Korra had once believed hunger was the worst pain a person could endure. She had been wrong; the worst pain wasn’t the empty stomach or the twisting cramps; it was remembering what should have been forgotten. Yet the memories clung to her, as fresh as they had been years past.

Flashback – Ten Years Old

Korra was only ten years old the first time her father hit her. It was summer then, the kind of day when the heat clung to skin and sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Their little house had always smelled of dust and stale beer, and her father lay passed out on the couch with an open bottle dangling from his fingers.

Korra had been cleaning, careful not to disturb him. When she reached for the bottle to set it aside, her fingers slipped. The bottle tipped, spilling beer on the rug before shattering on the floor.

Her father jolted awake instantly, his dark eyes blazing with fury. “What did you do?”

“I… I didn’t mean to,” she stammered, frozen in place among the glittering shards of glass at her bare feet.

“You broke it!” he shouted. He struggled to stand, swaying, but even unsteady, he towered over her. Before she could back away, his hand shot out. The slap cracked across her cheek, knocking her to the floor, making her ears ring from the sting.

Her small body curled in on itself instinctively. Her cheek throbbed as tears blurred her vision, but she bit her lip hard to keep from crying.

“Look at what you have done!” he spat, snatching another bottle from the table and cradling it to his chest like treasure. “Ungrateful brat, always taking, always ruining. You will pay for everything you break.”

Korra didn’t speak; she didn’t even dare to breathe. That was the day she learned silence was safer than truth, and that was the day she realized her father loved the bottle more than he ever loved her.

From then on, the bruise of her father's temper lived not only on her skin but in her heart.

Present Day

Years later, nothing had changed. If anything, it had gotten worse.

The memories burned in her mind as she sat hunched in the corner of her room. Her stomach growled, but she wrapped her arms around herself as if she could hold the emptiness in. The cracked walls offered no comfort, the mattress sagged beneath her, smelling of mildew and old tears.

She dragged herself up; her limbs ached with hunger. Her stomach twisted so violently she felt nauseous, but there was nothing to bring up, nothing was left inside her.

She went to the corner where she had hidden a stale crust of bread, wrapped carefully in cloth. When she unwrapped it, her breath caught. The bread was gone.

Her heart dropped; she didn’t need to ask, she was sure that her father had taken it. He always took everything and left her with nothing.

The door slammed open, confirming her dread. He staggered in, coins from her jar jingling in his pocket, chewing with his mouth full of what should have been hers.

“You ate my food,” she whispered hoarsely.

He grinned at her, showing yellowed teeth. “My food, girl. Everything in this house is mine. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Korra clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms to stop the scream bubbling inside. “I worked for that bread.”

His grin faded into a scowl. “What did you say?”

She shook her head quickly, swallowing the words down before they killed her. “Nothing, Father.”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice thundered. He slammed his fist into the wall so hard the plaster cracked. “Don’t call me father when all you have ever been is a curse.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she bit them back. Crying never softened him; it only made him worse.

His eyes narrowed, searching her face for defiance. Finding none, he grunted and turned away, dragging the bottle across the table with a harsh scrape.

“Smart girl,” he muttered. “Learn your place.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her in silence. She curled tighter, rocking herself slowly, whispering the lullaby her mother used to sing. The words broke in her throat, but she clung to them because they were all she had left of her.

Later in the Evening

***********************

She must have dozed off because the sound of voices jerked her awake; it was a low, guttural, drunken voice. Her father’s voice was among them, rough with liquor.

She crept to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The stink of smoke and ale drifted through the cracks.

“Told you, she is young,” her father was saying, his tone slurred but eager. “Pretty enough, if you don’t mind her being thin. And she is a quick little thing, too.”

A chorus of laughter followed, making her stomach drop.

“Don’t joke, Garret,” one of the rogues chuckled. “You are saying you will sell your own blood?”

“Blood?” her father scoffed. “She is nothing to me but a mouth I can’t feed. What good is she rotting here? Better to let her earn her keep.”

Korra’s skin turned cold, her hands shook violently as bile rose in her throat.

“She’s unmarked,” another voice said thoughtfully. “That makes her valuable, as she’s untouched.”

Another roar of laughter echoed.

The room spun. She pressed both hands to her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Her chest felt like it was caving in, the air too thick to breathe.

He wasn’t just starving her anymore; he was bargaining a deal to get rid of her. Selling her off to the wolves who lurked outside, to men who looked at girls like her as prey.

Her father’s voice cut through again, low and hungry. “Make me a good offer, and she is yours.”

The ground tilted beneath her. Her vision blurred with tears. Every ounce of denial she had clung to crumbled to dust. He didn’t just hate her, he wanted to erase her.

She stumbled back from the door, choking on sobs, her body trembling with terror and betrayal. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her legs were weak, her stomach empty.

For the first time in her life, she realized survival might cost her more than hunger.

Korra curled against the wall of her little room, hugging her knees to her chest, shaking so violently she thought her bones might rattle apart. Her father’s words rang in her head, louder than any hunger pang, sharper than any slap.

Sell her! She would be worth plenty. The best part is that she is untouched.

She pressed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The walls themselves seemed to whisper it back to her.

She wanted to scream, to run, to disappear into the night and never come back. But where could she go? Who would take her? To the pack, she was invisible, a cursed shadow. To her father, she was nothing but someone to blame for his misery.

Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless. “Mother,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why did you leave me here? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

No answer came, only silence and the faint sound of her father laughing in the next room.