Choosing rage was as easy for Kipperlilly as taking in breath.
When she was six, her parents were called into school because she punched a kid on the playground. She tried to tell them that he was being impossible-- that it wasn't fair-- but they wouldn't listen. She could feel her heart beating in her ears.
When she was eleven, her mother found her diary, and she got in trouble for writing critical things about her classmates. Her face was hot. She wanted to rip it from her hands and tear the pages out.
When she was fourteen, she told the school guideance counselor about her issues, and she watched as he tried to remain neutral. Still, she could see the look on his face for what it was. He hated her; he was disgusted by her. She hated the twisted feeling in her gut.
She was hesitant to accept this teacher at his word, but he was a barbarian. If anyone understood rage, it was him. He told her she had a fight in her. That she had potential. No one had ever seen her anger as a strength, not even her friends.
They always tried to keep her calm, especially Lucy. But Kipperlilly didn't want to be calm anymore.
She let this nameless god wash over her like a hot shower, and she waited to feel relief. To finally accept what had been hunting her all her life should have been freeing. And it would have been, if only her friends could have seen things her way.
Instead, they had to be forced, and it felt all the more like betrayal. Was this... thing inside her really so insidious that not even a god's devotion could sway them? Even if this god's domain would soon be taken over by their own teacher, who chose them? Who saw something special in their rage?
And what's worse...
"Where's Lucy?" Ruben said, his voice strangely low.
Everyone but Porter looked around.
After a moment, Kipperlilly saw her body. It was still laying lifeless on the ground, tucked behind Porter's feet.
That thing in her chest curled around her heart as it began to pound. She clenched her still-bloody fist.
"She's not coming back," Porter said. "She made her choice."
"Why didn't you force her?" The words fell from her mouth like hot coals, tears threatening to follow. His response was muffled by the growing static in her head.
How dare she not come back? Doesn't she care about them? About her?
It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair!
Jace reached a hand out, but she swatted it away.
She just stood there, watching tears drip down onto her shoes. It's all she could do, as the rage overwhelmed her system.
After a long pause, Ivy spoke up, her voice thick.
"What are we supposed to do without a cleric?"
They all knew Porter wouldn't care about the emotion, only the tactical disadvantage. He never liked Lucy, anyway.
"Without a healer, we're as good as dead."
"There's someone we could bring in," said Jace. "He's from Highcourt-- a cleric of Helio."
Of course, Kipperlilly thought, those fucking Helio freaks are everywhere. In her mind, she pictured someone in tie-dye and a red ponytail.
Everyone looked to Porter.
He sighed, clearly annoyed.
"Sure, bring him in. He'll need a party anyway."
The trek back to the school was made in silence, and Kipperlilly stewed.
The Rat Grinders all silently decided they were going to spend the night at Ruben's-- no one wanted to pretend to be normal for their families. They just wanted to sleep. Or hit something. Or scream. But they settled on sleep.
His uncle Henry tried to talk, but Oisin snapped at him, and he didn't press further.
Kipperlilly lay in the dark on the floor of Ruben's bedroom, still wearing her bloody, torn-up clothes, staring at the ceiling.
Of all of the thoughts that flew through her mind, one reigned above all-- painted crimson in the light of a raging sun.
You chose wrong.