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"Gabby"

I grimaced as I bowed my head and looked at the board. Nothing about the brilliant light bouncing off the polished marble surface lifted my spirits.

The beginning of another unremarkable summer day. I was playing chess in the game room while the grownups of the house were hiding away in the study and having a quiet talk.

Alone.

I turned around in my chair and turned my face away from the light. The warm rays may have given me a sunburn if I had been human—or, entirely human, as I thought.

I paused and considered reentering the beams to get some blistering flesh. It would at least be something intriguing. Something unique. Something more to ponder.

I resisted the uncontrollable sigh that was about to come out of my mouth by pressing my lips together. Father would undoubtedly hear since demons have excellent hearing. The last thing I wanted to do today was irritate him.

I didn't care most days. Today was unique. I, at least, hoped things were different today.

I was too close to my father to even hint at irritation, as tempting as it was to act in a way appropriate for my age. There were cruel repercussions for upsetting the leader of the Petrov Family.

When something moved, I turned to see a butterfly flitting around outside the large bay window. The flying bug with hues of yellow and purple made a smooth landing on the stone ledge just outside the glass.

I focused on what I was seeing and wondered what it might have been like to have wings. There was no purpose that I could see. Even the butterfly didn't make use of its ability to leave this barren area of land. The foolish insect at least got to breathe some fresh air.

There was a lovely day outside. A very stupidly gorgeous day with plenty of stupid sunlight and freshly blooming flowers.

They were also foolish.

In months, I had hardly stepped outside the foyer. My father grew more stern as the solstice approached. With every year that went by, things became worse.

On this very first day of summer, I became seven years old. For supernatural entities, the number seven had special significance. Even some of the shifter tribes, including witches and fairies, thought it had real authority.

Well, that's what I was instructed to do. I had never spoken to a witch before. also a fairy. Also a shifter. Or anybody who isn't a member of my father's Fortis demon clan.

Despite my lack of knowledge, I had optimism. I had been asking any deity who could have been listening for this birthday to be unique from the others. not much to note. For once, it was sufficient for it to be recognized, ideally outside.

Maybe I could have a piece of cake or a scoop of ice cream instead of being prohibited from playing in the yard? A sweet treat? I don't think it was too much to ask.

Gabby, stop it, my inner voice said. I despised that voice and how accurate it was most of the time.

I groaned again internally and switched my attention back to the chessboard. It was quite challenging to play a game of strategy against oneself. I had heard a thousand times that I lacked the discipline required for such tasks.

When I heard Father's baritone voice resounding throughout the house, I was almost ready to give up.

"AGabbya needs to go out now."

As I heard footsteps coming, my heart sprang into my throat. There it was. I held my breath while maintaining my focus on the board and if I hadn't overheard anything.

I shouldn't have been shocked when the security chief, rather than my father, arrived at the doorway. In this home, hope was a hazardous thing. I ought not to have fed the obstinate beast, I knew better.

A regular cue for me to pay attention is when my throat clears. I swung around to face Uncle Gregor.

The muscular, towering man stood calmly and extended his hand. He had the characteristic night-black hair of the Fortis class of demons. His hair was pulled back, revealing an angry brow. His identical to my father's coal-black eyes were too big for his face.

I wouldn't describe him as unattractive. His silent demeanor was really overwhelming and quite terrifying. My hero was him.

I didn't resemble either my father or my uncle. I had inherited both my mother's naval eyes and her golden hair. Although I had never met the lady, I had been informed that I resembled her perfectly.

If I had modeled my life after the men in my family, it could have been simpler for me. If I had a different father, it undoubtedly would have been simpler.

Imagining what it would be like if Gregor had been my sire, I twitched my fingers. He didn't say much, but he had never been intentionally unpleasant to me.

Gregor waited while I daydreamed since he knew I didn't fear him and would finally obey his silent order. I have always. Eventually.

When dealing with me, he exercised considerably more control than his brother ever did. The evidence for this might be found in Gregor's calm patience as he stood there with his arm bridging the gap between us.

He seemed more militaristic than security in his black attire. On his right hip, he had his beloved pistol holstered, and his belt was decorated with many knives.

It had the appearance of something a frontiersman could wear. Except for the grenades and other little explosives that are concealed from view.

But what caught my attention were the two katanas fastened on his back. They were tightly held in each of Gregor's hands as he rushed as quickly as lightning. I had seen him use those swords to do hideous acts on the mannequins used for sparring.

I was envious of them because I wanted to learn that talent. Any talent will do. Any talent that would make my father look at me other than with contempt.

In any case, I hurried over to Gregor and let his big hand take mine. He kept my gaze for a little while without revealing anything. He turned and took me out of the gaming room without saying a word.

We exited the rear door after passing past the modern kitchen. Had Father bought me anything outdoorsy? I was hoping for a swing set.

My eyes began to moisten from the light's intensity. I struggled to blink as I desperately tried to get the liquid to go. I didn't want to seem to be in tears. It was a weakness to cry.

I turned my head around to survey the surroundings. Nothing had changed. For a birthday supper, there are no fixed tables on the terrace. Nothing wrapped. Zero balloons. not a single card.

Nothing.

Perhaps birthdays in real life were different from what I had seen on television.

I remained steadfast even when the skin on my face constricted. Tears demonstrated weakness. Father hated being exposed. I stopped crying when I learned that lesson two years ago.

Gregor said that one could choose one's mentality. Gabby, decided not to be a victim, he had advised. It was advice that was repeating over and over in my thoughts right now.