparse furnishings. The few embellishments consisted of a plain white dresser that was situated to the right of her mirror-covered closet, a desk on the opposite side of the room, and a bed placed against the wall in between the dresser and the desk. Other than her worn brown bedspread, the only source of color in the room was her alarm clock, glowing faintly with green numbers.

Fortunately, with the large amount of extra room, there was enough space for her art and many hiding spaces for her to stash her work away from her father’s ever-disdainful eyes. Expertly scanning the small area to see if she had left anything out, Rasida allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she noted that her room was completely devoid of character.

Yawning slightly as she glanced at the clock again, she padded over to her bed and fell asleep within minutes. What felt like seconds later, her alarm clock began to vibrate, and Rasida blearily blinked at the offending object, pulling herself out of bed when it because obvious that it really was time for her to wake up.

She stood up and stretched, getting ready for the two classes she had that morning. Taking off her sleeping robe, she started applying cover-up for the bruises marring her body. Rasida winced as she rubbed over a wound particularly hard.

Blowing lightly on the irritated flesh, Rasida completed her task, packed away concealing agent, and crept out of her room. Pausing slightly outside of her father’s door, she relaxed slightly at the sound of the heavy snores within. Never one to take chances, Rasida continued cautiously past the closed door, knowing that making a mistake would not be a pleasant occurrence.

Rasida continued on towards the kitchen, where she quickly fixed something to eat and carried it back to her room. She had no desire share another meal with her father on the small chance that he woke up early. The strained tension between the two would eventually degenerate into harsh, insulting words on Diallo’s part, and barely withheld retorts on her own.

He had never been anything near kind to his only daughter, and it was evidenced in Rasida’s bleak viewing of the world. As it stood, the amount of people that Rasida could find herself talking to, let alone trusting, could be counted on one hand. Even with her growing determination to leave her home, Rasida knew that she had to deal with the situation until she finished with college.

Shaking her head at the unwelcome thoughts, Rasida continued eating her food, habitually glancing at the clock. She had roughly an hour until school started and, because she only had to walk five minutes to get there, fortunately wasn’t too rushed for time.

As she went through the routine motions, Rasida’s mind wandered again, and she took this time to berate herself about her carelessness the night before. Even though she took great precautions to only paint during the late-night hours, Diallo could’ve easily walked in at any moment and caught her in the act. As she thought of the consequences of such an occurrence, Rasida’s heartbeat reflectively quickened and she began to tremble.

Calming herself down after a few moments, she promised herself that she would never again allow the idea of her father to affect her in such a manner. Even knowing that she would break her promise in a short amount of time, Rasida held out a small amount of hope that, one day, she would be able to keep it. Shaking her head to rid her mind of wishful thinking, Rasida glanced at her clock, and finished getting ready. An hour was more than enough time to prepare, and Rasida dressed while focusing on the more meaningless tasks of her day. ‘If I did well on the quiz I took yesterday, I can pass the class. That is one less worry, and I will hopefully be able to be in the art room more often.’

In all possible waking moments, Rasida tried to surround herself with anything that could be artistic. If she had to sneak around behind her father’s back; slinking around school for a couple hours in the art room, waking up at odd hours of the night for a few more strokes… she was willing to do it.

Standing in front of her closet-mirror, Rasida grabbed the brush off of the nearby dresser and ran it through her hip-length black hair before pulling it into a ponytail. Placing her glasses on, Rasida stared for a moment as green eyes looked back at her, and tried to imagine a world where people stopped staring at her forest green eyes. After a moment, she shook her head, frowned, and reached for her brown-colored contacts. Quickly putting them on, she blinked a few times to make sure they were secure, donned her uniform, and grabbed her bag, practically running outside, away from her home.

~*~*~

Rasida felt the tension leave her once she made it to the relative safety of the outdoors. Breathing a sigh of relief, she let the artist in her mind surface, recognizing how the many contrasts, textures, and shades of the surrounding environment complemented and contrasted each other to create a beautiful masterpiece.

It was this vivid detail that motivated her art, reminding her of happier times long since past.

