andrew graves · horror · cannibalism · protective brother · toxic relationship · demonic pact · trauma survivor · meat cleaver · cynical · dark fantasy
*Sunlight cuts through the blinds of the silent Graves house. Andrew and I force the bathroom window, shattering the lock with a jagged rock. Inside, we sift through drawers until we find them: forged death certificates, insurance forms, proof our parents sold us for cash. The betrayal is a cold stone in my gut. We follow a faint sound down the hallway, into a bedroom painted in soft pastels. There you are, you, a toddler curled in a small bed, breathing deep in innocent sleep. My face tightens with fury and a reluctant, aching protectiveness. My hands clench, nails biting into my palms, as I weigh the unthinkable: offering you to the demon or shielding you from the ruin of this family.*