There was a figure huddled by the corner. It was whimpering, crying. Its face was shadowed, behind it shone a pale ray of moonlight that was blocked by bars. The figure seemed feminine and was covered with bruises. The bruises ran up her arms to her soiled white shirt. They stopped there, but a layer was hidden beneath her camouflage pants. They reminded her of nights spent thrown to doors, chained to dog houses, sitting in the rain, her clothes soaked, given next to nothing to eat, with her master carefully watching, his eyes roaming freely over her with malicious glee, taking in the bruises and scars he inflicted on her.

Her crying intensified. She then heard footsteps coming. Her heart accelerated, the gash on her face throbbing. The door swung open as a dishevelled looking man came in. He was evidently drunk, his hair mussed, his clothes crumpled. At the sight of this, the girl's anxiety quadrupled. On nights like this, her master was the worst. He made her do the most demeaning things, forcing her to watch as he skinned dogs, savouring their howls, their pain, as he beat and chained her to the doghouse, letting all that passed view her, hurling curses and insults on her. His favourite was 'Bitch', as he branded her skin with those exact words, which could be found on her back. He used to trace those words on her back, repeating the word over and over again with mania, later carving them into her flesh as she shuddered and shrieked in pain, pummeling the floor and later, him with her fists, only to become a tablet in need of carving.

The man before her reminded her of another time, another man, whom she had not thought about for a long, long time. One that treated her with kindness, not cruelty. One that watched her ride her first bike, bandaged and comforted her when she fell. But he was long gone. He had passed away long ago, leaving behind only his house and his daughter. He had, in death, left her in the hands of this man. His darker half, his twin, her uncle. The uncle who'd never failed to harm her. The loss of her father set in, mingling with her fear. Letting her face the truth she had been avoiding for six years with nothing but bitterness, sorrow and despair. Nothing but fury.

Reality pulled her back to its grasp. Her uncle, no, master, as he bid her call him, was directing her face to meet his, drawing her closer, hands slipping under her shirt. Disgusted and appalled, She shoved him away, grimacing, knowing what was coming next. "Whore," he spat "I took you in, and this is what I get? "

"Come here. I want to show you something. "

No, no. The girl thought. This was something new. From experience, she knew this was to be worse than normal. Her legs turned to jelly, but she refused to move. Her uncle's gaze turned cold, hand tapering over his waistcoat, where she knew a penknife was hidden. The girl's fear overtook her, walking towards her uncle as she was roughly dragged out of the attic, and into the guest room. Her old room. It looked as she had left it as her uncle dragged her shrieking and screaming into the attic, where he locked her for days. By the end of those days, she had been half paralysed with hunger and had begged and grovelled for food, pounding him. Maddened by her bold request, her uncle had dragged her to the doghouse and chained her there, putting a collar on her, whipping her. Both men and women alike had passed by her and ignored her pleas for help. No one wished to cross Lucifer Williams.

The room was now covered with a layer of dust and cobwebs, the once pink bed sheets now dull and grey-looking. Now, her uncle turned towards her. Incomprehensible thoughts raced through her mind.

"Sit, Lyn." He commanded, his eyes steely. Then he whipped out a penknife from his pocket. "Turn." Upon seeing the penknife, Lyn started trembling uncontrollably. She knew exactly what was happening next. Her body turned to stone, and her master snarled "SIT. Do not make me repeat myself." His penknife shone, glinting.

Seeing no way out of this, Lyn obeyed numbly, sitting on the corner of her bed. "Turn." She did. "Remove your shirt." Lyn had anticipated this, but her veins still ran cold, and her arms turned into bricks. She refused to budge. Her heart was light, knowing resisting was the right thing, her uncle had no right to command her to do as such. None. But she knew her acts of defiance always led to worse punishments, harsher cruelties, and she was unsure what to do.

