See, their expectations of me were non-existent, because I was nothing but a human. I was born into a family with my father, a powerful warlock and my mother, a Kitsune shifter. Our family, and community had already planned for me to do great things before I was even born.
But the disappointment started there — a baby girl born with no magic and was human. A baby named Crimson Arashi.
From then onward, my life was never easy. I was the little girl no one wanted to play with, the girl alone in the corner of the room at every family gathering until I was old enough to stay home instead.
I'd always thought maybe my power would unlock later in life, but as I got older and wiser, I realized I was just unlucky. I was my parents’ one and only child. It wasn’t like they didn't try to have another one, but before long, they stopped entirely.
I suspected it was because they didn't want to take a chance of having a second human child and the shame it would bring to our family name. I had caused more than enough collateral damage already.
I'd accepted the fact I would never meet my father's expectations. My mother wanted the best for me, but my father never made things easy for either of us. He was a strict man, more concerned with saving his image and position in the Magic Political Council for Magicians and Shifters than taking care of his family.
He had to work twice as hard to obtain the position, again because of me, and now he'd do anything to protect it. I was just thankful he hadn't discarded me, which was common when a child didn't meet their family’s expectations. Cruel, yes, but our culture cared about status and power — potential I didn't have and my status was only due to my last name.
I could go on and on about our culture and politics, focusing on where we lived in Nokamato, a large urban city in our country, Homatomashi, but the discussion would just lead me down into a depression spiral. My family issues were one of the reasons why I drank to begin with, and I lived with James to get away from the family shrine.
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and trying to regain focus. Art was my escape. It was where I could let my energy, emotions, and talent flow. I loved the sense of peace it gave me when I was lost in the world of acrylic paint.
I didn't have to meet anyone's expectations when I painted. I could be true to myself and enjoy the rewarding feeling of being good at something. Of course, my father disapproved of my dreams of becoming an artist. He would rather I do what other successful human adults did at my age: go to medical school and become a doctor.
I'd easily finished my Bachelor of Arts degree and had enough of a following and savings to do whatever I wanted with my life, but my father wanted me to do this for them. He thought at least if I was a doctor, it wouldn't be as ‘shameful.’
I finished my masterpiece, needing to zone out to rid my thoughts of the dread of my family shit that already began to try and taunt me. It was two in the morning and all the bars around this area would be closed by now.
I did have plenty of wine and vodka, but something about being in the small, dimly lit bar helped sooth the growing depression I continued to fight on a daily basis.
Any form of exercise did wonders for my emotions too, whether it was running in the calm early hours of the morning, blasting my music and tuning out the rest of the world, or my sword dancing class which combined the art of moving your body and mastering swordplay. It was a fun hobby to have and because I'd begun sword dancing when I was only ten years old, I now received advanced one-on-one training from my Master, Hakua.
She'd become a dear friend to me, only sixteen when her father and mother began to teach her the art and how to instruct others in it. Now she was my best friend and my senpai. I truly did need at least one person who simply loved me for who I was and wouldn’t judge me on my list of achievements.
I walked over to the sink to wash my used brushes and palettes. I shook my hands off to dry, while approaching the floor to ceiling windows of our flat. I raised the blinds high enough I could view the twinkling lights of the city below.
I could barely see my reflection through the thin glass; a faint specter of my short black hair with my silver highlights returned my gaze. My haunting blue eyes showed my exhaustion, having spent a good eight hours on the masterpiece that was now drying in our spacious living room.
"I should sleep," I mumbled to myself, my hand struggling to work out the knots in my short locks before turning back around. I glanced at the time, realizing two additional hours had gone by. I frowned, unsure whether I should really go to bed or get my run out of the way.
Might as well get a run in. I hate doing it during rush hour. I walked to my room, peeking my head in James' room as I passed to see if he'd made it to bed okay.
I leaned against the doorway, smiling at the sight of him nestled in bed. I'd most likely be back before he'd have morning practice. He was a strong warlock, already setting records with his skills. The fact that he was also a fox shifter made him quick and cunning on the battlefield, something looked highly upon by many of the elders in the Council.
In Nokamato, both humans and shifters walked the streets, but in other places around the world, things weren’t as peaceful. It was always smart to know how to defend yourself, regardless of what race you were.
The crime rate had increased recently due to political issues between humans and shifters; their debates only induced headaches rather than getting closer to achieving peace and unity.
However, there were many good organizations who helped individuals and worked to stop mass crimes, as well as organizations that attempted to exploit flaws in the current system.
The strongest magician with the highest crime-stopping rate was Storm Yuna. She was both beautiful and powerful, having multiple shifter animals within her and being able to host a familiar. She was one of a kind and even though she was the strongest in our country and second in the world, she was humble and sweet.
I didn't know much else about the "Storm Queen," a title many people referred to her by, but I did know she was supposed to be in Nokamato for peace talks. It would be an honor to meet her, but my father disapproved of my presence at the meeting which would be hosted at our family shrine. Figures.
I went into my oversized room, leaving the door slightly open since it wouldn't take long to change. I walked over to my white dresser which stood next to the large vanity.
When you looked at me, you might automatically assume I was one of those tomboys. But I loved dressing up and applying all sorts of makeup, inspired by both Japanese and American models. If it weren’t for the fact I was more on the curvy side, having a small waist and a tad wider hips than the typical Japanese female, I would have gone into modeling. It was a fierce career to break into and even harder to maintain your reputation and success, but I wasn't afraid of competition.
I opened my drawer, taking out a pair of black tights and a white tank top. I stripped out of my jean shorts and white t-shirt, which was my usual casual wear when I wanted to paint and knew I'd get some paint splatter on my clothes.
I didn't generally have a specific style of dress, but usually I either dressed up like a model in the most expensive brands that I'd purchased myself or was casual in jeans or fitness wear. It all depended on how I felt on any given day.
I slipped on my tights, taking off my white lace bra and replacing it with a black sports bra — the 34C material outlined in white to make it pop. I had a variety of sports bras due to the intensity of my sword dancing training. The fewer clothes you wore, the lighter you were, which made it easier to pull off crazy moves. If only I had the wind element, I could be like those flying sword dancers in movies.
I pulled on my tank top, walking over to my oversized mirror to make sure my attire was appropriate for running. I knew some girls didn't like going commando when working out, but the worst feeling when running ten miles was getting a wedgie halfway through. No thank you.