She was misunderstood.

Of course she was.

She had been misunderstood her whole life.

Then again. She deserved this.

She scoffed, tears dripping towards the ground as she stood still. She knew how this girl felt. She knew she felt mistreated, misused. All those hours of brutal training, purposeful injury, verbal beatings. Ashla bitterly smiled, pulling a hand up to wipe away her tears. For once, at least, Ashla knew for certain where she was going.

“Absolutely not.”

She dared to turn to face her. She dared to turn towards the once energetic, peppy teen who chased her tail, begging for one more lesson. In the place of that child, an enraged, wounded, pathetic woman stood, Her head lowered, her mind was obviously someplace else. That blade would not be driven into her old mentor’s body anytime soon.

I did this to you…

The tormenting, agonizing guilt had been there for a long time. At this point, it was an old ache that throbbed once in a blue moon. It was always there, but she was so used to the feeling she was used to it. The image did not shock her, but it added one more bit of sting to the next throb.

Her lips tightened, her eyes narrowed. Her jet-black hair was messy, blowing in the wind. Ashla reached for the knife, steadily pushing it down. “I can’t move on if I don’t face my demons.”

She was icily, unnaturally calm as she explained herself, “I need to fight Lye if I could ever dream of being in peace.”

She let go of the knife, Felicity still as a rock, “I’m in a prison, Felicity. I’m finally breaking out.”