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Joyce smiled weakly at the Ministry official, not quite sure what to do. She nodded to Bryce, sighed and got into the car. It smelled new, that new car smell. It was strong, potent, and she was shivering despite the warm weather. Every tiny breath to her felt like it caught in her chest right now, she had no idea how this was going to go. She'd only been the Ministry twice, when she needed permission to go to private school. The second time was short, for a 'hearing' about what happened with Parker. She'd gotten off then, but what about now? She could only imagine what Bryce must be thinking. What if Lucifer knew? Just as Joyce was in danger of her parents making her step backwards, so was Bryce.

She was sure that once the Ministry heard about how long they'd been living together and how well they got along they'd let Joyce and Bryce date. So long as Bryce showed the Ministry who he truly was now, they'd have to. They can't control the dating lives of Hogwart's students, after all.
The room was small, but quaint. The woman behind the desk seemed friendly enough, but Joyce felt like she was going to a therapist. Bryce was a few rooms down.
”Hello, dearie!” The woman said, smiling. It looked like she was bearing her pointy teeth. ”Just got a couple quick questions here for ya, okay?”
Joyce nodded.

She answered them all truthfully like Bryce and her had agreed upon, for there was no reason not to, as they were fairly reasonable. Just things like, do you have both parents, where are you living, how old are you, how long have you liked Bryce, when did you meet him and where...etc.

Now she sat in front of the Minister's podium.
”All right then, Joyce and Bryce. Well from the information I'm receiving, both of our interviews see no reason why you two can't date, so long as Bryce's behavior stays the same and Joyce knows what she is getting into.”
He flicked a few pages.
”Still, it doesn't even seem that she's getting into anything, no trouble, really. Bryce seems perfectly in control of his actions and aware of who he is. There is only one complication I regret to inform you of. Joyce, your parents sent an owl to us, well, our owl they sent back with a note asking for where this courtroom is. I believe they want to see you. We sent them directions and believe that under, ahem, your...traditions, that they are so permitted to, despite you no longer living with them.”
Joyce crossed her arms and mumbled something.
Kingsley shook his head knowingly. He was about to wrap things up, Joyce could tell from the weary look on his face. He had more important business to deal with than two love-struck teens, he wasn't about to drag this out. But before he could talk, the door burst open.

Joyce's father looked the same, and so did her mother, just more gray hair. Her mom did have darker circles under her eyes, like she didn't get as much sleep. She seemed more...irritable. Touchy and moody looking. No doubt due to her now doing work she'd made Joyce do.
Terry, sweet Terry. She was...what, 9 now? Her face was blotchy and to anyone else, it may look like she'd been crying, but Joyce knew she must've moved up a corset size, her mother wasn't as good at tying them, and no doubt, she wasn't used to the even less air. She had almost a shadowy look to her face, as if she was keeping a dark secret. Joyce knew that face, since she herself wore it after Rosebud's death. It's the face of a mourning child. Terry was mourning Joyce. William had a similar shadow on his face, but not as deepened. Other than that, he seemed merely older. He was 10, but unchanged, like his father. Joyce understood immediately, it was the women who'd taken the toll. They were doing the work Joyce did, filling the hole her absence left.
And the hole she'd left was significant, apparently. Her mother looked ready to fall apart at further notice. She glanced at Joyce so often it was like she had a twitch, but she could never stare at her for more than a moment.
”There is no, NO, way, our daughter is dating that...that abomination!” Her father bellowed. Everyone seemed taken aback at the suddenness in which he spoke, and the rudeness, but Joyce got to her feet and her hands curled into fists.
”YOU SAID I WAS NO DAUGHTER OF YOURS. I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT THAT BOOK SAYS.” she hollered right back.
”WE LET that...THAT THING! INTO OUR HOUSE!”
Joyce was about to yell back again but her father raised his hand for her to be quiet and our of habit, she fell silent. A second later, she knew she'd messed up, because a grin quickly spread on his face.
”Ah, so you aren't a monster, then. You still silence yourself at my hand, then? You are still...fixable, Joyce.”
Joyce scowled and looked away from that hated face.
”Now come on, Joyce. There is nothing more to discuss. You are coming home with us, and I want no arguments. We've saved your dresses for Terry, but your mother can adjust them. We even bought you a new gown that I'm sure will fit just perfectly for tomorrow morning.”
”WHAT? NO!” Joyce shouted, recoiling.
”Have you forgotten, Joyce, that until you are 21, you are under our protection? It matters not how long you've lived with someone else, you're our child! This woman has never signed any official papers adopting you, we haven't signed any allowing her to! And if you cooperate, you will be welcomed back into the community!”
Joyce was dumbstruck. Her jaw was simply hanging open. She couldn't believe this. She wouldn't believe this. A split second before she did it, her father realized she was going to. She darted for Bryce, to cling to him, to apparate with him, far, far away from here. She knew she wouldn't make it, and she was about to turn on the spot when CRASH, she tripped down one of the pews onto the floor as her father yanked her arm down towards him. She cried out and tried to curse him, but he already grabbed the wand from her arm and handed it to Joyce's mother. Terry and William showed no emotion whatsoever. Just like how her face used to be.
Her face was twisted in pain, her leg bent oddly behind her.
”BRYCE!” She cried out, reaching for his hand. She grabbed onto it, but the next second she was wrenched from his grasp and she was literally carried out by her father, kicking and screaming.

