𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆
they're dead because of you

NADIA SITS ON a large tree branch, the ground multiple feet below her, and her back against the thick bark. The breeze of the cold night air hits her like a brick, but she pays it no mind.

Her hazel-green eyes stare up at the night sky, the moon and the millions of stars that surround it, staring down at her, judging her, blaming her, telling her it is all her fault.

After all, it was her choice to go back to her adoptive parents' home. She didn't want to see them—no, she wanted to find her little brother and take him away, to protect him. The dead were walking, but she was more than worried that her adoptive little brother was stuck in the same house as their mother.

You see, before Nadia had found out that she was something other than human—a Slayer—she was at home.

She was doing the dishes, something that was ordered by her father and mother, but she had accidentally dropped a glass cup, and the shards went everywhere.

Nadia didn't care that she was stepping on the glass; she was more worried about what would happen if her father or mother found out that she dropped something.

She didn't clean it up fast enough because, within a few minutes, her father had come bounding in, the smell of vodka and cigarettes lingering as he glared down at her.

He began to hit her repeatedly, spewing curse words, telling her how she was pathetic and a waste of space.

Nadia's wails only got louder as her head and back hit the counter behind her. Her head throbbed as she shielded her face with her forearms and slid down the wall to the ground.

Her baby brother was only four at the time. He was crying in the corner, yelling at their adoptive father to stop, but the old man wouldn't listen.

And then, all of a sudden, a burst of energy, of anger, hit Nadia full—on, and she gasped, her eyes widening. Her eyes snapped up to her father's, and she quickly caught the hand he was about to hit her with.

Nadia couldn't stop the smirk that spread across her face as she bent his wrist backwards, bone-cracking, watching as he cried out loudly in pain.

Nadia stood up—a girl who had just turned twelve—and looked her father in the eyes for the first time since he adopted her two years ago.

"Don't touch me," she spat.

Her eye was bruised, her lip busted, and many bruises covered a good portion of her body. He really did a number on her.

"You little bitch!"

Suddenly, her father had a knife in his hand and he swiped at Nadia, slashing her across the stomach before she even had time to blink.

He then grabbed her by the back of the neck roughly, smashing her head down onto the counter. "You do not tell me what to do!"

Nadia fell to the floor, dazed, as her father repeatedly kicked her in the stomach, chest, and face. She gasped for air, blood flying from her mouth.

"Stop!" her little brother yelled and threw something at the back of their father's head. A four-year-old was saving her.

"Little fucker!" their father screamed, shoving the boy away, who hit his head on the counter and passed out.

Another burst of energy and anger hit Nadia, and she jumped to her feet, grabbed the forgotten knife used on her and stabbed her father in the neck while he was glaring at his unconscious son.

Nadia then called the police and told them what happened, and somehow, after everything she was put through, still she was the only one able to leave that god-awful place. Her little brother was stuck there seeing as he was their biological son.

And at the trials, Buffy Summers took her in and trained her to be something strong: a Slayer.

She had gone back to that house to protect him, not knowing that she would be his downfall.

Nadia wipes away the tears that fall down her pale face. They coat her cheeks and stain her lashes, mixing with the dried and fresh blood that also sticks to her skin.

She and her little brother had been short on food for weeks, living off stale granola bars and berries, so when disaster struck, they were tired and hungry.

More than a dozen walkers had surrounded them seemingly out of nowhere. They had both seen it as an easy problem to solve, but something terrible happened—her little brother ended up passing out and getting bit.

Nadia had tried her best; she fought back valiantly, slashing, kicking, stabbing, but it was useless—the walkers were already feasting on the flesh of her brother, and there was nothing left for Nadia to do but blame herself for his downfall.

Maybe he would've been better off back with their awful mother—the woman who had aided and abetted in their abuse, or simply watched and did nothing to help.

So, here Nadia is, stuck in a tree, her little brother's blood staining her hands.