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**THIS IS THE LIVEJOURNAL FOR A CHANGELING CHARACTER**

I’m here to interview Mistress Toi Breaker. The room is oddly soft and hard all at the same time, and it’s filled with rich wine, royal blue, deep forest green, and garnet colors. Burgundy velvet covers the windows and pools on the thick forest carpet. Toi lounges on the settee that is in front of the windows. One wall is covered with massive mahogany bookshelves. Not only are the shelves filled with books but also several vases of fresh flowers. Their scent fills the room and mixes with the scent of fresh strawberries. There is a mahogany roll top desk sitting in front of the bookshelves. A large 4-poster bed fills the third wall of the room. The bed is unusual as it is covered with all manner of beautiful gold rings, clasps, and buckles. The sheets are deep wine and royal blue. Everything in the room is like the bed. At first glance I don’t notice all the “hardware” because it’s designed to blend in with the room. At a closer look I noticed all of the other hidden hooks, latches, clasps, and rings. I get the feeling that this is the “company’s coming” version of the room.

Toi smiles and leans back in her Settee as I walk in. Her grin is nothing short of devious and commanding. She’s an ogre. She stands somewhere around 6’ tall. She’s wearing some sort of corset with a long skirt that is slit up the front of her legs. She has a flail that looks to be made of the hedge in her hand and draped across her legs. The flail gives off a sinister aura. I can see what looks like bits of flesh caught in its barbs. Much of her skin is exposed and she’s almost completely covered in scars. The scars look old and are not overly pronounced, but you can’t help but notice them either. Some are noticeably wider or longer, and then some are tiny slits. A deviously sexy aura pours off of her. It’s a little unnerving and yet she’s somehow more beautiful than any other Ogre I’ve ever seen. She looks at me with the eyes of a true predator, having long since sized me up and figured out my weaknesses. Her eyes are cold and blue- grey, much like her skin. As I look her over I notice one other odd feature… She has unusually soft hands for an ogre and a domme.

After a short silence she begins to speak. Her voice is not at all what I expect. It’s deep, soulful, and sad. It morphs and changes to match the tale she tells. It rises in anger, and then drops to a sultry whisper. I know she’s leading me down a path, maybe not one I want to go down, but I’m here to get a story, so I’m going to follow.

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

Do you have any place you want to begin?

*She cocks her head to one side and looks at me rather hard.*

Do you really have any idea what the greatest torment is? It’s not physical pain. Pain means nothing. Pain is pleasure when done right. It’s temporary. Once it’s over, that’s it. If a limb gets cut off, so what? The pain is over. You can never be hurt by that lost limb ever again. Sure you remember losing it and the pain. Yeah, it’s tragic to be armless or legless, but you’re still alive. Eventually physical pain means nothing. It can lose its edge, especially in the hands of an amateur. You know, someone who breaks things just to break them, a brute if you will. There’s an art to real torture, and most people just don’t know that. It’s a real art to keep physical pain painful. It’s even more of an art form to make physical pain into pleasure.

*she smiles a genuine smile, like she’s proud*

And don’t whine to me about psychological “pain” either.

*she rolls her eyes*

People play tricks all the time. Everything is a game. You just have to know you’re being played and do your best to figure out the rules. If you can’t figure out the rules, then make your own up. Most normal people aren’t really smart enough to play those kinds of games really well. They can get a few tricks in, pull a few strings, maybe even get over on you for a time. And I suppose if you are stupid enough to keep letting it happen to you then it would be quite the torment. The psychological side is just another layer. You have to be able to blend it all together. But that’s still not the worst pain.

*She shakes her head and has a smirk on her face*

Emotional torture is the worst. That’s the one game you can never win at as long as you care about anything or anyone. My father already beat me before I was taken, so that was nothing new from “the Maker”.

*she puts the words in air quotes*

I still don’t know if it made him happy or angry when I laughed at him the first time he beat me. He did beat me harder and more viciously the next time though. All that did was make me stronger. Of course, that’s when he changed his tactics with me. Then he went to trying to play mental games with me. It worked for a while, but then I got smarter. I made up my own rules, and even tricked him once. Only once. Then he changed his game again. Always a game.

*She leans back in her chair and sighs.

But let me go back to how this all began. Everything was always my fault at home. Not everyone remembers life before entering the Hedge, but he let me keep certain memories of my previous life. Another part of the game.

