The scarred man was waiting for her.
He stood by the well. His arms were crossed. His face was unreadable. He wore a heavy coat of dark wool. His boots were polished. His hands were bare. The iron cuffs must not have affected him. He was not a syphon. He was just a man.
The men pushed the girl forward. She stumbled. Her knees hit the ground. The frost bit into her skin. She looked up at the scarred man. Her eyes were wet. Her voice was cracked.
"Please."
The girl shook her head. She tried to speak. But the words would not come. She was too cold. Too scared. Too hungry. The anger was still there. But it was buried beneath the fear. Buried beneath the weight of what was happening to her.
The scarred man knelt in front of her. He reached out. He touched her chin. He turned her face toward his. His fingers were rough. His grip was firm.
"You are not my daughter anymore. You are a monster. You are a threat. You are a thing to be contained. Do you understand?"
