Daddies’ Little Assassin (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Prologue

O nce upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a family of shifters. They were the happiest of families in all the lands. And because they were so happy, people in their village were jealous of them. Envious of the family's wealth, status and more than anything the joy they had found in each other.

One of these jealous beings was a witch with a dark heart. She couldn't stand to see anyone so happy, so she set about changing things. In the day she pretended to be the happy family's friend, but at night she plotted against them, working behind the scenes to bring them down.

It took such a long time for the evil witch's plan to come to fruition that the cute wife became pregnant with their first child. This only enraged the witch even more, pushing her to escalate her plans. As the bunny's tummy grew, so did the envy and rage in the witch's heart.

Until the day came for the baby to be born. The mom-to-be was so excited and filled with joy that there was no space for nerves. Not even when the midwife told her the village's messenger couldn't give word to her husband of the baby's impending birth.

He had gone hunting, after all, in preparation for the long winter months ahead of them. He would be back soon, and when he returned, she would have a baby boy or girl for him to meet.

The birth was long and arduous. The poor woman was so exhausted by the end that she nearly gave up, but the mere reminder of her loving husband and the family they were hoping to be spurred her on, helping her give that last push.

For years after the little girl's birth, all the villagers would say her cry could be heard for miles. Her lungs were hearty and strong. And she'd need that strength for what she would have to face moving forward.

Because as she gave her first cries, the dawn broke on the new day, and the evil witch's curse took hold. The poor baby's father lost his life in a terrible accident.

The next day, as the new mom cradled her baby close, the witch came to deliver the terrible news with glee. She told a tale of how she'd taken the shape of the bunny and led the husband astray until he met his death at the bottom of a cliff. She cackled as she spoke the words of the curse over the sobbing woman and the wailing infant.

From then until the end of days, their female line would be doomed to be unlucky in love.

So lost to her grief, the poor mother didn't realise the small spark of magic spinning up from her baby daughter. Not much, but just enough for there to be hope for their descendants.

I curl up in a little ball, cuddling my ratty bear close as I tell myself the same story I always do right before bedtime. It's not a story I remember ever hearing, just something I made up to help me feel better about not having a mommy and daddy.

The orphanage is quiet and dark, and the kids in the beds around me have long since fallen asleep. Sometimes, some of the little ones would listen to my story if they were up late enough, but for the most I tried to whisper it quietly and to myself, as a kind of secret between me and the bear I clutched like a lifeline.

I've always been fast.

That's what they told me when I was younger. "Oh Thora, you're like a flash of lightning. No one can catch you!"

They'd laugh. Ruffle my hair, and I'd giggle back because it was before I realised everyone telling me these things weren't planning to keep me for themselves. They wouldn't want to adopt a fast, wily bunny shifter. It was too much of a risk. But in the orphanage, compliments were as rare as soft pillows, so I grabbed them when I could, and tucked them deep inside my heart. It made up for the cold meals, the creaking beds, and the hollow looks from the older kids who had already given up on being noticed, on being loved.

Back then, I hadn't given up yet.

But as I grew older, faster, and sharper, the compliments changed.

"Look at that hair. Those eyes. She's only got one future for herself and that's on the corner of the streets." I knew they said it because they were jealous. But that didn't make it any better, any easier to hear.

Especially not when I started noticing something darker, something with a fouler taste. Everyone left the orphanage eventually, either adopted or aged out, but no matter how fast I was, how many matches I won, or how pretty I made myself look, no one ever chose me. It didn't make sense. Families smiled at me and said I was pretty, smart and would make a great daughter for someone. Just not for them, it seemed.

It was around then that my other side started showing. The side that wasn't afraid to break rules, that didn't mind getting my hands dirty if it meant surviving.

I stopped waiting for affection, for a life filled with love and kindness. Instead, I focused on survival. On winning. I learned how to fight, how to manipulate, and how to take everything I wanted. If the universe would not give me a fair shot at happiness, I'd make sure it paid me in other ways.

My eighteenth birthday was coming up. I'd finally be able to age out, and leave this cold, dark, dank place behind and start the rest of my life. Where I wouldn't need anyone else. I'd love myself.

I'd be enough.