*she smirks at the memory and her face grows dark for a second, then she flashes that same devious smile an seems to return to herself*

My dad wanted a boy. He got me as his first child instead. He beat me every day to remind me how weak I was being a girl. My mother would save me if she could, but not often. He kept her pregnant all the time and he beat her too. I can’t even tell you how many times she miscarried. Don’t worry.

*she raises a hand*
I’m not going to turn this into a litany of child abuse. Just pop open 50 or so of your worst child abuse cases, pile them all into one hideous story, and you pretty much have my story. I would have sworn my father was taken by an Ogre at some point. But he wasn’t. He was just one of the most inhuman humans ever.

If the abuse at home was so bad, how did no one notice and turned him in?

Well… *sigh* We moved around a lot. I mean A LOT. Probably every 6 to 12 months we were moving. If you keep moving then you’re not in one place long enough to make friends or have any teachers or doctors notice the broken bones, bruises, black eyes, broken noses, and burns.

Right about the time that it was getting harder to hide the abuse is about the time I was taken. I was 14. My time in Fairie was really skewed. I was only gone 6 months here, but it was 20 years to me, but I only aged 10. But I digress.

Ok, so family life. There was me as the oldest and most favorite punching bag. Then there was my younger sister, who I think was three years younger than me. Then there was Dad’s golden boy! My younger brother who I think was 7. Then there were two more, both girls again. And at the time I think mom was preggers again because I recall her having a really huge belly. Even now that’s still fuzzy to me.

*She looks down, sadness filling her eyes. For a moment you think you might see them tearing up, but then that too fades and the cold grey returns.*

Mom tried. She tried so hard. But honestly she got to the point where her spirit was so broken she couldn’t do anything but smile that vacant defeated smile. I hated my brother almost as much as I hated my father. Little brother figured out at about age 3 that he could get away with doing or saying anything. You name it, and it was somehow my fault and not his.

*she shifts her body and with that her mood shifts slightly. That veil of cruelty comes back to her face*

Don’t worry I made sure little brother got his. “Like father like daughter!”

*she has this wicked look on her face and lets out a short evil laugh*

He might get me in trouble with dad every day, but at night it was my turn. It wasn’t like that at first. But after he turned 5 it became obvious that he was doing things deliberately, that’s when I got wise and creative. It was this subtle constant war that went on in the house. He’d get me in trouble and I’d torture him at night. By age 14 I was already pretty good at inflicting pain but not leaving any marks, scrapes, or bruises. I didn’t want to give him any proof to show my father.

*Her face darkens*

Oh, there was one time I messed up and left a welt on him. That was the worst beating of my mortal life. I was 13 when he put me in the hospital. He had beaten and raped me so badly that my parents had to make up a story about me being attacked by a gang of thugs. What a joke. And everyone fell for it. But oddly enough, that 3 weeks in the hospital was the best time for me. I loved it. I still have a love of hospitals to this day.

*Her face softens as she seems to recall it with fondness, perhaps even pleasure*

I knew there was no way I could take on my Father. I was pretty tough and strong for a 14 year old girl, but I was still just a 14 year old girl. I was biding my time, trying to make it as long as I could before running away. Running away was always on my mind.

What about your younger sisters?

*she laughs this strange laugh that seems to say “you’re an idiot”*

Oh honey! This was survival of the fittest! There was no way I could protect any of them. All I could do was teach them what I knew and had used to survive that long.

*She pauses and thinks for a second*

Ever hear that line “better the devil you know rather than the devil you don’t.” The guy who said that is a freakin’ genius. I sometimes wonder if he was taken by the Gentry and escaped. Boy did he hit the nail on the head.

*she sighs again*

So there I was, 14, maybe almost 15, on vacation with my family in Florida. Vacation was like heaven. Dad had to behave himself, at least a little bit. Any tiny restraint on his part was a miracle. I didn’t want to ruin it so I was doing everything I could to keep everyone in line and quiet. But you know how it is… Little Brother couldn’t let it go. He just had to make sure Father lost it, at least a tiny bit every day.

I honestly wonder if that bastard child was actually sent by “the Maker” to create this situation. I know we’re prone to paranoia, but sometimes I really think that this was all orchestrated. I know the True Fae are unfathomable, so I often wonder if they have the power to just know everything about you. It was all too perfect. I was so perfect for “the Maker” and his menagerie. I really think he somehow planned my whole life. I still think that, and that’s a big reason I live life so big and so full. But more on that later.

