Phantom Hollow STOP WHINING ABOUT UR TRASH, LET'S GO

@Zan

What had he done to even deserve this shit?

No, Zan. Drop it! he barked a command at his daughter, who had been carrying the stupid antler around as though she was even capable of doing so, but it was like his words meant absolutely nothing. It was a strange concept for Damien that pups didn't really have what it took to understand the complexity of things yet, and so it was frustrating to deal with a whining little girl about an item that could easily be replaced if need be. Little did he know he'd had the same kind of problem once, when he thought the only way of filling that void in his heart was to stuff it with curiosities. That Damien was no longer, and somewhere along the way he had morphed into the dad that wouldn't allow her daughter to take her little trinkets with her.

In time, Zannah reluctantly obliged to Damien's command; his booming voice had prompted for her to position herself submissively, and for her gaze to avoid his. "I need them," she muttered with evident repugnance, eyeing the heap of her keepsakes. Zannah couldn't comprehend why she needed to give them up—especially when she was capable of handling them.

"They're my stuff," she reiterated harshly, as her nose wrinkled and her lips pulling back to reveal her milk teeth.

No you don't he insisted quite sternly. He was already losing his temper and Zan wasn't doing much to help that, but so far Damien had yet to raise a hand on his children. He knew deep down that he couldn't refuse them anything, but he wasn't the kind of father you'd get things from easily. Zannah was no easy child either.

He sighed, frustrated by his daughter's stubbornness. Why? he demanded an explanation, sitting in front of her making it clear he wouldn't move a hair until the matter was resolved. Why do you need this so much?