A/N:
This probably is going to be a bit confusing. That's why I'll lead you in. Mirith was shot. And now we're going to relive a piece of her memories.

Happy reading! <3
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～ "Why can't you even concentrate for one second!" my frustrated dad ruffles through his thin hair.

We were standing in the middle of the Haley Woods. Our place to 'hang out', more like our personal battle field. My dad is an excellent kick-boxer and taught me how to defend myself. He literally knocked me down several times. He said that only the hard way of learning worked with me. And he was right. Nothing ever worked with me, unless I was deeply confronted with it. But it only did work out with kick-boxing. Magic was a totally different story.

Another day wasted; years of efforts still fruitless. Most days we just leave the magic exercises and move on to sparring. But today was different, today my dad was irascible, restless and impatient. Unlike his usual calm and understanding self he repeated every single step -not trusting me-. Each time I didn't succeed he paced to and from while running through his dark brown hair. It showed how nervous he was, which I related to the recent losing strike of his competitions.

That was what went on during the past few hours; till now. He finally bursted out at me, his personal scapegoat for a perfectly fitting reason. Well, this was right if you didn't know my dad.

      "You're not trying hard enough. Let me show it to you again." He demonstrated for the thousandth time. That was the last thing I wanted to hear and see. I was sick of watching how he perfectly lifted up the green twig without even stretching out his arms.
My turn. Perhaps this time it will succeed. They always say 'Success comes when least expected', another attempt for pepping myself up.

I loosened up and tried to recall everything he taught me over the past few years. In contrary to my skilled dad, I did stretch out my arms. This way I could support my mental activity or something in these lines.

I set my eyes on the twig, imagined it floating just till eye-height. Reciting the spell of movement in my head, I pointed my fingers at the objectus and lifted my arms inch by inch. Deep in concentration I pressed my eyes firmly close. After finally reaching eye-height I took a peek. Hmm... I was missing a floating twig. I careful looked at my dad. He shook, which meant nothing happened. Not even a single twitch.

Stupid twig! If looks could kill, the twig would already have been roasted to grey ashes. Dad walked to me and combed his fingers through his hair another time. "Maybe it's your.."

Before he could finish I snapped "I give up, it's hopeless! How many times have we already tried? I'm just useless!" my eyes getting teary.

His gaze softened "Don't say that, I know you can do it. You should at least be able to get to the basics."

Dad taught me the basics over and over again. Nevertheless I didn't grasp anything. It's so, so disheartening. In fact, he could actually shoot that twig at me, but I wouldn't be able to make a move. Why? Simple, learning the basics is a crucial point. It's the same logic in kick-boxing. I need to have a possibility to fight, only then I wouldn't be traumatized and back out. If he attacked without me being prepared, I would never EVER be able to use magic. Who would even dare to do something like this to his very own daughter. As a result we were still at the starting point.

      "Goh, thanks for not putting pressure on me," I rolled with my eyes. "I know I should, but how many years have I practiced and failed? It's not like I will wonderfully learn it in 1, 2, 3, just because of these magical words BASICS!!" I quickly glanced at him to see if I haven't just stepped on a landmine.

He infected me with his impatience, my bottled up words slipped out for the first time. Of course we did have disputes and fights over lessons, but never was it this severe, to the degree my resenting gained form.

I caught a little sorrow and disappointment in his eyes, but no anger, so I relaxed and continued a little bit more thoughtful, "I know you want me to catch up to the others, but what can I do? I'm a VERY slow learner. You should know out of experience" I tried to ease the tension.

My dad sighed. "It's just, I imagined it to be more fun. For both of us," his eyes staring at the twig "When I started to teach you the whole magical experience, I was just so excíted to register all of your progress and growing. Now we're here a decade later and I still haven't taught you a thing. I'm the worst," he blamed himself.

Kids start to practice magic at the age of six, I started two years later because of my dad's busy schedule. At that time my dad's glory reached the press and he became a rising star in the kick-box industry.

      "It's not your fault," I admitted. After all he needed to make a living for both of us to survive. Besides my dad's always endured my incompetence and never gave up on me even when he started two years later.

I felt bad yelling at him. "I'm the one dragging you down. And hey, you have taught me how to kick asses," at that comment he chuckled. I suggested "Let's head back home. We've been here for way too long and my feet are cold! I bet you want some hot choco too!" I subtly offered.

Dad shook his head, but couldn't suppress his lips curling back into a smile "I can't say no to hot choco from ma little girl. Let's restart tomorrow" he said hopefully. I nodded, tucked the twig back in the tree hole. And we walked side by side in the direction of our home. ～

☆............................................................................................................☆

Drip... Drip... Drip...

My senses returned, but not for the best. I felt sore of the stone floor plus had a headache of the water drops.
However there was no pain in my chest, no blood, no gaping hole. Am I in hell? Because rough stones, prison bars and a reddish glow in the hallway tell me this is definitely no heaven.

I sat up and massaged my neck. The sole thing I could detect was a toilette. Whoever captured us, they were certainly not the most generous people. I mean come on, every prison-cell has a bed!

Sudden motion from the other side made me become alert. I'm not alone. I slowly crept to the bars and wished I had a flashlight.

"Oh you're finally awake!" A familiar voice filled the place.

"Gordon?" I asked, insecure.

"Yeah Miri, this time you got it right not Cordon Bleu," he joked.

I couldn't bring myself to laugh. That was how Mr. Fay always called me. Speaking of unpleasantness, especially when I was so close to death's door.
"About that, I don't like that name. I prefer you call me Mirith or if you really want to abbreviate it, then use Mir."

"Alright whatever you wish," he gave in easily.

"How long was I out?" I continued.

"Almost two days," my co-prisoner answered.

"Thanks. Wait, how do you know that?" I reasoned.

"You see those bars at the supposed window?" I glanced over to see the stars brimming in the night sky. How could I have missed that a moment ago? Are my analyzing skills deteriorating? "Indeed, it's pretty handy they give us sunlight. It's almost like a beach house," Gordon sarcastically said.

I sauntered to the barred window, only to find out this building's height. I gulped, with the misty clouds beneath it resembled a skyscraper, but one in renaissance-style.
"That's right, we're not in a dungeon, we're in the attic," my co-prisoner clarified.