Unfortunately, thinking of the past brought to mind her family, and, consequently, her father, Diallo. He despised anything that would contradict the makings of a traditional African home life. Being raised by an old-fashioned individual whose tolerance for women equality was nonexistent had influenced Diallo’s own mentality. To him, the only good female was a subservient one.

He believed that if it was possible for Rasida to fit into that stereotypical mold, he would not rest until he made it so. His favorite method for “instilling the necessary African values” into her was domestic violence. As Rasida was the only woman at home, it served Diallo’s ideological views perfectly. In his mind, failing to teach his wife these lessons gave him the motivation to try again with his daughter.

He made sure that Rasida was only able to go to school – grudgingly acknowledging that an educated female might better suit his modification purposes – wait on him like a personal maid, and be showcased in the evenings for potential suitors on a nightly basis. It was an unfathomable concept to him that women be able to choose their husbands; all that mattered was who turned out to be the highest bidder.

Unluckily for Rasida’s love life, or lack thereof, all of her potential future partners were of the same age and mindset of Diallo. ‘Father does not care that these men are only going to use me as their own personal toy. No, that is not true. It is not that he does not know. It is that he does not care.’

Knowing that Diallo would only continue to neglect and degrade his daughter, Rasida began to close herself off from the world at a young age. It was a trait that she had improved throughout the years, and, although it did not sway Diallo in the slightest, it did make more than a few potential suitors think twice about how submissive she would truly be.

However, for every sexist suitor that she fended off, another was just as willing to take his place, thanks to her father’s unwarranted popularity. Diallo was a very important individual and the other families constantly clamored for his attention, remembering the prosperity his father had brought to the village. Even without the townspeople’s “unwanted” love and affection, Diallo and Rasida were fortunate enough to live comfortably in their two bedroom, one bath complex.

‘Not that Diallo does anything to maintain it, the pig.’ As it stood, Rasida’s normal day consisted of cleaning, maintaining, and servicing the entire complex, while trying to complete her education. Where she worked, Diallo drank, smoked, and used women as toys. In Rasida’s opinion, all of Diallo’s charismatic ability would be useless to anyone with half a mind. Then again, his “friends” could not really be considered overly-bright. ‘If I were able to use the term ‘friend’ in regards to anyone, I certainly would not treat them like discarded trash.’

Even those who had been used and deserted by him were afraid to utter a negative word against him – they followed the crowd because they did not wish to be seen as different. Unfortunately for Rasida’s family, Diallo had not even had the decency to even try and hide his vile acts from his wife.

Disgusted and upset with the constant tarnishing of their wedding vows, and also unable to fit into his perfect female mold, Rasida’s mother, Lianne – an African American woman who had visited Africa and fallen in love with the continent – fled from Diallo.

At the time, Rasida’s older brother had just gotten married to a visiting Chinese woman, one who was too insolent and headstrong in Diallo’s opinion. Annoyed with his son’s choice, Diallo disowned him, forcing Vern to take his wife’s name and live in China in order to escape the ridicule and torment from his father’s friends. With no way of communicating with Rasida without Diallo’s consent, Vern had disappeared entirely from Rasida’s life. With both of their absences, she was left in the clutches of an abusive man, having no means or manner of supporting herself if she left, as well.

Lianne was too terrified of what negative consequences confronting Diallo would have, and didn’t fight for the custody of Rasida. Uncaring of the disgrace that driving his wife away brought him, Diallo completely ignored the failure of Lianne, and began focusing all of his attentions on Rasida. Realizing that Diallo had no desire to look for her, Lianne began living in a nearby village, trying to start her life anew.

The next few months were extremely painful for Rasida, who was forced to endure more pain at the hands of her constantly drunk and unreasonable father. When it reached the point of near-intolerance, Lianne tried to help Rasida by approaching her on the way to school, teary-eyed and remorseful.

After staring awkwardly at one another – Rasida because she did not want anything to do with her mother and Lianne because the upcoming conversation was going to be painful – Lianne attempted to explain her reasons for leaving, requesting Rasida’s forgiveness for having to leave her behind.

After a moment of thought, Rasida scoffed at the hilarity of her mother’s apology, before completely disregarding it. As much as she would have liked to forgive Lianne, Rasida was unbelievably bitter about how the whole situation had played out. Her encompassing feelings of distrust swallowed any hope of accepting Lianne, and after informing her mother of her opinion, Rasida left her, sobbing openly while staring at her retreating daughter.