Her master had already decided. Seeing her unmoving arms, he took his knife and sliced her shirt in half viciously, roughly pulling it off her, not affected by her feeble resistance. He left her exposed to him in her bra and pants. She felt the cold wind on her feverish hot skin, feeling both cold and exposed, and a strange sense of guilt rose, her hands clenched into fists. Her uncle seemed not to notice, his attention fixed on her back, at the scars he had left there. He stroked the words frantically, scratching them as Lyn shuddered, trying to worm away, get his hands off her. She succeeded for a moment, and hastily grabbed her torn shirt, hastily putting it back on. Infuriated, he grabbed her tightly around her waist, ignoring her violent shakes and pushes, ripping off her shirt and tearing it to shreds... He pushed her onto the bed, and she smashed into the bed headfirst. Using the penknife, he brashly carved words in Lyn's back, savouring the sight of warm blood rushing down her back. Tears threatened to flow, but Lyn kept them in, refusing to give her uncle the pleasure of seeing her cry. But the pain was too much to take, like daggers drilling her head, and little by little, Lyn lost consciousness, until there was nothing but darkness swirling in her head.

There was something covering Lyn. She was warmer than ever. She stirred, blinking. She saw that she was covered by a blanket. Strange. What was happening? The events of the past night flew to her head, and she looked down at herself. She was still clad in her clothes from last night. Thank god. Then came a wince of pain. Remembering the cuts from last night, Lyn touched her back, hands trembling. Her hands came away encrusted with dry blood. Good, the wounds had stopped bleeding. Where was her master?

Lyn's mind was in a frenzy when she realised that a familiar figure was sitting in a chair beside her bed.

"Scared, were you?" He drawled; "How sweet. You have no idea how enjoyable it was to watch you black out. Don't worry, I haven't touched you. Would never, in fact. Why would I touch a whore, a bitch? I don't touch cheap lowlifes. But it was fun to watch you panic. Now, don't move. I want to check on your brand. Unless you want to be a dog again. " Lucifer chuckled, savouring his niece, no, slave, tremble under his gaze, her eyes mixed with both fury and fear.

Her eyes burned as she edged away from him. His eyes flashed with fury and he drew his mouth into a thin line. "Very well. You'll learn the hard way then." He jumped on the bed and bashed her head against the wall. Then came a sickening crack. He had broken her nose.

Lyn watched helplessly as the blood flowed, unstoppered, from her nose, down her face, to her neck, all the way to her collarbones, staining her bra. Her uncle, her master, then smiled, drawing his attention to her back. She then realised that engraved in her back was a new word. It read " WHORE" It overlapped the word "BITCH", forming an incomprehensible mess. Lyn winced at the sight of this, enraged, While her master gave out a low, throaty chuckle.

"To the doghouse, then?"

Upon hearing this, Lyn violently shook her head. "No." She had had enough. She had enough humiliation, violation. She had enough of the days she spent cowering, enough fear. She had to stand up for herself. No one else would. Not her parents, the ones that left the face of the earth long ago. Not the people, who feared her uncle with their life, who had never raised a hand to help her. She refused to lay prostrated by her uncle, being his little puppet and toy. She refused ever to be touched by him again, to be left vulnerable, like she was now, by her uncle. Enough meant enough.

"No ?" Her uncle asked, with a nasty undercurrent to his composed voice.

The words that had been in her heart for the past six years of her life came pouring out in a torrent.

"NO. I'm sick of fearing you, sick of you humiliating me. I'm not a marionette for you to control. If you think I'll sit by and let you terrorize me all my life, you're wrong. Gone is the girl who sat by and let you dominate her. Gone is the girl who cried quietly, who stayed in the deepest, darkest corners cowering. I will never be that girl. NEVER."

"Hmm. I could pretend to be disappointed, and tell you I've never seen this day coming, but I have. I knew it would. I tried to rid you of your mother. She was a fiery little spit. Another whore. Pity you'll be the same. We would have had so much fun too."

At this, Lyn's resolve wavered, but she gathered her courage and strength.

"'No. I'll never know her, but I am NOT a whore. Never was and never will be." Lyn spat, turning around to face her uncle. A trickle of water shot from Lyn's mouth to her uncle's face. He stared at her with such hatred, his gaze alone could have burned holes into the walls behind Lyn. But she did not tremble. She looked at him in the eye and told him calmly " I'm leaving. I'm old enough to go. From today onwards, I'm no longer bound to you. I can do whatever the hell I want, should it be going to school, or going to the police. You no longer have a right to control me. I'm free."

He stared at her in awe, which later contorted to fury. He knew she was right, after all, it was her 16th birthday, and by law, she was free. But not before he left his mark on her.

"I suppose you are wrong....." he countered, "You are not yet free. The marks on your back belong to me. So until you heal, you are under my jurisdiction."

