Graced

Inside my five year old body, my heart was breaking and my head pounded like a thousand drums. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, slick grease and pricking needles all thrown together in a liquid river. My skin quivered with fear, causing my body to quake and my breathing to rattle. Sitting in the darkness of the hideaway, I watched the scene before me unfold with uncensored clarity.

"Where is the seer?" A man shouted, his face and body clad with a dark black fabric. His eyes glowed with an ethereal presence, icy cold and fiery hot at the same instance, changing colors with each new movement. He towered over my mother, who begged on her knees to leave my family be, but they were not going anywhere. His hand snaked out at my mother’s defiance, cracking across her face like lightening and thunder in one wounding blow.

She fell against the mantle, inches away from my concealed door. Briefly, her gray eyes flitted to me, filled with sorrow and determination. My mother was always the brave one, always smiling through the worst of the storm. Now, her face cracked and bleeding, I never knew how much she really put up with. I catch the stands of silver in her hair, the wrinkles on her face making her look older than she really is. The stress and hell from the visions bringing on the appearance of old age even through she was merely in her thirties.

Cruelly, my mother was pulled to her feet by her waves of red hair, thrown hazardously onto the bed. "I have asked you time and time again, Haven. I know there is a prophetess in this household, and you will tell us who it is."

My mother remained quiet and the man signaled to one of his lackeys at the door. There was a brief struggle outside followed by a cry before two more black clad men drug someone else in. His blonde hair was smeared red from the gash in his head and the jagged cut on his shoulder. His six foot frame crumpled to the floor at his captors release, smearing more crimson on the white carpet.

"Nathan!" My mother fought to get off the bed, but her struggle were useless. My father looked at his wife, tears blurring his usually happy blue eyes.

"You will tell me who it is." The man yells, taking out a lethal looking knife and holding it to my fathers neck. "Tell me!"

"If I tell you who it is, will you leave my family alone?" My mother asks, sounding weak and frail, like a tiny bird.

"My dear Haven, you have my word." A light glints in his multicolored eyes, and I know he is lying. My mother, however, continues on, sounded defeated.

"It is me," tears stream down her delicate face, "I can see the future. I am the one you want."

The man laughs, and within the blink of an eye, slashes my fathers throat. My mother screams, a sound so filled with agony I try my best not to cry out myself. I must stay hidden.

"I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die." I whisper over and over again, a silent mantra.

"Haven, hush now. It will all be over soon." The leader strokes my mothers cheek with the blood stained dagger. "All we need now is your pretty little daughter."

"No!" My mothers scream is cut off by her death, the dagger plunged into her heart. They throw her on top of my father, their familiar eyes lifeless and cold.

"Find the girl. She’s got to be around here somewhere."

They rummage around the room, and one steps directly in front of the door to the hidden compartment. His fingers feel around the mantle, searching for a latch or crack that indicated an opening. Centimeters away from the button, a voice cries out.
"Wait!"
All eyes jerk to him, his eyes on the man in about the open the door. Flustered by the immediate attention, he twists his hands together. "I think I just heard the door downstairs shut."

Everyone tenses, attention going to their leader. "Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Get down there and find her, or I'll have all your heads!"