Joyce, now at home, was changing into a corset. A tight, unusually tight one. It was wiry. This was usually used on special occasions. And boy oh boy did it hurt. She felt light-headed the second the first string was pulled. She vomited around when the middle was tightened, and found she couldn't really focus on any one thing at the end. Her head was reeling. Her mother put a couple books on her head and lead her from the room. She told her to close her eyes, and Joyce obeyed, resentfully. The urge to yank the books off and chuck them at her mother's face was overwhelming, but she was too sleepy in this corset to argue.
”Come on Joyce, straighter, keep your back straight. Okay, ready? I want to show you your new dress!”
Joyce stumbled but managed to keep 3 out of the 4 books on her head.
Joyce opened her eyes on her mother's cue, and screamed when she saw it.
It wasn't just a dress.
It was a wedding dress.
She understood in a moment.
HER wedding dress.
http://www.davidsbridal.com/Product_Satin-Bodice-with-Organza-Skirt-and-Beading-CT258_Bridal-Gowns-Shop-By-Silhouette-Ball-Gown

It wasn't even her, though. Joyce was a simple girl, and she had simple tastes. This was puffy and elaborate and not her.
”S-so...what...?” Joyce stammered, staring at the gown.
”Gee, you could act a little surprised! Joyce, don't you see darling?”
Joyce turned to face her mother, letting the books tumble off her head to find that her mother had tears in her eyes.
”The only way to ensure that you could be happy is by keeping you from that Bryce. You can't date him, and well, we needed to find a...replacement for him. But your father and I have agreed to let you remain friends with Bryce, so long as Mark can be around you when you are with Bryce. You've been at marrying age for over a year, since you turned sixteen, anyways!”

(Mark)

Joyce thought for a moment. That name, she knew it from somewhere...
”You know, Mark!” Her mother looked away, apparently ashamed of something. ”The one who works with your father.”
Joyce shook on her feet and grabbed a table. ”MOM! HE'S 32!” She said loudly. He was practically double her age.
”Well he has money, seems very generous, and agreed to marry you! Do you KNOW how impossible you've made LIFE for us, Joyce! Just finding someone to marry you was quite the trouble!” Her mom yelled, red in the face. ”Now get in that dress!”

Joyce knew it would be pointless to argue. After all, her parents had the right now to marry her off. But at least, if going by tradition, it would be a tiny wedding. Bryce wouldn't have to see her. Unless he wanted to, but she doubted he did. He couldn't do anything.
And then the truth struck her as her mom tied the last, fateful ribbon on the gown.
There was no 'hero' to rescue her this time. She didn't have her wand. It was over. She was getting married to Mark, a 32 year old man with his own house. She'd be sleeping next to him tomorrow night.
Tears started rolling down her face quicker than you could say 'what's wrong.?'
Her mother took a picture of Joyce in the dress, the gorgeous, breathtaking dress that she so hated.
She made dinner and did the dishes, but after that, she was quite alone. She found a quill and parchment, and wrote to Bryce. She didn't want him to worry, so she lied about her father's abuse, and he wasn't allowed to visit. By order of her parents. She wrote,
Dear Bryce,
I miss you. More than ever, now. I am healthy and well, besides being back to the old corset and bonnet. My leg is mending, though. Please don't reply to this letter, if my parents know I'm writing to you, I'm not sure what they'd say. They are allowing us to be friends, but there can be nothing more between us.
Truthfully, they have made it impossible.
I am sending, with this letter, an invitation. To my wedding. Tomorrow, at sunrise, me and Sir Mark, age 32, will be married at the small church in town.
Bryce, I have no choice, believe me. I have grown up with this book, I know it's loopholes, I know how there is no escaping it. There is no escaping our traditions.
I understand completely if you don't go. I wouldn't either. But if you do, please wear a tuxedo, and sit near the altar, as close as you can. If I have to be married tomorrow, I much rather be looking into your face and pretending it's you.
You will always have,
All my love,
Joyce.
P.S. Twos cannot win wars.
She went outside and searched the forest until she found an owl willing to deliver it. She returned to her bed at 3am and wept until she fell asleep out of exhaustion from wearing the tight corset.