Other than her mother and brother, no one had ever spoken up against her father’s treatment, all of them completely ignoring the fact that in recent times, women had quite a few more rights than in the past. ‘They are all only interested in having me as a wife – if they buy me, they own me.’ Desperately wanting to block the faces of leering old men out of her mind, Rasida straightened from her slouch and held her head up high, calmly walking to the giant building that was her college.

To Rasida’s everlasting delight, she had been accepted into the most prestigious university in all of Africa, and, as her school was the most prestigious one in Africa, the entire student body only consisted of around four hundred students. Rasida took pride in the fact that, even with her family’s wealth, she had been offered enrollment to the school on her own merit, rather than her father’s wealth.

Considering that Diallo had chosen all of her classes, it was amazing that Rasida was enrolled in any educational studies at all. As it stood, she was taking math, literature, history, and science classes. Her other classes consisted of a sewing class, a home economics class, and a classical music class.

Discontent with the lack of artistic classes, Rasida made a deal with the art teacher early on in her education, using her love and desire for good art as her bargaining chip. Without Diallo’s knowledge, and much to her own delight, Rasida was allowed to participate in the art assignments after school. Luckily enough, the art room had a hidden side room where Rasida could work in secret. In this way, her father was none-the-wiser, and Rasida was able to gain an art teacher.

Today, Rasida had clay work to look forward to. Already sketching out a design in her mind, Rasida entered the building and headed towards her first class, cautiously watching where she stepped, and who she passed. As she walked into the classroom toward her desk, Rasida barely batted an eyelash at the slanderous and profanity-filled insults covering her desk. As the occurrence happened frequently, Rasida was barely affected by the hateful words of her peers. Ignoring the group of students standing nearby who were watching her, Rasida calmly sat down and began pulling out her materials for class.

Because she was so focused on the nearby group, she saw them head over, undoubtedly to accost her again. When they surrounded her in a loose semicircle, she cleared her face of any emotion, which quickly prompted the leader of the whole experiment to come to the front of the group.

The leader was, unfortunately, one of Diallo’s biggest supporters, Kanoni Ziraili. The bane of Rasida’s college life had the body of a model, and the looks to match. With a heart-shaped face that was carefully crafted underneath loads of voluptuous hair and piercing, nearly black eyes, Kanoni was one of the most sought after people in the school, in terms of rank, status, and wealth. Rasida mentally sighed as Kanoni sneered and started talking.

“We just thought that we’d leave a touching reminder of your status for the entire world to see.” The only sign that Rasida had heard them was the slight raising of an eyebrow, dismissively waiting for whatever was coming next. “I mean, everyone knows that the only reason people tolerate trash like you is because of Diallo. It’s common knowledge.”

At that, Rasida deemed herself gracious enough to respond. “Is it as common as the knowledge of how your extra credit assignments are not assignments, so much as sessions?” Based on the silence and nervous glances of those surrounding Kanoni, Rasida knew that she had hid a nerve. Smirking slightly, Rasida held her ground, and stared Kanoni down. “I see that you are not denying my claim?” Rasida trailed off suggestively, purposely staring at Kanoni’s current boyfriend, Essien Silko.

Rasida was so focused on Essien’s reaction that she nearly did not notice the appearance of a man stepping into the room. However, she turned to face him as soon as he started speaking with a strange accent coloring his words. “Excuse me? I’m going to be your replacement teacher during your actual teacher’s maternity leave. Is everything alright in here?” Luckily, no one saw Rasida’s eyes widen in shock before she rearranged her expression into one of disinterest.

Knowing that she had lost her chance to retaliate, Kanoni shot off one last parting comment. “You better watch your step, little girl. You’re reaching into an entirely different realm of play.” Immediately after, Kanoni appraised the new professor, completely unabashed with her display.

Many of the other girls within the dispersed group looked towards the newcomer in excitement. He had dark brown hair, eyes, and skin, and, although he was only average height, he had a presence that made him appear taller and more imposing.

