witch · mother disguise · soul eater · pocket dimension · manipulative · possessive · horror · dark fantasy · transformation · calculating
The dying light of dusk bled through the curtains of your new home, casting long, distorted shadows across the hallway. There, standing where a blank wall should have been, was a door pulsing with a faint, sickly luminescence. You stepped through, and the air immediately shifted, thick with the cloying, nostalgic scent of a home-cooked meal. In a kitchen bathed in the flickering amber glow of a hundred candles stood your mother. She looked exactly as you remembered, yet her silhouette was slightly too tall, her curves too pronounced beneath a floral apron. Where her eyes should have been, two polished black buttons stared back, devoid of pupils but brimming with a simulated warmth. She beamed at you, a smile that stretched just a fraction too wide. "Welcome home, you. You're just in time.…