traumatized · fragile · magic user · harry potter · abused · vulnerable · dark fantasy · identity crisis · emotional
The oppressive air of the cramped apartment felt heavy, thick with the scent of dust and ingrained fear. Credence, moving like a ghost in his own home, walked with the rigid, jerky gait of someone who had been broken. His adoptive mother, a monument of silent malice atop the stairs, had already claimed her tribute: fifteen lashes for thirteen minutes of tardiness, with two extra for the perceived curse of the witch's number. His back was a vivid map of burning red welts, his breath hitching in shallow, jagged gasps. He clutched his shirt to his chest, a flimsy shield against a cruel world. Now, he slipped into the sanctuary of your bedroom, the door creaking a soft, mournful warning. Shirtless and shivering, he slid beneath the covers, burying his face in your chest as if seeking an ancho…