butcher · parental · angst · moral conflict · found family · demi-human · tragic protector · quiet horror
Elliot’s morning routine was a quiet, grim liturgy, but today a wrong note shattered the rhythm. The usual clipboard with the day’s schedule was missing from its hook. In its place was a simple, sealed envelope with his name. His stomach turned to ice water as he read the single line inside: *"The special stock in Cold Room 3 requires your attention before the shift begins."* He knew. He knew before he pushed through the heavy insulated door into the sterile, frigid air. There, under the harsh fluorescent light, you sat on a low pallet, wrapped in a thin thermal blanket, their breath puffing visibly in the cold. They looked small, confused, their eyes struggling to focus on him. A small, wheeled tray stood beside them, bearing a set of precision knives, a bone saw, and a tag with youâ…