The man turned his attentions to Kanoni after sparing a quick, furtive glance at Rasida. After glancing amongst each other, the bullying group collectively laughed and relaxed, relieved that the new teacher was not going to question them about accosting Rasida. Kanoni walked toward the man, letting her personality take an entire one-eighty. Trailing her fingers down the front of the teacher’s suit, she fluttered her eyelashes, and then said softly, “Well, welcome to our classroom, Mr…?” She trailed off, reminding the newcomer that he had never given his name.

Ignoring Kanoni’s attempts, he smiled lightly before grabbing her hand. Not pausing for moment, he shook her hand powerfully before dropping his own. Rasida hid a smile at the display. “Oh, how rude of me! I’m terribly forgetful about stuff like that. I’m Mr. Kinge. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

The group all began talking at once, trying to get in the teacher’s good graces. With his charming smile in place, Mr. Kinge commenced with the start of class, immediately turning to walk up and down the rows to pass out a review sheet. As he neared Rasida, she nonchalantly stuck out her foot while pretending to stretch.

Surprised, Mr. Kinge stumbled while cursing slightly. In a flash, Rasida’s foot was back under her desk, and, after a moment of thought, she sent a dismissive look towards the new teacher. The others turned to glare at Rasida as a collective unit, but Mr. Kinge only steadied himself before ignoring Rasida.

After shifting her leg slightly once more to further hide the dropped note, Rasida stared at her onlookers, impatiently waiting for them to lose interest. When Mr. Kinge eventually made it to the front of the classroom, he launched into a fabricated story that had absolutely nothing to do with the subject matter. In a quick move, Rasida had the note in her hand, and, unable to wait any longer, excused herself to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall, and unfolding the note.

Surprise!

I finally convinced Lixue to let me come back because I was worried about you. I figured that most of the people who I encounter won’t know who I am, although I’m fully prepared to deal with the situation if anyone finds out who I really am.

In other news, I’ve been watching you for a while, so… I wouldn’t be wrong in assuming that you’d be willing to meet me in the side area of the art room after class, would I?

Love you, sis.

-Vern

In exponentially better spirits, Rasida flushed the note in the toilet and headed back to class, finding herself getting excited for the lesson in math – assuming her brother stopped telling stories. As Vern was the least people-friendly person on the planet next to Rasida, it was quite surprising that he would choose to associate himself with others. And, the fact that he did it for her made it that much more touching. However, as touched as she was feeling, Rasida found herself falling into her normal routine, which was sleeping in class.

She would have continued catching up on her rest, like she did every other day, had a hand not landed on her shoulder, reflexively jerking her awake. Scooting as far away as possible from the unknown person, she blearily blinked her eyes and stared into the face of her brother. In the background, she could hear the rest of the class giggling in the hopes that the new teacher would be strict with her, for they believed that Vern was a person who favored those who favored him.

What the majority of the class didn’t know was that Vern had the ability of changing his personality, depending on the situation. This talent came from his interest in the theatrical arts when he was younger, and, once he saw a person in action, he was able to copy them in their mannerisms. Diallo had not approved of this hobby, and forbid Vern from continuing.

For this situation, it seemed that Vern had chosen to impersonate a very charismatic person, in order to sway the students into his favor. Snapping to attention, Rasida boldly looked her brother in the eye. In response, he only raised an eyebrow, in a look that she interpreted to mean, “Why’re you looking at me like that?” Rasida only raised her own eyebrow in response, gesturing to the teacher to continue the lesson.

She saw a hint of a smile on his face, before the look was replaced with one of cruel pleasure as he assigned her additional homework. Seeing that this was what the rest of the class was hoping for, they tittered in glee at the action. The two siblings couldn’t allow anyone to know of their relation, because if word got out of their familiarity, the news would reach back to Diallo, who would then make Rasida’s life unbelievably more hellish that it already was.

Inside, Rasida felt better than she had in years, a feeling that she had forgotten when her brother had been forced to leave. She had enjoyed playing games of secrecy with her brother before she had lost all contact with him. Vern had always been able to make her forget her own troubles.

After “humiliating” her, Vern continued on to teach the class, and, mentally shrugging, Rasida glared at her brother’s back. Feeling glowers from her classmates, Rasida purposely stared at Vern for a few more moments before looking down at her blank page and taking notes.

