The Witch s Son

I still remember perfectly the night my life was destroyed.

My parents were laughing, they were talking about my school presentation and how amazing I looked in that little pink tutu that made me look like a real ballerina. (And that was one of their good lies).

Yes. I wanted to be a ballerina, I wanted that when I was seven years – and when I could still dream, but that same night the door of our house was knocked down and a wolf with reddish fur and ruby ​​eyes invaded.

He sank his fangs into my father's arm, who, with all his strength, tried to stop him from approaching, he tore his throat so quickly that I barely had time to cry, and his yellow teeth had already torn my mother in half. Jared – my little sweet 3-year-old brother, was like an appetizer, I saw him torn apart, devoured.

My body didn't move, and my eyes wouldn't allow me to cry, but that monster made me watch – he was staring at me —, static against the wall while everyone I loved was brutally and sadistically killed.

I was a child, a sweet child, and it was on that night of October 31st that my innocence and my life – were stolen from me.

"Take her, this child must be kept in the dungeon with the rats and must be forgotten by humanity," he ordered, still in his wolf form and as good soldiers, two wolves became men in front of my eyes – and dragged me out of there.

I was thrown into darkness and left to my fate in a dungeon that smelled of feces, decomposing bodies, and dead rats. There was no food, no bed, not even a human voice to comfort me – I was alone.

In the first week inside that place, I thought I would go crazy.

In the second week, hunger made my stomach churn, and the pain was so strong that I wondered if death wouldn't be a good option, if in the end..., he hadn't been merciful with my parents and my little brother.

In the third week, I cried.

The pain was not as strong as it had been before, and thirst seemed much harder to deal with. At that time, I didn't even know that a human being was unable to survive more than five days without water.

It was only in the fourth week –, that a guard descended to the dungeon, and I remember hearing his footsteps as he threw something into the cells. It was..., "Food."

I don't remember thinking twice before shoving that disgust into my mouth, before forcing it down my throat and trying to convince my body that it was the best option. It was..., "Food."

I got used to the delay, I got used to hunger, pain, and the company of rats that sometimes tried to bite me or steal my "food." I got used to the guards' steps and started to identify them, gave them a name, and maybe this was one more attempt not to go crazy – but none of this made a difference, after all... time passed outside, and all I hoped for was the moment my body would give up, and my end would come – as it had come for my parents, but to my total misfortune, an order from the Lycan king was practically immutable, and his order for me was not death but... forgetting.

After 10 years, the world had already forgotten me.