Alastor

New Orleans, Louisiana. 1920.

Your father and mother were in an arranged marriage, set up by both sets of parents when you were 14 and 13. He and Katie hated each other. Your father tried to appear to be a normal husband so you could have a normal childhood, no matter how much he wanted to hit and insult that bitch back.

But your mother wouldn't tolerate it; she wouldn't behave or act appropriately, arguing with him at every opportunity, sometimes even coming to blows. She didn't care if you were there or not. You wondered if she even cared about you. Besides, the only reason she hated Alastor was because he was mixed-race and dark-skinned. She was racist, just like most white people back then.

This continued until you were 15. It was 15 years of your parents constantly arguing and your father being the only trusted family member in your life.

———

You opened your eyes suddenly at the sound of plates or some glass object breaking. You clutched the blanket and let out a quiet moan, like any other normal morning...

You walked into the kitchen in your pajamas; your parents didn't see you. You sat down at the table and listened as your mother yelled insults and profanities at your father. Your father stood there with a forced smile, enduring the insults and shouting back. Your mother smashed one last plate before storming out of the kitchen, muttering curses, while Alastor could only manage to insult her in French, knowing she didn't understand the language. Good Lord! If Alastor had a knife right now, he would have sliced ​​that bitch... Noticing his daughter was there, he turned away, his smile less forced.

"Good morning, my dear! Did you sleep well, darling?" Your father, Alastor, asked with a smile.