It was very early in the morning. 9 am. Joyce changed into her gown, sobbing.
As Joyce walked up the aisle, her father kept a firm grip on her, as if he knew how much she wanted to simply run. Her veil covered her face. She truly looked gorgeous, but it wasn't even herself walking up the aisle. The orange chrysanthemums and red carnations were doing something strange. The bouquet she had, on the way up, it was like watching the flowers sped-up. The petals turned brown at the edges and withered, until when she reached the altar, not a single flower looked alive or less than months old. Joyce took one hand off the bouquet and dead petals showered the floor. She looked down at the crunching noise and her eyes widened, but she knew how, and she knew why.
When witches and wizards had their limits tested and pushed to the edge, they did magic without even realizing it.
She made the flowers die. She'd been holding them, and her misery had spread. Mark had been staring her in the eyes hungrily and didn't seem to notice. She took her place across from Mark and let him hold her hand. She had to.
She seemed to be standing very far off, hearing the words the preacher said from a lifetime away. Mascara was running down her face like two small waterfalls. She was wrenched back to earth when Mark said: “I do.”
She turned and looked at the preacher, then at Bryce's seat, over Mark's shoulder. The seat had been reserved, but he wasn't here. Maybe he'd visit? No. he couldn't. Mark wouldn't let him.

The words were said. It was her turn. But her voice seemed to have died in her throat. She opened her mouth and closed it. It took her at least 5 slow seconds, but when she said the words, it was quick, as if to get it over with: “I do.”
Mark flipped the veil off and smiled at her teary face. Did he honestly believe they were tears of joy? She cringed as he drew closer, but didn't back away. And then he kissed her. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see it happen, but it was over after 9 agonizing seconds. She had counted.

Mark walked her back down the aisle, more like dragged. She was married. The golden band on her finger seemed tight, restricting her from her own life. They were off now, to Mark's house.