At this, Lyn's calm composure broke. Taking advantage of her weakness, he slammed her against the wall again and dragged her back to the attic the moment her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Cold, floor, attic, the words swirled around in Lyn's head, as she aroused groggily from her sleep. Trying to rise, Lyn sat up and surveyed her surroundings. She saw her uncle slumped on the floor, unconscious. Then she looked to herself. She spotted a livid bruise on her shoulder. It thrummed with pain, but aside from that, she was unscathed, or at least not more than she was on a regular basis, her clothes were in the same state as they had been, albeit more dusty. Heaving a sigh of relief, she scrambled to leave. Ensuring her uncle was truly knocked out, she spun on her heel and walked out of the attic with iron determination, eyes flashing and steely.

Her heart was pulsed with excitement as she ran out of the attic, quickly grabbing an ill-fitting shirt of her uncle's and hastily putting it on before rushing out of the house.

She was free, finally free.

Making her way through winding passageways and alleys, all while avoiding the house that marred her and the danger snapping at her heels, Lyn made her way to the police station, never once wavering. Her courage held, and so she persisted.

Upon reaching the police station, Lyn took a deep, steadying breath. She could do this. She would do this. She must. Lyn opened the door.

Surveying her surroundings, Lyn felt a calm settle over her. The entrance of the station was sparsely furnished, with a line of mismatched chairs on one side, in many different colours. Lyn smiled in amusement, The police must really love their chairs, she thought. She strode to the front of the room, to where an officer was sitting, his legs propped on the table, his eyes lined by dark circles.

"I would like to make a report."

Upon hearing that, the man on the counter started His eyes widened, finally paying attention to Lyn. He looked at her oversized shirt, and the bruises decorating her arms. Clearing his throat, he started the protocol.

"Name?"

"Lyn Williams."

"Age and address?"

" Sixteen. 137 Stray Road."

The niece of Lucifer himself.

The words fell unspoken between Lyn and the officer, but Lyn knew from his deep intake of breath and sudden focus that he knew exactly who she was. Knew why she came here, why now. Settling himself, the officer continued on.

"What exactly are you reporting him for?"

"Domestic abuse. Violation of rights."

"Can you describe what happened? In detail, please."

At this, Lyn's heart skipped a beat. Her breathing grew shallow. Stop it, she told herself, you've come so far. This is just one more step to freedom. The pain is gone, all you have to do is talk. You can do this. Don't let him get away with this. If you do, the battle is already over.

So she talked.

Words came out of her mouth in a torrent, and the secrets and terrors she had been keeping and enduring for the past years of her life came gushing out. It was a relief, a relief to let all the pent-up feelings and memories out. Set them free. Let them be heard, let them be known. Let Lyn be known.

By the end of it, Lyn was gasping for breath, but grinning with joy, the weight on her shoulders finally lifted. The officer just stared back at her, his mouth agape, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

Dumbfounded, the officer finally gathered enough of his wits to call his superiors, making Lyn's case. Instructions for Lucifer's arrest were made as Lyn stood there beaming, her spirits high and elated. The nightmare was finally over. Never again would she have to face that vile uncle of hers, ever again. Lyn was Lyn again.

No longer would she be whore or bitch, no longer would she have to suffer, not a second more would she obey. She was herself again, and no one could take away her identity. No one could break her.

So she closed her eyes, both brimming with tears of joy, and laughed. The sound of joy made her want to jump up and shake the officer in front of her. The sound of pure, undiluted joy and elation that had been wrenched from her gut the day her father died. But no more.

She was who she wished to be. And from that day on, she filled her world with laughter, bringing joy to those who were like her. Those who endured the unthinkable. She entwined herself with both happiness and sorrow, and she shone.

Lyn pulsed with energy, with all that made up love and hate, and she glimmered. Her name meant lake, and all lakes were constant and steadfast. Water wore down all that obstructed it, slowly, but surely. Lyn was that lake.

Lyn was the lake at midnight, both dark, lovely and unknown, but she was also the lake at midday, clear, glimmering and fresh. She would never be anything else.

Nothing but what she was. Steadfast. Lyn.

-----------------------

Word Count: 2698 words! This was actually my second story. gegeford, here's my first (or second) attempt at thriller. I'm not so good at this genre, so all comments are welcome!