The mansion stood there like a sleeping giant—silent, empty, but sohow… waiting. Mocking him with every dark window. Or maybe it was embracing him, whispering, "It's okay not to be okay. Being alone doesn't make you weak." And those whispered wrapped him into cold reassurance that at least he wasn't alone.
He walked forward but he didn't go through the front door. No, that felt wrong. Instead, he slipped around back, past the wild garden, until he found them.
The graves.
His mom and dad—buried in cold stone and forgotten mories.
He sat down by his mom's tombstone, fingers brushing the carved letters like it could bring her back. But she didn't co. She never did.
The dam broke.
Tears slid down his cheeks, quiet and raw, like bleeding from the inside out. No audience. No judgnt. Just him and the ghosts of better days. And when the exhaustion hit, he didn't fight it.
He just curled up right there—right against the cold stone—letting sleep drag him under like the world had finally stopped caring.
But here's the thing—life's a sneaky bastard.
Because when Parker blinked awake, it wasn't cold stone beneath him anymore.
It was… soft. Warm. Familiar.
His parents' bed? One his mother usually occupied alone when his "father" was away on "bussiness" every night. Strange?
The sll of old wood, faded perfu, and sothing that felt like safety—if safety had ever really been his. And standing there, like a shadow carved from nightmares and reality all at once, was her.
Helena.
Eyes like frozen glass. Presence heavy enough to crush a soul. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared at him like she already knew every broken piece inside him. And for the first ti that night, Parker didn't feel alone.
He felt… claid.
Life was a struggle and fate was a bitch because...
Parker felt as if sothing was wrong as it sothing had been robbed off him. Why did she co here? Was she going to do sothing bad to him as always? And why was he feeling the feeling of satisfaction to soone he should hate!
He'd ran way ho and he knew she wasn't going to forgive him. If only he could turn back ti and this never happens...
Helena's eyes widened as the world warped, she moved backwards, on, the whole world started moving backwards...
****
Your first birthday without your parents should an sothing. A cake—cheap and badly frosted, maybe. A knockoff toy wrapped in gas station paper. Sothing that says, "Hey, kid, we see you. You're still here."
But nope.
Instead, Parker sat at the table like a damn shadow. The kind of shadow people knew was there but tried really hard not to look at—like a stain they couldn't scrub out.
Across from him, Annabelle sparkled. Literally. The princess of the house, with her glittery pink dress and matching tiara, like she was ready to audition for so Toddlers & Tiaras reboot.
What was happening was slightly different than it had been in the previous ti but Parker didn't know what he'd done.
The family hovered around her like loyal subjects, all fake smiles and high-pitched laughs. The whole room slled like frosting, candles, and that weird plastic scent balloons give off when they're freshly blown up.
Her cake was ridiculous—three layers of sugar-coated love, drowning in frosting and decorated with little edible flowers.
And Parker?
Nothing. No cake. No balloons. No half-assed "happy birthday" tossed his way out of pity. Because how dare his pathetic existence share the sa birthday as their precious little Annabelle?
Instead, he sat there, stiff and quiet, like he wasn't even part of the picture. Invisible. A ghost who just happened to breathe a little too loud..And God, it stung like hell. Imagine that to a little kid he was.
This ti, he saw his aunt Helena hovering close to him as of guarding him, or rather, trying to keep him in place?
But she couldn't stay for too long! And Parker managed to slip away. It happened again.
That night, the house was silent—except for the giggles and leftover party noise echoing down the hall. The balloons were still floating, mocking him with their stupid cheer.
So he left.
The cold hit him like a slap the second he stepped outside. Wind clawed at his skin, and the night felt too big, too empty. His breath puffed out in little clouds as his shoes pounded against the pavent.
And then, there it was.
Ho.
Not the prison he lived in now—but ho.
The mansion looked like it had been ripped out of a dream—and not the good kind. Windows dark and hollow, vines creeping over old bricks, the silence too loud to ignore. The front door lood like a judge ready to pass sentence.
But Parker didn't go to the front. That wasn't his way. This ti he didn't hear the whispers but he had no way of knowing. He slipped around back, stumbling through the overgrown garden until he found them.
The graves.
The air grew colder near them, like even the wind knew to be quiet here. Two stones, side by side—carved, polished, and perfect.
Mom and Dad.
His legs folded beneath him, and suddenly, all the walls he'd built up—every stubborn, angry, fuck-you barrier—just shattered. His hand traced over his mom's na first, shaky and small.
God, she had been everything. Her hugs were the kind that made monsters under the bed vanish, the kind that slled like sunshine and cinnamon. The kind of love that made the world make sense. And now? Nothing. Just cold stone and fading mories.
The tears ca quietly, sliding down his cheeks like little betrayals. His throat clenched, chest tight and raw. No one was watching. No one could laugh at him here.
So, he let himself break.
And when exhaustion finally dragged him down, he didn't fight it.
He curled against the tombstone like it was the last bit of warmth in the world. And for the first ti that night—maybe for the first ti since they left—he fell asleep with a peaceful heart with no worry or longing
But when Parker woke up, sothing was off. Again!
No cold stone under him. No biting wind. No dew-soaked grass.
Instead… softness. Stay updated through My Virtual Library Empire
Warm sheets. A heavy blanket wrapped around him like a hug made of fabric.
And the air—God, it slled like them. Like his mom's vanilla perfu and his dad's old leather chair..He blinked hard, trying to shove the sleep away—and that's when it hit him.
He was in their bed.
The master bedroom. The one place in the house that had felt sacred.
And he wasn't alone.
Standing by the window, bathed in the pale moonlight, was her.
Helena!
Cold beauty carved from shadows and ice. Her presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break. Those eyes—God, those eyes—weren't just looking at him. They were reading him, like she could see every broken piece inside his soul and wasn't surprised by any of it. And she was poised like she was ready to pounce on him to stop sothing from happening?
No words ca at first. Just silence, thick and sharp, dragging out every second like it wanted to suffocate him.
And Parker?
He didn't feel scared. Not really. Not this ti!
He felt chosen?
He didn't do anything and let himself sigh and warmness wrapped around him.
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