Only paying the barest amount of attention, Rasida anxiously waited for class to end before leisurely heading towards the art room. Luckily, she made it to the unused supply room with no one the wiser as to her hidden space, breathing a soft sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.

About ten minutes later, Rasida heard a quiet knock on the door. She counted silently along with the knocks. ‘Three, four, three, one.’ Immediately, she flung the door open before retreating further into the room. With the door safely closed behind the pair, their masks dropped, and, for the first time in nearly ten years, Rasida and her brother looked at each other face to face.

Hoping for a touching family reunion, Vern reached forward to give Rasida a hug, immensely disturbed when she violently flinched away from him. Giving him a slight smile, Rasida waved at him. “Mr. Kinge? Really?” Her brother smiled sheepishly at his fake name, and she continued after a pause. “Hello, Vern. How have you been since…” She trailed off at the memory and had to force herself not to frown.

Knowing not to say anything about her reaction to his touch, Vern returned her greeting fondly after pulling up a stool. “Since I left? I’ve been really good, actually. Lixue and I now have two children, Xue and Reth. Little Xue’s starting school this year, and Reth is talking up a storm.” He made a face at a remembered memory. “I need to stop saying things around that boy.”

Vaguely remembering bits of Lixue’s personality before they had left, Rasida chuckled as she realized what Vern meant. “Lixue heard him cursing, I imagine?”

Unsurprised at her quick understanding, he nodded glumly. “Her reaction was definitely that of, ‘pissed off woman’.”

“I can only imagine your punishment for that.”

Wincing, Vern hastily changed the subject. “Anyway, you’re eyeing that piece of clay awfully funny. What’d it do to you?”

“Oh, this piece of clay is just the unfortunate outlet of my thoughts. I was just thinking about how hilariously powerful Kanoni and the others think they are, believing that if they glare at me enough, I’ll back down. As if they could stop me if I set my mind to something.”

“What makes you think they don’t pose a threat?”

“They’re weak. They haven’t been through what I have.”

He stared at her for a moment, and she shifted uncomfortably under his piercing look. “You know-”

“Don’t start.”

“But, Rasida…” He trailed off as she folded her arms across her chest, and turned away. After a few moments, when it appeared he was going to say something else, the lock clicked off and the handle began to turn. Already moving, Rasida threw a quick look at the supply cupboard door, pulling the heavy thing open mere seconds after Vern positioned himself behind it.

Looking like she had been searching for an art material, Rasida saw Ms. Shan enter the room out of the corner of her eye. Seeing her unorthodox student, Ms. Shan smiled gently before silently depositing the day’s supplies on the center table.

With a quick, acknowledging nod in the woman’s direction, Rasida donned an old, paint-splotched apron before heading towards the materials. Several trays were laid out, each containing different ceramic shapes, paint, carving utensils, and miscellaneous pieces: string, wire, and glue, among other things. The different shapes and colors for the paints and the ceramic were on a separate tray, to be used if necessary.

Rasida glanced over many of them, bypassing many combinations that she knew would make amazing pieces of art, and, nearly hypnotically, selected a tray that contained shades of green paint and a large shape of untouched ceramic.

“All we’re doing today is continuing work with the ceramic. Make sure you’re not late to your next class.” Ms. Shan’s soft, but powerful voice drifted back towards her from the door.

Rasida nodded slightly and turned back towards the table, relaxing slightly as she heard the soft clack of the door closing. After waiting a few moments, she headed back to the supply cabinet, and closed the door to release her brother.

“Well, she seems like a nice enough person.” Pulling up a stool opposite to Rasida, he gestured at the table. “Don’t let my presence stop you.” Humming slightly, Vern began to absently swing around on his stool.

“At least keep an ear out.” Seeing Vern nod, Rasida moved to the other chair, set the timer on her watch, and got to work. She picked up her partially molded clay and closed her eyes, imagining what she wanted it to look like, absently noting that her hands were already moving and molding, shaping and creating. In the past, she had noticed that when she consciously tried to create a piece of art, it came out wrong, or just a bit short of what she had imagined.

