Scaled and Scarred - Prologue

Written and edited by: EvilSmile

Writer's note: Thank you for taking time to read about a Tiefling whose life was altered by her bloodline. This is based off of a Dungeons and Dragons character I created long ago. I will need honest advice from readers like you. As normal, constructive criticism shall always be welcomed and appreciated.

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Gone are the days of my torturous youth, when life insisted on making every day unbearably painful. My quiet town kept its doors locked, for within each house were sick secrets. My new home was no exception, as I often hid from the foster parents I lived with. I remember how fast I ran to crawl beneath my bed while I held my breath. I still heard my father from afar, the sound of his heavy boots made me anxious. He smashed his shoulder into the weak door and yelled after he barged into my small room. The awful scent of alcohol hung in the air like miasma with words akin to poison for someone so innocent. After he would speak, there was always a heart stopping moment of silence where time seemed to grind to a halt. He entertained himself with my fear since he always knew where I tried to hide, and memorized each place I scurried off to. I can recall the way he held onto my legs and dragged me out as my nails scraped across wooden floorboards. I could feel my skin tearing as splinters embedded themselves into my bleeding fingers. Nothing I tried to hold on to kept me from him, even as he tossed me onto the bed I once hid under while I screamed in vain.

However, my first sense of pleasure came from my father, who took his time as he tormented me. His infatuation with my body slowly grew into perverse curiosity. Such twisted obsessions were drowned in depravity, later rising warped and disfigured. With it, he made me forget any preconceived notions of love. What he left behind was raw and primal; its outer layers stripped away, creating a withered husk. When he grew tired of my struggling, he would chain me to my bedpost like a beast. His grip on my jagged horns only gave him better leverage while resting his heavy body atop my own. He made it a point to lean forward and whispered obscenities into my pointed ears. I was often called a disgusting half-breed, and it easily chiseled away at my fragile resistance.

Even though I was helpless and desperate, my mother enjoyed watching me fight. Sadism followed a switch she took from an overgrown tree outside my small bedroom window. I remember every dry leaf she left on that branch, along with the feeling of wood across my backside. It left scars and bruises along my body that would never truly heal. Most would only reopen after another session of unwanted lashes. Nothing I ever did satisfied her, not my screams or cries. Her fury only intensified, along with laughter I heard in my sleep. Her voice echoed throughout my mind, and eventually, I made a terrible mistake and asked why. I knew not of her desire for cruelty, I only understood that I deserved every beating. For that is what she told me, every single time.

The suffering taken through unbearable torment often caused me to fall unconscious. My foster parents bound my hands to the same bed, and left me in a puddle of my own waste like a disobedient pet. The only time I was freed and allowed to roam about was during their mid-day meals. I heard them talk over full plates, and only gave me scraps when they finally finished their food. Too hungry to care for their empty conversations, I gnawed old meat off bones, pulling strips of flesh with yellow teeth. My dry tongue would savor the feeling of water running down it, even if there were only a few drops left. If my persistence ever became a nuisance, I would be sent off to my room, its four walls were bare with a single stool by a cracked window and a slumped bed in one dirty corner.

The gaps of time spent in solitary were filled with daydreams. I was told the world outside was just as unforgiving, that none would care for a disfigured woman with dragon's blood boiling in her veins. So, I thought about a different world that would accept me. I often did this as I scraped bloody scales from my cursed body, peeling them back in self hatred. I endured hours of pain and fought through discomfort until there were none left. Despite it all, I was overjoyed to be rid of each one. I carelessly tossed them aside, and allowed them to slide across the floor and pile against an adjacent corner. Desperate to see the rest of the world, I managed to escape through my open window, and climbed down the very tree that was responsible for so much suffering. Starved of freedom, it was all I desired. Nothing could replace the feeling of fresh air across my skin, or the relief I felt.