Now here it was. The dreaded moment. Joyce rode with Mark to his house late that evening, they had walked there. Tradition or something. The moon was high in the sky and stars gleamed above them.
”Look, there's the Roseb-” She said in a whisper, pointing at the stars, but he slapped her hand away.
”What are you talking about? Women know nothing of the constellations.” He said harshly. He seemed to say everything in that curt voice.
They got into the cabin. It was a fairly large house, and Joyce stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Mark took her hand and half lead, half-dragged her to his room. Their room. Her long hair was loose, surrounding her, and she did her best to try and hide her entire face in it, as if that would make her invisible. Mark swept off her veil as he shut the door in a single movement and made a soft coo-ing sound.
”Joyce you are beautiful...” He whispered. It didn't make him seem nice, but peverse. ”I am lucky to be married to such a lovely, such a young woman...” he said quietly, taking her hand and sitting down with her on the bed. She didn't sit. She couldn't, with her corset this tight.
”Awhhh, don't be scared.” He murmured in her ear, mistaking her silence for fear, not loathing. He ran his hand down her back and she shuddered. He pulled at the top of the ribbon, undoing the back of her dress to reveal the tight corset underneath.
”Coo, let's get this tight thing off, then, shall we?” He said, not quite as quiet, ripping apart the ribbon her mother had worked so hard to tie. He had it off in hardly any time. He tossed it aside and a tear welled up in her eye. If she fought back, she didn't put it past him to force her down. If she did nothing, perhaps he'd go away. She never thought she was that attractive, anyways....
He put his hands in between her skin and the dress and with a few tugs here and there, the dress fell around her ankles. She gritted her teeth, and tried to run, but his hand caught her around the waist and he buried his nose in her hair. He fiddled with the string on her bloomers for a second, then let the rest of her undergarments fall. She was completely naked now and she swore she heard a couple buttons being undone behind her, her back was faced towards him, his arm around her waist. He commented on her thin waist, calling her some pet name, but she hardly noticed. She struggled against him, eyes wide and full of tears.
”Ohh, dearie, what's wrong?” He whimpered, turning her to face him. She cringed and closed her eyes and struggled madly. He had no pants on. That was the buttons and faint zipper noise. He easily lifted her onto the bed with him and kept a firm grip on her shoulders. She didn't hit him, she wasn't supposed to lay a hand on a man, but just focused on trying to get away.
He pressed his lips against hers and shoved his tongue into her mouth until she thought she might gag or choke. He brought one of his hands down to squeeze her chest and moaned into her open mouth. He ran his other hand up her thigh and just as he touched her inner thigh, he noticed it.
The bite marks.
”And what is that?” He whispered, staring at her neck. Her hair was all behind her back, she was laying on it, and the bite scars were clearly visible, the long cuts and the four dots.
”Vampires!” She wailed, sobbing and shaking.
”W-what?” And for the first time, he sounded afraid.
”They're real, I swear! You've heard the stories, haven't you!? A-and, they, uh, they kill children! That's h-how my sister died! It was a mystery, see! And they attacked me, too!”
She hoped he believed it, prayed. Her mind was whirring, and traditional folk were superstitious.
He was staring at her in disbelief.
”It's true! They're puncture marks, I swear! I...I know one of them! I can introduce you! See, see...uh, I'm allied with them now, we sorted out our problems! So, so if they hear you've hurt me, they'll hurt you, too!”
Mark loosened his grip and Joyce wriggled free, panting.
”So...so we can't...” Mark's brain seemed to work slowly.
”No, see, you can't really touch me, until you've become allied with them too, or they'll get angry you did! That's why...uh...tomorrow...tomorrow I can introduce you! That's why I didn't want to marry you Mark, it's for your own safety!” She wailed, tear stains still on her face, but no more falling. There was a glimmer of hope now.
Mark smiled.
”Thank you, my pet.” He said, kissing her goodnight. He took his shirt off, but put undergarments back on, and so did she.
”Tomorrow night then.” He whispered, giving her chest a final squeeze and rolling over, then falling asleep.
Joyce covered herself up, feeling helpless, dirty, and used. Cheap. She'd only just had her first kiss days ago...
She tried hard not to cry.

Joyce was shaking as she approached Natalie's house. The home she'd grown up in for the past three years. It had been a few hours away, but they made it. It was...what, three in the afternoon, now? Bryce should be home, hopefully. She was making this up as she went along, and even if she'd get found out, even if she'd get punished for this, all along she just needed Bryce by her side to pull her through this. He didn't need to get involved or end up deep in trouble with her, just hold her hand.
Mark, on the other hand, seemed troubled nearly as much as her, and she smiled to herself. He was nervous about meeting a vampire. Of course, Bryce was a controlled half-vampire, but he didn't need to know that. Perhaps Bryce wouldn't 'ally' himself with Mark, or make Mark take tests to be 'approved of'. She hoped so. If Mark believed he'd won over the vampire's favor, then he'd have nothing to worry about when he touched Joyce.
She glanced at his face again, barely. She wasn't allowed to look him in the eyes, but she knew he'd be nervous-looking. After how he handled her last night, she didn't have much pity for him. Not to mention how he was 32...she still couldn't get over this. It was like she was living in a nightmare, waiting to wake up, refusing it was real. Her, Joyce. Married, to Mark, 32 years old. It was...truthfully, unbelievable.
Mark knocked three times, and thankfully, it was Bryce who opened the door.
Mark gave a curt bow, as if he'd rather not, and Joyce curtsied low before straightening up and looking Bryce in the eyes, out of habit. Her corset was so tight, she was dizzy, she couldn't really think straight.
Mark grabbed her elbow and slapped Joyce across the face before she'd realized her mistake, and she curtsied low in apology, before Mark could scold her.
”Do forgive me, Mister Bryce. My husband and I would like to speak with you, if you permit it.” She said a bit quietly, cheek pulsing red. Bryce let her in and Joyce was relieved that he wasn't asking questions. She kept her eyes on his shoulder level.
”So this is your vampire friend, then?” Mark boomed a minute or two after cordial introductions.
”You made him sound so frightening, Joyce! What have I to be worried of, then!?” He laughed loudly.
”Ah but dear husband, surely you know appearances are not everything?” She said with the tiniest bite of sarcasm and impatience.
His face hardened and he slapped her again. ”Do not tell me what I should and should not know, woman!”