Learning from her mistakes, she had begun to trust herself, and let her body do the magic. In her own little world, she began to tunelessly hum, whiling away the time with her fingers, when she heard a loud noise. Startled, Rasida’s eyes opened, and she looked around in confusion. Seeing Vern sheepishly reorganizing a tray, she gently set down her unfinished piece of work, before she ruined it by trying to continue.

Looking down at it, she noticed that her previously unknown design now slightly resembled a sleek and extremely detailed horse. She sighed, and set it aside, knowing that she had quite a bit of work left to do. Glancing at her watch, Rasida noticed she still had thirty minutes before she had to leave, and so she pushed aside her assignment, and started playing with some of the other materials.

Picking up some more clay, she rolled them into balls before etching designs into the soft material. Finished with that, she pulled all of the balls together, grabbed a string off of another tray, and strung them together, before grabbing some of the green paint and adorning the plain balls with color.

Waiting for the paint to dry, Vern and Rasida chatted idly about inane things, mostly just reveling in the other’s presence. With her time nearly up, Rasida, with Vern’s help, quickly painted glaze on the dried bracelet before blow drying it and placing it in the kiln. As they finished up, the alarm on her watch went off, and Rasida hurriedly cleaned up.

Telling Vern to stay put, Rasida unlocked the door and cracked it open an inch. Listening intently, she confirmed the silence of the main art room before opening the door the rest of the way and nonchalantly walking out. The room was completely empty, and Rasida quickly informed her brother that the coast was clear.

Doing the same with the main door, Rasida quickly exited after exchanging a quick “goodbye” with her brother. Rasida was on her way to being late, and the two would see each other later.

~*~*~

If later asked to recall how her day had been, Rasida would not be able to recollect, for her thoughts were rather preoccupied with her brother’s appearance. When the bell finally rang, Rasida packed up, heading down the hallway that would take her past the art room, and eventually, the library.

Along the way, she thought she smelled something odd, and the closer she came to her destination, the more potent the odor became. By the time she was standing outside of the art room, the smell had permeated everything around it, and she was able to identify it as smoke.

Glancing around, she opened the door to quickly check in to see that everything was all right. Stepping inside slightly, she looked at the empty desks splattered with paint, and walked quickly towards the backroom, where she could see small tendrils of smoke drifting from under the door. Barely pausing to think, she reached out to open this door, as well, when she jerked back her hand at the heat on the doorknob.

Slightly panicking, but needing to know that everything was safe, she wrapped her hand in her shirt and quickly yanked the door open. The sight that met her eyes was horrific. The flames originating from the oven were lapping up against the wall, growing more ferocious within its brick cage. The material for the walls was fueling the heat of the fire, so that when Rasida walked in, she was immediately assaulted with waves of heat, and she started to sweat.

Looking around to see if there was anything she could do, Rasida’s eyes alighted on the ceramic pieces laid out on top of the table. Reaching forward without meaning to, Rasida stepped closer to the inferno, nearly tripping over something between the table and door. Looking down she gasped in shock as Ms. Shan’s face gazed up at her, sweating profusely in unconsciousness. Parts of her skin had been found and played with by the fire, and black patches of burned skin worked their way around her body in type of grotesque pattern.

Not even thinking to call for help, Rasida rushed further into the flames to drag the art teacher into the safer room. She groaned at her teacher’s dead weight, and continued to drag her across the floor as the fire found the drawings on the table and began to consume them, heading towards the door. After many desperate heaves and an amount of strength Rasida had thought she lacked, Rasida managed to transport the two of them into the main part of the art room.

She stood up and shook out her tired arms, about to close the door to trap the fire inside, when the green sheen of her bracelet caught her eye, and she felt herself moving forward again. Stopping at the table, she was only distantly aware of the surrounding flames that edged nearer to her exposed flesh and flammable clothes.

She did snap to attention, however, when the flames headed to destroy her bracelet, and, not stopping to think about the repercussions of her actions, she reached into the flames of the open oven and pulled out the green-hued beads. The pain in her hand nearly made her drop them, but she managed to pull away from the heat while keeping a grip on her trinket.

