Lydia's father loomed over her, the knife still glinting in his hand. His lips curled into a cruel smirk.

"So you think you're brave, huh? You want to stab me?" He let out a low, mocking laugh. "Do you know how many eyes I've plucked out? How many hearts I've carved from chests? Tell me, little girl... are you sure you're even my daughter?"

He slowly traced the flat side of the blade down her thigh. Lydia trembled violently.

"I'm sorry, Father," she sobbed, voice shaking with terror.

"You're not sorry yet," he whispered, his grin turning wicked. "But you will be."

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the knife across the room. Before she could scramble away, he grabbed her roughly, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and threw her onto her mother's bed.

Lydia's eyes widened in horror as he began stripping off his shirt, then unbuttoning his trousers. The realization of what was about to happen hit her like ice water.

"No... please, Father, don't!" she screamed, trying to crawl backward. "Please stop!"

He slapped her hard across the face-once, twice-then clamped a rough hand over her mouth to silence her. Lydia bit down on his palm with all her strength.

Enraged, he tore her thin gown and undergarments away in one brutal motion, leaving her completely exposed. She was eighteen. No man had ever seen her like this. No one except her mother had ever touched her beyond her knees.

She kicked and thrashed desperately, trying to push him off, but he was far stronger. With a vicious grunt, he forced himself between her legs.

The pain was blinding.

Lydia's scream tore through the house as he thrust into her. She was a virgin, and her body violently resisted. Blood stained the sheets beneath her.

"That's it," he growled through gritted teeth, his breath heavy with alcohol. "Cry for me. Scream. No one is coming to save you."

He continued moving inside her with savage force, his hands groping her full breasts as she sobbed and begged beneath him. Every thrust felt like she was being torn apart from the inside.

The stench of liquor on his breath made her stomach churn.

"Mother!" she cried out again and again, her voice hoarse and broken. "Mother, please... come take me!"

The pain became too much. Her vision blurred. Her head grew heavy, and everything faded to black. She remembered nothing after that.

Lydia's eyes fluttered open, her entire body throbbing with pain. Sunlight streamed through the small window, forcing her to squint. Every small movement sent sharp stabs through her lower abdomen.

Her father was nowhere in sight.

She tried to sit up, but a wave of agony made her collapse back onto the bed. Slowly, she looked down between her legs. The sight and the memories of the previous night flooded back instantly. Tears spilled down her cheeks as the horror replayed in her mind.

Her legs felt weak and unsteady. The soreness between her thighs was unbearable. Disgust and shame washed over her so strongly that she began hitting her own thighs repeatedly, as if she could punish the memory away.

"Mother..." she whispered through broken sobs, "is this how life is going to be without you? Were you really supposed to leave me? You promised..."

She cried uncontrollably, silently praying that whatever trouble her father had gone out to find would claim his life.

With what little strength she had left, Lydia forced herself to stand. Every step to the bathroom felt like walking on broken glass. She drew a long, hot bath and sank into the water, scrubbing her skin raw.

For a moment, she stared at the bucket of water, wondering how easy it would be to just... slip under and never come back up. But even in her despair, the will to live refused to let go. She sighed deeply, tears still falling silently into the bathwater.

Few days later, Lydia stood by the window in her mother's room.

Outside, her father stood facing a tall, intimidating stranger. A deep, ugly scar ran diagonally across the man's face-from his forehead, cutting through one eye, all the way down to his cheek.

"Roland, you owe me a lot, you know," the scarred man said, his voice low and dangerous. "Today was supposed to be the deadline. You promised you'd pay before today... but of course you didn't. It's your usual habit."

Her father shifted nervously. "Yes, I know, Calenfield. I know I promised, but you know how it is. There's no money, no work. Please... just give me a few more days."

Lydia's stomach twisted at the pleading

tone in her father's voice. She had never heard him beg anyone before.

The man named Calenfield smiled slowly, a cold, mischievous grin spreading across his scarred face.

"Where's your daughter?" he asked.