Survival Methods Of The Cannon Fodder Daughter Novels & Stories

I didn’t know him, but I had faith that if he were anything like his father, he’d help her get what was hers. Nevertheless, my daughter’s finest weapon wasn’t a piece of paper or a man. I took great pride in seeing that Alexandria’s greatest weapon against Alton and the atrocities of Montague Manor was what she’d always possessed—her own determination. Spitfire. I smiled and let my wish go audibly from my lips, “Rain down hell on him, darling.” With my face washed and wearing my favorite nightgown and robe, I opened both bottles of pills, emptying them into a glass. There were more than I expected. But they were small. For twenty years I’d been an expert swallower. These pills would be nothi

“A girl. After everything they told us. She is going to be so loved.” He smiled through his own tears, his hand on my shoulder. “She already is. You did it, Clara. In the dark, in the cold, with everything against us. You brought her into the world.” The hunters moved past the warehouse, their voices fading into the storm. We stayed hidden, wrapped together for warmth, our daughter sleeping peacefully between us. The birth had been raw and terrifying, with no equipment and no doctors, Damien delivering his own child while fearing for my life. But we had survived. The male heir Victor demanded had never existed. Instead we had this perfect girl, a new beginning in the middle of the war.

"Weren't you the ones who killed her? "Why are you acting innocent? "You always knew I hated Estelle. You knew I went after her on purpose. You just pretended not to see it." A smile stayed on her lips, but her eyes were vicious. "From the day your real daughter came back, I treated her like a dog. "And you knew. "I drugged her water, fed her almonds even though she was allergic, and even used her blood as paint. "Mom, you used to say those paintings were beautiful. Remember?"

He put down his fork and rolled his eyes as if I had just asked a dumb question. "Daddy? Did you marry the first girl you liked?" I raised an eyebrow. The kid had a point. The first girl I liked… I don’t remember her name… but I remember she was killed back in the caverns, because her father refused to obey Endora… I remember those days still… Seeing the blank look in Dad’s eyes as he obeyed her blindly… the scary reminder that I was on my own… Even though he didn’t remember half of what he was forced to do, I did. I remembered it all… The horrors of life without even an ounce of daylight. Every night I fell asleep, unknowing who would be dead the following morning.

How dare the baby looks comfortable in that hospital room after everything that her parents put her through? Well, she would just let them know that she was back. Anny the daughter of the assassin was back. Wondering how she got out alive after everything? Wondering how she was alive after they shot her several times. It isn’t bad to wonder. Her situation was enough to make anyone wonder.

I asked Nova once again. "Yep, your father has a business trip." I just nodded and finished changing my bedsheets, I then moved on to moving the new cabinets. Yvonne was the youngest daughter of an entrepreneur and a mathematics teacher. Her father invented the XXX phone when he was still working at N*sa and her mother was a college professor in Mathematics. Her mother died right when she was 6 and her belongings were safely hidden in a separate room. Her brother, ten years older than her, graduated in H*rv*rd, took medicine, and is now a famous plastic surgeon. He holds conferences around the world and travels a lot, he barely comes home. This left Yvonne alone with maids. She grew up think

Come back! "I was wrong! I'll give everything back to you! I'll trade my life!" "Forum, can you hear me? I'll trade! Bring my sister back!" But the countdown had already begun. No matter how much they regretted it, it was too late. I felt a wave of lightness. A soft white glow wrapped around me. Maybe this was fine, too. Goodbye. In the next life, let's not meet again. Being Dad's daughter hurt too much.

Instead, he broke their legs, cut the tendons in their hands and feet, cut out their tongues, and then dumped them deep in the mountains in some remote settlement where no one would ever find them. No one would answer their cries for help, and they could only drag out their miserable lives. It was truly a life worse than death. It was more satisfying than if I had just killed them. I never asked Dad about the diary and whether it was genuine. It didn't matter whose daughter I was, to be honest. It didn't matter at all. All I needed to know was that my dad loved me, and that was enough. I poured all my energy into my work in Jones Group.

Even if that advantage was my six-year-old daughter’s ability to turn living people into ash with her mind. “Come on,” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s go find Daddy.” The gunfire around us was finally dying down. Bodies littered the floor. But we’d won this round. Now came the hard part.

It hadn't been a battle; it had been a cull. "They burned the barracks to flush the 'rats' out," she whispered, her hands clenching into tiny, white-knuckled fists. "My father... he was bleeding from his stomach. A spear. He picked me up and ran into the drainage tunnels. He shoved me through the iron grate into the forest. He told me to run and never look back. He wanted me to live." She had been in the woods for five days, hiding in hollow logs, eating snow and the occasional frozen berry. She had seen our caravan’s lights from a ridge and had followed us like a moth to a flame, driven by the scent of our abundant supplies.