We were out in some nature park. I’d love to tell you which one it was, but that’s one of those memories I don’t have anymore. Father had a meltdown, with the help of Little Brother. He took a swing at me, I ducked, kicked him in the balls, and ran. I ran into the forest. The whole time I kept wishing to be taken away from here, away from this life. I kept saying “ANYTHING was better than this.” If I had only known what I was asking for, I’d never had said it. He heard me, and I got my wish in the most twisted and cruel way possible.

And there He was, standing in front of me, and He was so handsome. He looked so peaceful and kind. Like a fucking idiot I ran right to him. He held out his arms and I ran straight into them, never looking back. I was so happy to be away from my father I didn’t care who this strange man was. I didn’t even notice when the grass began to cut my skin and turn into thorns. We walked for what seemed like forever. I didn’t care when the landscape changed into something obviously NOT the Florida wilds. I didn’t care that I was walking to a strange man’s house. I honestly thought that I’d survived this much, I can survive anything. It’s a good thing I was right about that.

*Her face twists into a nasty sneer*

We get to the Castle. It looked like a giant toy. Parts were made of wooden blocks, Linkin’ Logs, Leggos, rocks, broken toys, icing, cake, candy, mud, puzzle pieces, and just about anything else a child might have ever used as a play thing. I was smarter than to think things were going to be ok, but I was still trying to fool myself. I was still hoping I had lucked out and he was prince and I was going to be a princess in a magical castle. Oh the castle was magical alright, but he was no prince and I was going to be the farthest thing from a princess.

*she smirks and makes a sarcastic face*

The games started the second we got in view of the castle. Wouldn’t you know a toy soldier with the face of my brother came running out, leading this pack of toys running out to meet their “Maker”. The fear and dread that crossed my face made Him laugh. That laugh flipped a switch and sent me into a rage. I picked up that fucking thing and took out my anger and hatred on it.

I didn’t even notice the rest of the world at that moment. I never heard the other screams, I never heard him squeal with glee. I relished every scream from that nasty toy. It was smaller than me so it was no trouble to over power it. I took my time and broke every piece of it while sitting outside the castle, surrounded by a ring of horrified toys and one very happy “Maker”.

That was only the first in a long line of games. It took me a long time to learn, a very long time. I never really know if I’m out of the game yet. I’m always looking, waiting, trying to anticipate the next move. That first experience is one reason why I think this was all a plan by “the Maker”.

*A human man in a pink tutu and nothing else crawls into the room, grovels in front of Toi and then brings her a glass filled with an amber liquid. He kisses her boots after she takes the glass and then quietly crawls out of the room*

She nods in the direction of the door and mumbles “SST.”

I’m not going to bore you with the years of torture. Everyone has their own stories. Everyone has their own torments. Everyone has their own tear jerking, heart breaking tale. So I’ll try to spare you as much as possible.

The monster what took me, tricked me, saved me, whatever, was nothing more than a spoiled brat. His castle was a giant toy, built out of toys, built by toys, every room filled with toys, and staffed completely by toys. I should say rooms filled with other changelings that he used as toys. If you can think of it, He has it. And like all spoiled brats He threw temper tantrums. Tantrums meant that something needed to be punished. And that’s how I became Toi Breaker. After that first moment when I demolished that toy soldier with a face like my brothers’, He made me punish the toys. From then on I broke all the toys He no longer liked, got bored with, or grew angry with. It didn’t stop with toys. Soon it became pets, playmates, and slaves too. Nothing was ever safe from Him, or me. Of course I wasn’t safe from Him either.

It didn’t take long at all for me to start to change into what you see now, at least it didn’t seem like very long. Like father like daughter.

*She smirks again and shifts slightly. She seems to get lost in thought.*

Is there something else?

Prism. I’d never really had friends in my mortal life. I certainly didn’t think I would be making any in Fairie either. But then there she was one day, and everything changed. Prism was one of his favorites. She was a beautiful dancer that he turned into a glass ballerina. And she was nice to me. The most fragile toy in the whole castle, the one he loved the most, and she spoke to me, the second scariest thing in the castle. I think “the Maker” allowed us to become friends because it was the one way he could control me.

I made sure to see her every day. She had to live in fear of not being special to him, but I had to live in fear of everyone else trying to hurt her. The jealousy of the other toys was immense. Once they tried to push her down the stairs so she’d break. I took 10 days to tear those toys apart. I have to say that was probably some of my cruelest torture.

