Chapter Text
It was hard being a child without pain receptors. It was harder still being a child with no pain receptors in an abusive home. To Nyx, however, the beatings or the verbal trashings barely registered; what she hated most was her lack of freedom. Being physically unable to stand due to her semi-broken legs—feeling only the increased pressure, the dead weight, and the extra heat of blood flowing through her lower body—was incredibly frustrating for someone like her.
The fat walrus who called himself Vernon had been the bane of her existence for as long as she could remember. Ever since she turned five, she had completely stopped doing chores and responding to their demands, having realized by then that it wasn’t normal for children to live like servants.
Every day for three years straight, they tried to force her back into submission. They tried beating her, or rather "trashing" her—not that she ever felt a thing. They tried starving her, sometimes for three days, sometimes for a whole week. But eventually, they always gave up and fed her. She suspected someone else was influencing them behind the scenes, magically convincing them to keep her alive. Yet, even when they withheld food, Nyx never truly ran out of energy. Once, when she was starved for a full eight days, she had only felt lightheaded for a few hours before a strange, humming sensation gathered at her fingertips. She could barely comprehend it at the time, but it filled her up, making her feel as though she were born anew.
Today, however, was different. She was fully fed, fully healed—her body always knit itself back together at speeds that made her feel like a meta-human—and fully energized. But that same mysterious energy was still crackling violently inside her, threatening to burst from her fingertips.
So, acting on the natural curiosity of any eight-year-old, she let it go.
Targeting the wooden door of her cupboard, she closed her eyes for good measure. When she opened them a few seconds later, she blinked rapidly. The door was frozen solid.
For a split second, she thought she was Captain Cold, until she realized she didn't have a gun.
“So, I’m an ice princess now,” she mused, her mind instantly drifting to a certain princess of an isolated, magical tribe of Norse ice-people.
She had always known she wasn't a normal child. No child who couldn't feel physical pain, who possessed a razor-sharp sarcastic wit by age six, and who admired the sight of her own blood could ever be considered ordinary. Granted, she had always thought the sight of other people’s blood was vastly more mesmerizing, but her own was a start. Having literal ice pour from her hands was surprising, but by no means did it make her feel like a "freak," no matter how hard her relatives tried to implant that word into her mind.
Suddenly, a disturbing smile carved its way across her face. ‘Oh, Uncle Vernon. You’re going to make such a happy child today.’
She snapped out of the thought with a sudden clench of her fists, hating when that unhinged side of her mind slipped out of control. Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and experimented with a new concept taking shape in her head.
When her haunting emerald eyes snapped open, a distinct amethyst gleam shone brightly in the corners. She looked down, her smirk widening at the pair of razor-sharp ice daggers now resting perfectly in her hands.
“Actually,” she thought, the wicked smile returning, “maybe I’ll let you out to play today.”
Concentrating her thoughts, she touched the frost-covered wood, and the door instantly shattered into glittering shards. Stepping out into the hallway, she smiled like the devil who had just found a brand-new toy.
Making her way into the living room, she found her fat cousin lounging on the couch while the humanized walrus occupied his usual armchair. Both were utterly glued to the television, shouting at the screen like a pair of unruly elephants.
Nyx materialized directly in front of them, a disturbing, wide smile splitting her face. Oops. That side of me is completely out of control now. I can’t even rein it back in.
The two sorry excuses for human beings froze mid-sentence. Vernon’s face immediately began to turn a very familiar, furious shade of purple-red, but this time, the sight only made Nyx’s smirk widen. Vernon noticed the change instantly as he lunged forward, his eyes dropping to the lethal ice daggers glinting in her hands.
“Girl! Where did you get those?!" he roared, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and sudden panic. "I will not have that freakishness of yours in this house! How did you even get out of that cupboard?!”
As he closed the distance, Nyx spoke. Her voice was as cold as a mountain glacier, yet dripping with a terrifying, hidden glee. “You know, Vernon, I’ve always contemplated how nice your blood would look painted across the living room floor. I think I’m finally starting to envision the masterpiece.”
Vernon’s face flushed so violently she thought he might actually implode. The heat rushed up his beefy face all the way to his thick neck, puffing out like a threatened walrus. It was almost majestic to watch.
Now he was charging at her with everything he had. Nyx, entirely unfazed, caught a sudden inspiration. Channeling the crackling energy down through her legs, she forced it outward in a massive, sweeping wave.
Instantly, a thick sheet of solid, jagged ice flashed across the entire ground floor of the house.
Well, that wasn't exactly what I intended, she thought casually, glancing around the room. But hey, it works. I could have always just stabbed him in the neck—he’s atrociously slow—but I got the job done anyway.
Both Vernon and Dudley were now completely rooted to the spot, their legs frozen solid to the living room floor in a heavy block of ice. A split second later, a chorus of sharp, pain-filled screams echoed through the house. Judging by the third, shrill voice joining the panic, Nyx realized she had successfully caught the horse-faced woman who called herself her aunt out in the kitchen.
With a grin akin to Lucifer himself, Nyx was the one advancing this time.
For the first time in his miserable, small-minded life, Vernon Dursley genuinely believed that the devil was walking among them. And worse, he was related to it by marriage.
“So, Vernon,” Nyx purred, tilting her head as the amethyst light flared in her emerald eyes. “I do believe it’s high time we have a little chat, don’t you think?”