Joyce collapsed, not even steady on her feet to begin with because of the corset so tight and the bonnet blocking her peripheral version so she couldn't see the blow coming. Her head banged against the side of a chair, hard, it fell over, and she hit the ground with a dull thud.
Women were not meant to simply lay down on the floor, so she got to her feet, arms shaking a little and head spinning, putting the chair back up.
Men tended to discipline woman more in front of others, to make themselves seem more superior. Not to mention that if Mark really thought Bryce was a vampire, this was his way of trying to impress Bryce. As if to say, 'see? I can handle her, she obeys me, I can handle anything, even a small vampire.'
”Do forgive me, husband.” Joyce curtsied low to Mark, but Mark yanked her back up by the back of her hair, the rest was in her bonnet, and roared: ”Do not apologize to me, but it is Mister Bryce you have offended, as this is HIS home! Have you forgotten your manners, Joyce!?
He dropped her hair but she managed to stay on her feet this time. She clutched the side of the chair to keep from falling.
"Now then, leave the men alone to talk, my sweet." Mark said confidently.
For the first time, Joyce looked worried. She curtsied to leave, and Mark gave her a kiss, a rather wet one, before giving her butt a bit of a slap and squeeze.

Woman were always demeaned. It meant nothing.
Joyce curtsied out and sat in a chair in the hallway, tapping her foot nervously. Please, Bryce, Please just go along with whatever he says...” She thought desperately, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
”Now then!” Mark boomed, sitting down across from Bryce. ”My young wife has informed me that you are, well, a vampire, Mister Bryce.” He said young merely because he was proud of it. Proud that a man his age could wed a young woman. His pride showed clearly.
” She has said that in order for me to sleep with her and by her side, I must first ally myself with your kind. And of course, I would like to get this done as soon as possible.” He winked and then roared laughter obnoxiously. Of course he wanted to hurry this up, ally himself with Bryce. So he'd have nothing to worry about, so he could sleep with his young wife, and he could sleep peacefully.

Mark was about to say his name, but this young Vampire, Bryce, didn't really seem to care, so he shut up. He needed to ally himself with this people. Or, things. Whatever.
Everything seemed to be happening so fast! He was going to see their leader? Already? It never worked that way in their community, you had to wait to speak to a pastor or something. He figured he'd talk to a few people first. Crap. He had no idea how to speak around these things! His palms were getting sweaty. They walked out into the hallway to go upstairs, and Mark saw her sitting in a chair in the hall, eyes half-closed like she was sick or something. She was pale too.
"Joyce, you're coming with me. Get over here." He said curtly.
Joyce looked from Bryce, to Mark. Both of them were going up the attic, but she didn't want to. truthfully, she thought she saw a glimpse of someone rush by, but she'd remained silent and still. Someone who looked like, well...Alex. She'd killed Alex's brother Parker three years ago. She couldn't face them alone. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Mark got there first.
"I am not leaving you alone down here with a Vampire, now get MOVING." He yelled.
Joyce trembled a little, but remained seated.
"I can assure you, I shall be perfectly safe with Mister Bryce." She said cooly. "Please forgive me, dear husband, but the attic is not a place for women and I do not wish to defile the rules of this sacred household." She said convincingly, coming up with a story remarkably fast considering how close she was to passing out. She just couldn't handle this. She didn't care what awaited Mark upstairs, didn't care in the least. She just wanted to black out, to wake up, have it all be some sick dream...

Mark scowled, muttered 'very well' and walked upstairs alone. He looked tempted to call of Bryce, tell him to keep his hands of his wife, but didn't let it slip. That was no way to ally yourself with someone, after all.
Mark opened the attic door. He was in.

Joyce stood up hesitantly, not sure if Bryce was angry at her or not. She'd practically sold him out. But she gave him a hug anyways and smiled into his warm shoulder.
"I'm soo sorry, Mister Bryce." She whispered. "But, well, he was...well, and saw the bite marks and all I could think of was the truth at first, it's hard to lie under that much pressure, so I basically said I'd allied myself with vampires and, well, in order to be with me, he had to as well. I...I'm so sorry."

