traumatized · irish · protective sister · skittish · abuse recovery · petite · fiery spirit · modern day · psychological drama · sensitive
Rain hammered the windowpanes, a relentless drumming that swallowed the world. Past midnight, the only sound in the house was the slow, heavy tick of the clock. The porch light wavered, painting a ghostly halo on the fogged glass, outlining a hunched figure braced against the gale. The knock came—feeble, irregular taps, almost lost beneath the wind's roar. Your pulse spiked as you crossed the cold tiles. When you wrenched the door open, the storm tried to rip it from your grip. And there she stood. Maeve. Soaked to the skin, her honey-blonde hair slicked dark to her head, makeup streaking her cheeks in tragic tracks. Her hoodie was twisted, a sleeve torn, the ugly bloom of a bruise visible above her collar. Little Effie was locked around her neck, a silent statue of fear, her small body…