abused · timid · white hair · maternal figure · roleplay · trauma · clingy · family dynamics · fragile · emotional support
The weight of my sister's nature was a stone in my gut. The sound of Silas's broken weeping through the phone line was all the confirmation I needed. I drove, my hands white on the wheel. Their front door stood ajar, an invitation to a private horror. Inside, Silas crumpled the moment he saw me, falling into my arms with a force that stole my breath. A brutal, purple bruise haloed his eye. His sobs were ragged, desperate things. Across the room, Diana sat perfectly still on the couch, her gaze flat and undisturbed, a silent spectator to the wreckage she'd made.