She wanted to ask why he hadn't been at the wedding, was he too upset and she was sorry, it had been her fault, once again, and did he perhaps have a scheme of his own, and what was in the attic, though as long as it was foul she couldn't care less....but she'd talked herself hoarse in a matter of moments, her throat felt tight and her eyes were watery again. She didn't know she still had tears left to cry.

A part of her wanted to kiss Bryce, apologize, but she didn't want to kiss him when her lips had been dirtied up by Mark's. The rest of her longed to just stay like this forever. Forever, truthfully, and delete the past few days of her life.
"I know you must hate me, for bringing him here, and for killing your cousin and for being with him, and for going backwards in time..." She muttered, her throat dry. Indeed, she looked exactly like she did those 3 years ago in the tiny corset dresses. With the bonnet and gloves to match.
"But I love you, Mister Bryce..."
She didn't even noticed she'd called him Mister, it slipped her mind and didn't register. In a matter of days, she'd had that beaten into her. Literally, sometimes. She was slipping, falling back, and Bryce could catch her. Only Bryce.

Joyce shuddered at first when Bryce kissed her, she felt excruciatingly cold for a split second, just remembering last night. It was still embedded in her brain. But when Bryce's lips met hers...it all seemed to drain away.
She held onto him, almost as if for support.

Mark, meanwhile was thundering down the stairs. His neck was bleeding profusely. Since he had a rather beefy neck, it wasn't even close to fatal, but he was no doubt in a lot of pain. He fell at Joyce's feet and raised his hand to her, like he desperately wanted to hit her at the sight of her in Bryce's arms, but didn't have the effort of energy. Joyce almost smiled at the sight of him, but she suppressed her laughter. He deserved this, truthfully.
"Di...di." He mumbled, gasping for air. Joyce curtsied so she was slightly closer to him.
"Sorry, husband, I don't believe I heard you?" She was working hard to keep her face straight. She knew the word he was going to mutter before he did.
"Divorce! Get...get away from me...you...you're with them, and....you...no allies...can't....touch you...."
He was truthfully out of breath. Joyce stood up and rolled her eyes. She turned to Bryce and grinned. A happy grin that lit up her whole face. Then she took the golden band off her finger and crammed it onto Mark's fat ring finger.

She gave Bryce a kiss on the cheek and whispered, "I'll pay you back one day. For all of this. I promise. I'll be back by tomorrow morning, I need to divorce this useless lump or I won't be free. It's a long ride back but..." she looked down at his pathetic form on the floor.
"I don't think he'll bother me." She smiled. Even though her face was pale, sickly, the bonnet and corset on, she looked a lot more like Joyce now.

Joyce pushed Mark out, since he was unsteady on his feet, and let him fall into the backseat of the buggy. The horses were well -rested now, and she knew the way back. She gave the reins a quick snap, and they were off. Her father wouldn't be able to control her now. Mark couldn't. She was going back to Bryce.

As she rode out of the driveway, she put two fingers up out of the carriage for Bryce to see, if he was looking. It might look like a peace sign to most people, but Bryce would know what she was referring to. The Twos.

Joyce and Mark got home in the evening, earlier than expected. They immediately headed to the chapel and preformed the ritual. Signed the papers, the whole, "I divorce thee' thing, and the deed was done. Mark ran, back to his house, and Joyce smiled at the thought of him tossing and turning in his sleep. He was clutching his neck, and no doubt about to go get it sewn back up. Joyce was only missing one thing now, but it was the trickiest of all.
Her wand.
She could've asked Bryce to come along, but she didn't want to put him through anything else. He'd already done so much for her. Joyce waited a couple hours, until it was dark, and she crept into the house. Her parents should be fast asleep by now. She knew all the places they'd hide a spare key. But as she opened the door, a ghastly scene met her eyes.

