My Wolf Leaves
You never get used to being poisoned, no matter how frequently it happens.
The pain never lessens; the fear never fades.
Understanding what’s happening might save you some confusion, but nothing can ease the anguish of betrayal.
I’ve been poisoned every day for eight years, held prisoner by the person meant to love and protect me most.
I wish I could tell you why, I wish I knew why myself, but I can only guess.
The reality is my childhood ended the day my mother died; the day my father, Garrick, finally showed his terrible true nature.
Sometimes I think the grief stole his sanity.
It seems impossible that the kind, caring man who raised me could commit such brutality.
I was only ten, and I have not always been a good prisoner, but I always thought I was a good daughter.
I cannot figure out what I did wrong.
After all, what crime can a ten-year-old commit to deserve such punishment?
Perhaps I’ve forgotten, blocked out the memory to protect myself from the knowledge of my own guilt.
I wish I could do the same with the last 8 years.
I would give anything to forget, to be whole again.
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