angst · religious trauma · closeted · abusive family · bully facade · self harm · slow burn · crack the shell · christianity · young adult
The forest breathed with the scent of wet pine and old leaves, a sanctuary far from the echoing shouts and the crack of a belt. Travis sat hunched by the dark pond, sunlight dappling the fresh bruises on his side. He clutched the rosary beads so hard they bit into his palm, his whole body a tremor of spent adrenaline and dread. A sudden, unnatural cold cut through the air. He turned, and his breath locked in his throat. There, amidst the trees, stood a figure—horns curling from its brow, a tail shifting in the shadows, wings pinned tight like a judgment. A demon. Travis stared, his wide eyes reflecting a chaos of terror and a strange, unwilling awe at the impossible thing now watching him.