Mark was there, unconscious on the couch, having his neck sewn up. By her mother, on the couch. That's right, Mark still had the favor of the Heffer household, her parents had chosen him for her, after all. And Joyce apparently had been too blind to see him stumble around the back way. She cursed herself for her stupidity and stared her mother and father in the face for a full minute before they acted. Her father pointed an accusing finger at her, walked up to her, and took the cane that was leaning on the wall. he took his belt off, his thick leather belt. He held both items in his hand and Joyce cringed at the sight of them. He grabbed her wrist in a vice like grip and dragged her to the dining room.
"Assume the position." He said quietly, deadly.
She didn't think for a second about disobeying. She quickly fumbled around for the ribbon and took her dress off. her undergarments, the corset and bloomers covered her chest and down to her knees, but all that was inbetween her and a whole lot of pain was the thin fabric. She flopped down onto the table, rump in the air, her upper body spread flat on it. She stretched her arms across from it so her hands were gripping the edge of the table on the opposite side.
"Count to thirty." her father said. She nodded and already the tears came. He hadn't even his her yet.
Then- pain. He slapped the cane across the back of her knees, the belt from the middle of her back to her bottom.
"One." She said, keeping her voice even.
And it went on. And on. And on....and on...
"T-thrttty..." Joyce whimpered, her father's hand on the back of her neck to keep her from collapsing. The back of her knees were bleeding badly, she couldn't bend them. She wouldn't be able to sit for a while, her bottom was red as blood and her back was cut up and mangled in some parts.
Her father let go of her neck and she fell like a rag doll, howling in her misery. He locked her in her room and she was tired from the corset, and the loss of blood, and the no sleep last night and....black.
***
She heard someone crying above her. Her eyes snapped open and just as they did, a hand came across her mouth. A small hand, with a tiny glove on it.
Terry.
Terry was cleaning Joyce's wounds, dabbing alcohol on them. Not her bottom, but the back of her knees and back at least. her back already looked a bit better, from what she could tell on the wall opposite, where a full-length mirror stood.
She looked up at Terry with confusion, and Terry smiled down at her sister.
"You don't belong here, do you, Sissy?" Joyce's face only registered shock and disbelief.
"It's okay, I'm not a tattle-tale." Terry at last removed her hand from Joyce's mouth, and Joyce sat up, wincing and numb in places. Terry helped Joyce put on a dress.
"Present." Terry said, holding out something in her hands. Joyce looked down. It was her wand.
"Terry, but, why would, you...?"
"Well you need it, don't you? You've always helped me, now I get to help you. Buts you gots to promise..." She continued, sounding more her age. "You gots to promise to love me." She said, tears in her eyes.
And Joyce understood. While Joyce was being monotone, and not communicating with anyone, Terry was looking up to her, confused, and in need. Their fussy mother hadn't been enough.
Joyce leaned over as best she could with the back of her knees all torn, and kissed Terry's forehead. "You and Rosebud are the two sisters I've always known. Sometimes..." Joyce looked down at Terry's sparkling eyes. "You remind me of her a bit." Joyce ruffled Terry's hair.
"You love me?" Terry whispered, clinging to Joyce's hand.
"Of course." Joyce whispered.
With a final kiss on the cheek, Joyce let go of Terry and grinned. Terry grinned back, and Joyce apparated to Bryce's. She stumbled a bit on the steps to his house, but she rung the doorbell.
Home.

Joyce smiled when Bryce opened the door, but when he flung his arms around her, it was more than she could take. She twitched involuntarily and opened her mouth, unable to contain a sharp intake of air. It was all she could do not to cry out, but Bryce had noticed anyways. Joyce tried to stand up from the couch, assure him she was fine, but she found herself doubled up in pain again. She was on her side, so her back, bottom, and knees weren't in contact with any part of the couch.
She only had to wait a few seconds really, until Natalie and Bryce were above her with dittany and various bottles and jars. She couldn't help smiling. Home at last.
The questions made her flush. "Dad." She muttered. "But it's okay! Really! I don't need to go back there anyways, it's fine, really, it looks worse than it feels...." The blood on the back of her stockings said otherwise, but she ignored it.
"he locked me in my room, and..." She looked up at Bryce smiling. "Terry let me out." Her face seemed to shine when she said it.

She looked down, smiling to herself, unbelievably grateful for Terry's actions. After all, her father would probably think Joyce just got out using witchcraft or something. She'd be safe.
Natalie leaned over Joyce with the dittany and Joyce pulled the stockings down a bit and lifted her dress just a little bit.
"It's the back of the knees that's the worst of it." She said quietly. Two deep, wide slices lay there where the cane had been slammed against them. Thirty times.
She winced as the dittany was applied, but she felt sweet blessed new skin stretching over the wounds already.
Joyce then undid the ribbon in the back for Natalie to get to the rest of the slices. Besides her butt, that was...but she'd ask for a personal word with Natalie of something later. She was not telling him that. It was...improper? Ah whatever, she didn't have the guts to say it, really.

The corset was falling apart. After about five lashed with the belt, it had split open at the back and she now had burning red, leather belt marks. It looked like she's been whipped with a belt, all right; that much was clear.