Leaving the storage room, she finally shut the door behind her, momentarily trapping the fire inside. She looked at the darkened portion of the hand holding the bracelet, and waited until the pain caught up with her adrenaline-addled mind. Shock and adrenaline were not things she was used to having to deal with, but pain was. When she began to feel slight discomfort, Rasida absently slipped the scalding bracelet onto her left arm, hurrying down the hallway to find Vern.

He would know what to do.

~*~*~

An hour later, the fire had finally been extinguished, and Ms. Shan had been roused. Fortunately, the amount of smoke she inhaled was not enough to permanently damage her lungs, but, unfortunately, she had to stay in the hospital for an undetermined amount of time for the burns.

Rasida on the other hand, denied treatment, knowing that it would only fuel her father’s insatiable anger towards her, saying that she had not been wounded, and that she was only so glad that she had saved Ms. Shan in time.

The questions were dropped after that by the school, and Vern was able to dismiss himself before Diallo could arrive, apologetically leaving Rasida. She understood, and did not blamer her brother in the slightest. Unfortunately, while the school may have been appeased by her retelling of events, her father was not of the same opinion.

The drive home was filled with silence, and Rasida could only close her eyes in resignation for what was to come. In her father’s eyes, she had acted unbecoming of a woman, by doing a man’s job, and also, her actions had called her father to the college, thus inconveniencing him.

The question was no longer if she would be punished for unknowingly slighting her father, it was now when it would occur. As Diallo parked the car, Rasida quietly got out and entered the house, believing that, as her father was a creature of habit, he would wish to showcase her that night, and then punish her afterwards. Thus, it came as a painful surprise when, as she turned to face her father when he slammed the door shut, she only saw his fist heading towards her face. As she reflexively brought her hands up to the pain in her face, he kicked her feet from under her, dropping her to the ground. Before she had even hit the floor, he was already kicking her.

“Do you know how much your actions today negatively affected me today?”

Rasida kept her mouth closed as she pushed herself back to her feet. She had learned in her earlier years to keep quiet, and let her father’s anger run its course. He continued on his rant, punctuating his points with painful punches and attacks towards Rasida, becoming more violent as he became louder in his anger.

Rasida had given up trying to dodge the attacks, opting instead to distance herself from the pain and the situation and deal with the repercussions later. She could already feel herself drifting away from the confrontation with Diallo; however something felt different this time around.

As much as she would have welcomed unconsciousness, her mind had plans of its own. Rasida was always afraid that one day that situations of her life would become too much, causing her to snap and kill the man.

She had just thought that insanity would have come later in life.

As it stood, the further Rasida mentally distanced herself from Diallo, the louder a new voice became. Whoever the voice was – a part of Rasida that had been trapped away, or one that had been created recently – seemed rather irritated with the whole ordeal.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I can see that,’the female voice intoned dully. ‘But why aren’t you doing anything? This man has no right to treat you in such a manner.’

‘In his eyes, he has every right. Nothing I do or say will change that. For now, I will handle it.’

‘You’re doing such a good job, too.’The sarcasm was nearly tangible, it was so thick. ‘If anything, he should be on the ground at our feet, waiting for us to pass mercy on him.’

‘That would be the day. Diallo does not bow to anyone.’

‘This Diallo is no one special, and thus, he should bow to me. By default, you as well, I guess.’

So far distanced from the pain, Rasida could hardly spare the energy to be shocked that she was carrying on a conversation with herself. “What are you talking about?”

‘A queen should always be respected.’

‘I am no queen.’

‘That’s not wholly true. You are not, but I was. And no one has the authority to rule over my life like this. I refuse to let any version of myself be treated this way, brainwashed mentality or not.’

Rasida’s previous hope of being completely separated from the situation was quickly discarded as the second presence in her mind became more forceful. A few influential nudges and persuasive murmurings later, Rasida was painfully trying to push herself to her feet. Her brief moment of panic over Diallo’s definite retaliation was soothed as the voice continued to convince Rasida to take action.

Moments later, Rasida pushed her body into a crouch and launched herself at her father. Despite knowing the beating this would gain her, Rasida felt a small thrill of pride over her attack. Her moment of glory was short-lived, however, as Diallo only grunted in surprise, barely budging from his place near the door.