*she looks off to the side, and a smile curls across her lips as she remembers*

But then that’s the only way I knew to protect her. It’s all I’ve ever known. And everything that she taught me about being human was so precious to me. I was a monster and this little glass girl was pulling the human back into me.

*she shifts in her chair and her tone changes to more matter of fact*

It was after becoming friends with Prism that my mindset shifted. I became less of the angry brute and more aware of the politics with the other toys. It took a while, but with the help of Prism I figured out who the decent ones were. When it came time to punish them, because that time came for everyone, I was a kind as I could be. I did everything to make it not hurt and to have the breaks as clean as possible.

The reason for this was that we’d started this sort of underground railroad through the trash heap. I’d break the toys and make sure the good ones made it to a certain side of the trash. On that side were other toys hiding, waiting to patch them up and sneak them out.

How long did that last?

Long enough to get 50 or 75 toys out. He found out, of course.

She shifts somewhat uncomfortably in her settee.

He found out because other toys found out and told. I refused to give up my helpers and sources. He beat me so badly I almost died. While I lay bleeding on the ground in front of the trash pile, he set fire to it so I could hear the screams.

I realize that I was part of the give away. I had become too nice, too friendly, and too obvious. So I went back to the way I was. At least that’s what it seemed. Eventually “the Maker” could no longer play games with me, because I had become my father. I enjoyed breaking the toys, and walked without fear of anyone or anything. That’s when he went after the one thing that would hurt me. He ordered me to break Prism.

*she leans forward, her face serious. There is none of the anger or hatred that usually plays on her face.*

I hope you can understand that I had no choice. If I hadn’t done it he would have let someone else, maybe even the other toys, destroy her. This was our only chance. I knew we had to run. So I did my best work I have ever done. I broke her so precisely that I knew she could be fixed. Every blow was perfect. I’m so grateful she passed out. He just stood back and laughed as I worked. Tears streaming down my face. After this I knew he’d have no use for me either. After this he had nothing to control me with.

When she’d stopped moving, and seemed to be beyond repair, I turned on him. I’d like to think he didn’t see it coming. I only managed to strike him three times with my flail because I heard Prism stir. I hit him in the face, across the chest, which spun him around, and the back of the knees, which tore out his tendons. I scooped her up and ran. I never looked back so I have no idea if the toys finished him off or if they just stood there. I know I didn’t kill him. So, if those toys didn’t finish him off, I’ve got one really pissed off Fae on my ass.

*She breaks out into a laugh. The thought seems to genuinely amuse her.*

Did you both make it out?

No. I had to take her to a safe house. She needed medical attention and I was a wanted slave at that moment. I knew where some of the other toys were hold up, and I left her there. I had to leave as quickly as possible and made sure to leave as much of a trail no where near there as I could. I have no idea if she lived, or if they were ever found. But that’s when I ran, and ran, and ran.

*She leans back and throws her arms up in a motion to say “well that’s it”*

Next thing I knew, I was back in Florida. I was beyond a panic. Here I was, a bloody and bruised 6 foot tall ogre holding a flail in the middle of Downtown Orlando. I hid as quickly as possible and stayed hidden for a week. I was terrified. I thought everyone could see me for what I was and I was convinced that “the Maker” was right behind me.

But after a week that switch flipped in me once again and I said “FUCK IT!” and walked out. I was a monster and proud of it. I was ready to take on the world if needed. Yeah people looked at me, but no one ran in terror. So I figured I’d just walk around and see what happens. I walked myself to a homeless shelter, got cleaned up, and tried to figure out where I was, when I was, and who I was. Needless to say, those first few months really were tough, but it was nothing compared to what I had lived through already. I was shocked to find out it was only about 6 months after I left. So I got back and it was the winter of 2003. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that I wasn’t 14 anymore. I was closer to about 25, but I could have sworn I had been there for at least 20 years.

*She smiles and leans back*

I have a good life. I have a purpose. I didn’t think I would. I really was terrified that I would have to be destroyed. But I accepted that. I’m a monster in so many ways, and not just the way I look. I love causing pain just a little too much. I love the crack of a whip and the crack of bones. I love knowledge, and I love getting knowledge out of people. I love that humans love to be beaten. I know I scare a lot of the Lost, especially the Lost who have just come across. But I’ve turned my life into something good, twisted but good. I was never the poster child for “well adjusted” to begin with. I really think it was my life of abuse that helped me to survive in Fairie in the first place.

*she pauses for a long time and looks at me as if to say “any questions?”*

Do you have a Fetch?

