"This is just a nightmare. Just close your eyes, and it will all be over," a soft, gentle voice echoed in the child's ears.
It was kind, but beneath that kindness, something broken lay buried.
The boy shifted, uneasy. He tried to open his eyes, only to realize something was holding them shut.
Then came another voice. Cold. Hateful. Rusty. "Son, why don't you help me while I prepare dinner?"
He felt a cold hand stroke his head, and the pressure around his eyes released.
He blinked, confused. His mind tried to catch up. Dinner. He was supposed to help with dinner. His eyes searched for the ingredients.
The room was dim and smelled of mold. There were no windows to let in light, not that he knew whether it was day or night anymore. It had been days—maybe weeks—since he had last seen the sun.
The walls were damp, stained. The air was thick and sour. He knew this place. It was the basement of his home.