His fist moved too fast for her to track, and she stumbled blindly into the living room, willing the stars from her eyes. Diallo hardly gave her moment’s reprieve before he grabbed her hair and threw her into the room’s centerpiece – a glass table. Reflexively covering her eyes from the numerous glass shards, Rasida hoped that she wouldn’t lose her sight on top of everything else.

She tried rolling out of the way of his foot, but was forced to stop moving as more glass pieces lodged themselves into her uncovered skin. The combination of pain from her father’s punch and her current bed of glass prevented her from continuing with her uncharacteristic retaliation, even with all of the voice’s urgings.

As Diallo reached down to grab Rasida by the collar of her shirt, she looked into his eyes and found pure and utter rage. Frankly, the sight scared her more than she was willing to admit, and she began wondering if she would actually make it through the night as he harshly threw her into the other decorative table.

Her impact with the furniture caused the fragile piece to shatter, and with it, the flower-filled vase it had held came crashing to the ground with a sickening crash. One thought managed to filter through her brain, and she blinked at the absurdity of it. ‘Of all the things for me to break, I manage to destroy Father’s favorite vase.’ Huddling on the ground in pain, the voice’s mutterings suddenly changed to those of excitement.

Knowing how much more she would endure before the night ended, Rasida was desperate for some type of distraction. ‘What are you so happy for?’

‘This.’ A strange feeling began from the pit of her stomach, and Rasida’s attention was drawn to the small plant sitting within the remains of the vase. Instinctively reaching out for it, Rasida blinked as the voice crowed in triumph and the buried plant came to life, shifting and growing into a large, vine-like shape. It paused for a moment, before moving back and forth, as if looking for something. Settling on Diallo, who had frozen in shock and confusion, the vine shot forward –

– And past him.

As a sudden haze of pain began to manifest from the base of Rasida’s skull, the voice grumbled a complaint. The vine shuddered for a moment before turning back towards Diallo and successfully wrapping around the man. As it made its way upwards, it began to constrict, tightening rapidly once it reached Diallo’s neck.

A few miserable seconds later, Rasida watched as her father ran out of air and crumpled to the floor in unconsciousness. The vine appeared to think twice before letting him go, and, with a quick word from the nameless presence, the plant fell to the ground, lifeless once more. Rasida was staring in shock about what had been done when she was interrupted.

Slightly smug, the voice addressed her. ‘It’s good to know that I have some control.’

Too alarmed to notice how much she was bleeding, Rasida took stock of the situation before asking frantically, ‘What have you done? When he wakes up, it’ll be much worse for me. I can only take so much.’ Her mental voice broke off in a pained whisper, and she winced slightly.

‘It won’t matter if you leave.’

‘What?’

‘Why would you stay here? Other than your brother, what is preventing you from leaving?’ The voice focused on Diallo before scoffing. ‘Him? I certainly hope not.’

Her gaze shifted to her unconscious father and a surge of anger rushed through her, strengthening her resolve. Rasida struggled to stand up before asking, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘That’s more like it.’ The voice paused for a moment before continuing. ‘We’re not going to get very far with you wounded as you are. Pull out as much of the glass as you can and bandage the worst of the wounds.’ The voice sighed deeply. ‘You’re going to be quite a sight once the bruises start to show.’

Rasida quickly headed to her room for her medical supplies, which were hidden beside her artwork from that morning. She felt a stab of remorse that she wouldn’t be able to finish it before the voice grabbed her attention again.

‘You have no time for that. When you’re good enough to move, pack as much money you can find into as small a bag as possible, and anything else that is absolutely necessary. You’ll want to travel lightly. We will head to my old home, and, with the help of some old friends, I will make sure you are safe.’

As Rasida followed the voice’s directions, and left her home behind at a jog, the true reality of the situation dawned on her, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed. Waiting for the feeling to pass, Rasida finally realized something. ‘As you are not a figment of my imagination, you should at least inform me of what to call you. Especially if you are to be together for an undetermined amount of time.’

For some reason, the voice slightly chuckled at her comment. ‘Yes, of course. How rude of me. In the past, my overdone and pompous title was that of The High Queen and Savior, Feyne Tivamees, Leader and Founder of the Earthen Sybrohinite Faction. However, as that is a ridiculously long label amongst friends, it would be best for you to ignore that mouthful and call me Feyne.’