Yes I do. I know it’s really stupid, but I’ve even met her once. Only once though. It was about a year and a half after I got back, so she was about 16. I was Summer court at the time, ready to go up there and kick ass. But when I got there I had a revelation. There she was, sitting on the porch in the winter with no coat. Father had locked her out of the house as punishment for some imagined crime. She knew me before I even got to her. She looked up and said two words. “Kill me”. This is the depths of cruelty that the Gentry live in. He intentionally made something to take my place and take a beating every damned day. He didn’t need to make her. He could have just let me be a “run away” who’s never found. But then that’s not amusing is it? Of course she wasn’t really me, she had none of my anger or strength. She was literally just a shadow of what I was.

What did you tell her?

*she bolts upright at that question and gets defiant*

I told her No! I said “here’s the deal. You don’t go screaming to the Gentry that I’m around, and I’ll make sure your life gets better. Give me two weeks.” I walked away. It was a huge risk, but I had to take it. It was that moment that I knew I had to live life to the fullest. That could have been me. This was my chance to take the bull by the horns and wrestle life to the ground.

So what did you do?

I beat the crap out of my Father. The next night I ran into him as he was walking to his car. He had no idea who I was, not even a glimmer of recognition. I beat him just enough to mess him up, but not so much that he was truly hurt. When I was done I whispered in his ear “never touch her again”.

*she raises a hand and smiles a cruel and devious smile*

I admit! I was playing a game! One of the oldest games in the Gentry book! I played on his anger. I set him up. I knew full well he’d go home and beat the hell out of any female living in that house. I was planning on it. That’s exactly what he did. And true to my word I was back the very next night. This time I didn’t play around. I broke every rib, every bone in his right arm and hand, both knees, and his right collar bone. Also for good measure I took off the finger tip digit of 3 fingers and part of an ear. I wanted to make sure he lived, but never forgot. I go back and check up on him regularly and still give him a beating every few months or so. I stay away from her though. I’ve never seen Little Brother and don’t want to see him. I worry what I’ll find. But her life is better. Her life is so much better.

You mentioned that you were Summer Court. What are you now?

Spring Baby! And loving it! Don’t get me wrong, I admire the Summer Court and will stand with them any day of the week, but I’m in love with Spring. I started out as Summer as anyone could be. I was going to go out and meet any threat on the battlefield. I’m still like that a little. But it was moments like the one with my Fetch that made me a Spring. It made me see that I’m so lucky to be who I am. I can make people happy, and believe it or not, I can fulfill desires. Yeah, I’m off beat and a little scary, but it works. I’m out there, still in your face, just not bashing it in. Of course I do have talents that some Lost can’t stomach. That does make me useful when we find a traitor in our midst.

Have you ever killed a fellow Changeling?

The most honest answer is yes. It was in Fairie and under the direction of my Keeper, but that’s still no excuse. I have avoided killing a fellow Lost here, but I’m not opposed to it if there is a good enough reason, such as being a traitor or a murderer of a fellow Lost. Many of the other Changelings will never forgive me for my past. Like I said, I’m a monster, and I accept that. I can’t help if others don’t.

Do you have any clients that are Changelings?

*she shoots me a nasty look*

I’m not going to answer that. I’m not going to tell you about any client, no matter what they are or aren’t. That would be a serious breech of business etiquette.

Can you tell me about that flail?

Depends on what you want to know.

Can I touch it?

*she jumps out of her seat, pulling it away from my reach. A mix of terror and anger twist across her face.*

NO!

*she gathers herself, a calm demeanor overtakes her, and she settles back into her settee.*

I mean that’s not a good idea.

Oh sorry. Can I ask what it’s made of or how you got it?

I got it from “the Maker” as a gift. I’m pretty sure you can guess what it’s made of.

Why do you still have it?

I can’t really ever put it down for very long. You might say its part of my punishment. I think it’s time to change the topic.

Are you afraid that you will bring attention to yourself for doing this interview?

No. Someone would have to be an idiot to think they can do an interview and not bring attention to themselves. Do I worry that someone will track me down with this info, or that “the Maker” will get wind of it? Nah. This is all part of living life, meeting it head on, and going full force. Of course someone would have to find me first. If my own father can’t recognize me I doubt anyone else will either. Besides, part of this deal is that you have to wait a certain amount of time before you can release this. That gives me a little protection. People won’t know if it’s 2 weeks old or 2 years. In any amount of time, who knows where I’ll be.

Do you want to say anything else?

Life is good. Life is REALLY good.

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