Angel

On the first day of your daughter's voluntary imprisonment, she sat in her sterile throne willingly. Smiled at the people who shut the doors of her clear glass palace.
Your princess.
Your angel.
'I love you, daddy,' she said.
You wanted to tell her you loved her too, but you were so appalled at yourself.  You exploited your beautiful little princess for gain, but what gain, you didn't even know what gain.
Your subjects swarmed you, said you'd made the right choice, yes, sir, you made the right choice. Let us handle her, sir, if that's alright. Your empire will flourish, sir. Sir, sir, sir, sir.
You just pushed past them.
Went home.
Not your corporate castle of white marble and stainless floors, but home. Where you and your queen used to live.
The door opened to your voice, to the password you set. The password that they would never know.
I love you.
Your queen would never hear you, but you said it, pressed against the door, lips moving against the smooth metal like it was her neck.
Welcome home, sir. Condescending door voice. Typical, typical, manufactured by your empire, typical and you heard it all the time. So commonplace. Boring.
Everyone called you sir. You wanted to be daddy. You wanted to be baby, you wanted to be honey, sugar, sweetheart, you wanted to be Luke.
That was your name, but it was slipping away, slipping away down the sleek and polished floors of your new home. Drowning in the sea of sir.
Your real home (old home, home where you played with your angel, where your queen kissed you and died in your arms) was exactly how you remembered.
There were crayons shattered on the floor, drawings on the walls. Some in blood, some crayon, all done by your little homicidal angel.
Didn't know what she was doing, she didn't know what she was doing. It wasn't her fault.
(But it was, it was, and that's why you're letting your subjects take care of her)
You walk across the living room, hand trailing across a wall covered in symbols and the blood of your queen. Smells like her. You lick it off your finger, it tastes like her.
The only remnant of your queen is some blood on the wall, blood drawn by a child.
All your angel's toys are strewn across the floor, teddy bears and talking books abound. You took her away from that.
Screaming, your baby girl was screaming. You could hear even through the metal door. You yelled I love you, had to get the door open, had to, but you didn't love her, not when you saw.
And you felt guilty, not a good father, you have to love your child, even when there's something glowing in the air and your wife on the ground and her blood on the walls.
But you didn't, how could you, how could you, it wasn't your fault.
'We're going now honey, we're leaving, we're gonna live in a castle, yeah sweetie, you'd like that.' Frantic fasttalking, can't slow down, can't look at the body, keep talking, keep telling her about her new life.  'A castle. And you're going to have your own special throne room, because you're a little princess.'
Took your daughter in your arms and ran away. Couldn't process, no time, had to contain the power surge coming from your daughter, she was emanating heat and burning you.
' I'm scared, daddy,' her tears scalded you as they dripped onto your neck.
Oh, baby, you should be.
Your beautiful queen's body was gone, removed perhaps by a cleaning droid. Sensed a large, non-living object and moved it.
It was still a bit too hot.
All you could do was sit on the couch and consider. You should have made your angel go into imprisonment sooner. Sooner, faster, because then there would be one death on her shoulders, not ten. Not ten.
Blood everywhere and that goddamn, stupid, evil and completely innocent child holding a  blue ball of energy on her fist.
You weren't awake enough to process just then, but after yawning and rubbing your eyes, you saw. Nine of your men.
And they were your men, your men, they served your empire and she killed them, killed your servants, killed nine of the things that kept you king and her a princess, a cursed and evil princess.
'I thought they were going to hurt you, daddy.' Innocent eyes, innocent voice, close to tears, close to the breaking point.
'And why would you think that, angel.' On edge, trying not to scream, trying not to hurt her. 'Why would you think that these men, who had security clearance, would want to hurt me?'
'I don't know!' Defensive, energy starting to curl around her wrist. 'I just did! I sensed it!'
'So now you're some kind of psychic? You know, maybe you are. You're enough of a freak already.' Wished you could bite the words back, make it so she  never heard them, because then she broke.
'I! AM! NOT! A! FREAK!'
And you were on the ground, tasting blood and watching your vision fade. Then you were inhaling blood too, drowning.
Blackout or whiteout, you can't remember. Last thing you remembered was the fire in her eyes fading.
Then you were drowning in hospital, the smell stinging your nostrils and white coating your vision. Nothing but starched sheets, doctors' yells, antiseptic, and your daughter's name.
You didn't know what exactly they were going to do with her.  They said they needed to test things, if it was alright, sir. She's unique, sir, one of a kind, sir, yes, sir, we need her, sir, you will only profit.
And two years later, first time you visited your princess in her throne, they let her speak and she only said one thing.
'I
am
not
a
freak,
sir.
You
are,
sir.'
Then they prodded her, and she lashed out and turned back to you.
'Long live the king.'