Author's Note: This is my first story, so don't be surprised by kinks as I'm new to flexing my creative muscles, shall we say? Happy to hear reviews!
Disclaimer: I own nothing you may recognize as belonging to the cartoon show and its owners. But I own Bree and her family.
"Mm mm....huh?" Bree mumbled as she swam groggily to awareness. Cotton rope bound her to a kitchen chair. Jerking in alarm she looked up to see her grandfather holding a sturdy pair of pliers and … Charlene!
"What are you doing?!" Bree cried out in alarm. Charlene, a white Peking duck, looked very unhappy to be clutched so tightly in the one-armed grip.
"Testing if your healing powers can stretch further beyond your grasp, girl. Now I want you to concentrate," and with that the slate-haired man put the pliers to one of the duck's toenails.
"No! Stop! Please, you're hurting her!" Bree gasped.
"That's the idea. Heal it. Stop crying and concentrate!"
But Bree couldn't concentrate in the face of her only friend's pain and distress! Hurt, helplessness, desperation, angerfuryHATE bloomed in Bree's heart and mind. Pain found a focal point and an opening.
The man gave a horrible shocked cry, dropping both duck and pliers as he clutched at his head. He fell, hitting his head hard as he did so, first on the sharp edge of the counter behind him, then on the ground as he landed.
The empathic backlash rebounded so hard, Bree saw stars and then felt a pain in the back of her skull. Looking around confusedly, Bree saw that her tormentor had fallen in the face of her 'attack'.
The duck was quacking loudly, proclaiming her aggravation to the world. The sound just aggravated Bree's headache.
"Hush, Charlene! It's over. It's done," struggling at her bonds, Bree, in her desperation didn't notice the wood warping to accommodate her. All she cared about was that when the rope fell slacker, she could work her shoulders off the back of the chair. She stood free of it at last, kicking the remains of the rope from her ankles.
Looking towards her grandfather again, unbelieving at what she did, worry and fear swept her. When he woke up or if Father came home now.... the unconscious man on the floor groaned. Bree freaked out and flew up the stairs to her room.
Grabbing the first thing she could, she saw it was an empty laundry bag. Making up a plan as she went, she tore into her closet, stuffing everything she could reach into the bag. Yanking out the dresser drawers, Bree stuffed all her underthings and socks in, too. Running to the bathroom for a cake of soap and then her toothbrush and paste. Inspiration struck her and she without hesitation burst into her mother's old room, shoved her hand into the secret hiding place and withdrew a wad of cash.
Thundering downstairs awash in panic anew, she threw open the backdoor, grabbed her duck and fled. Fled to freedom. Fled for good. Fled for her life. Bree never wanted to look back at this dingy little house in the woods again.
Winter was coming.