The Devil's Daughter
And it's ironic because that day was the first day he ever truly called my name with compassion.
Blinking away the memory, I bend over the sink and splash water on my face, a devilish grin on.
Maybe Papa was right when he said I was from the devil. Else, which child would tie her father to his favorite wooden chair and set him on fire?
I felt nothing that day, even though I had a beating heart. I didn't pity him, even though I had a soul that was meant to be kind.
Then again, maybe I was once an angel, a mockingbird killed by the wickedness of the ones I loved the most. Maybe it was Papa that turned me into the devil I became today.
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