Chapter Text
It's not a good day, so he sits in the library that's meant to be quiet and sees Emma cutting stuff out of red paper, sees Norman using his red pen to annotate his notes and sees Helena drawing. It's not sunny like yesterday, it's dark and foggy and it hangs over the house like the awaiting fate of them all. Now and then Ray's eyes happen to stare outside and he swears he sees a little boy outside in his white clothes, stained red and bloodied with a pretty red flower in his chest. He hopes that the boy isn't actually there, that it's just a figment of his imagination as he forces himself to continue reading instead of having his gaze linger outside, trapped in the fog and with the dead boy, with the red red bloody clothes and pale, grey skin and milky eyes and torn flesh. Helena is drawing and Emma puts down the scissors and lets scraps of red paper fall to the ground. He wishes it would ̷̨͋̉̈̇̏̑̂̌͝s̸̛̭̲͕͇̞̞̾͌̓̕͝t̶̠̼͒̄̌͌̆̉͐̃̚͠ó̸̖̮͖̞̭̏̑͛̾p̸̞̜̪̐̐̆ ̵͓͌͂͛͂̽̄ţ̶̦̦̖͔̭̭̈́̂͐͜͜ͅò̵̡̱̳̻̗̺̫͉͜͜r̶̢̟̥͈̼̲̼̔̌̈ţ̷͖͉̝̝̩͂̿̈́̏͆͘͠͝ű̶̦̰͕͚̣̪͉̻̯̓̚r̵̨͚͗̋͂͠ī̸͕͔̯̙͕̬̯̼̕̚͜ͅņ̶̖̲̘̦̟͍̹̈́̆͐̍͗̿̑͆̍͠g̸̡̭̥͍̖̤͖̀̊̈̇͗̑̀͜͝ ̵̛̟̖̪͈͓͉͕͕͆̅̐̽̃̈́͘͝͝ͅĥ̸̡̪̘͖͓̘͈̟̈́͗͘ͅi̸̦̳͕̲̪̙͆̋͌m̷̻̙̘̮̮̭͌͊́̓͜͝͝.
He tries to read but the words swim and then there's blood dripping on his book, so he turns away and doesn't risk looking back immediately so he looks at Helena drawing.
"It’s an optical illusion," he hears Helena explain to Emma when she is asked what she's drawing. Helena is drawing an optical illusion. Helena is good at drawing optical illusions. It's a bunch of squiggly lines, shading in weird places and drops of colour, just three, red and grey and black a̴̢̳̞̺̰̗̞̖͈̬͂͋͆̒̔n̶͈͔̬̩͎̺͌̈́͗̀̈̋̈̚d̵̨̪͎͎̆͛̈́͋̉͂͘͠͝ ̴̤̞̻̣̜̺͐̊͊̓͗̈͌̄̆͘ṃ̶̤̫̱̐͌́͒͑̚̕͝o̴̺̱̥̯͗̄̊͑̿̍̋͘͝r̶̨̧̜͍̺͈̗̎̕è̵̡̮͓͖͜͠ ̶̨̡̪̦͍͕͙͎͛͊̓ř̷̙̘̚͝ͅę̸̜̦̇̈̽̐̐̍̌͌͛d̶̜̻̮̍͝.̷̛͕̮̳̙͉̮̿̔̓̌̈́̚ͅͅ.
"What is it?" He hears Emma asking.
"You'll find out," Helena says because she's not drawing anymore. The words on the page morph and now he can see the face of his dead brother and there's too much red around him. Too much, way too much red. Emma resumes her cutting out of the red paper and it feels like she's cutting out strips of flesh and muscle and it's too much. As he leaves, he thinks he might have broken the spine of the book he is holding because his grip is that strong.
~~~
When it's time for dinner, Mama asks them to help set out the cutlery and food. He thinks Mama is being gracious by letting him put the food out because the thought of being near a knife is so overwhelming. He hears Emma and Don chattering away, metal clinking away as they grab handfuls of spoons and forks and knives, and knives...
He thinks he can hear the sound of flesh being ripped apart, and when his eyes land on their dinner, he tries not to throw up. His mouth goes dry and he feels a thin but suffocating layer of anxiety and cold sweat hang over his body as he carries the plates one by one. The scent of the food is so sickening, Ray thinks it's a miracle no one has noticed how pale he is, and how his hands are shaking. When they are all in the dining hall, the nausea doesn't disappear when he's sandwiched between Emma and Norman, and a plate of meat stares back at him. He remembers the lifeless eyes of the dead boy outside in the fog and lets Emma take it because he's scared, scared because his mind tells him that it could be his brother's flesh on his plate (because he's a horrible h̵̙͍͖̉̋̐̒͐̚͘ǫ̶̺͓͒̋̏̈́͌ṟ̵̒̑̀̊͘r̷̛̟̖̩̓͑̂̏͝i̶̱͉͎̼͉̮͔͐͆̀͂͛͂̉͗̿ḇ̸̢̡̛̘̮͋͌̍̔̈͒͆̏l̶͙͙̟͉̝̭̩͖̿͘é̶̢̧͔͓̬̺͚̺͚̤̌̀͋̍͘ monster and it wouldn't really be that surprising...would it?) and he knows he can feel the bile rising up his throat. He gives Norman a vague answer as he gets up, ignores the prickling feeling as Mama's eyes bore into him and he leaves the hall and stumbles down the dark corridor towards the bathroom.
He's halfway there when he gets stopped by the wall of drawings. He hates that wall because it feels like someone's plunging a knife into his heart and twisting it. He almost doubles over because of the pain in his stomach because he can't remember the last time he's eaten properly. The childish drawings from his carefree siblings seem to mock him and he has half a mind to rip them all up into tiny shreds. He can't bear to look at them, their dreams and future goals held within scribbles and assortments of crayon lines are just too much for his heart to handle. They laugh and jeer at him because it's all a waste of energy, a waste of breath and these pictures will only remind him of his failure and how he'll never amount to anything but a damn sheepdog for the crooked shepherd (and that's as far as his accomplishments will go because he will never allow himself to become just another meal for those demons n̵̢͕̹̗͍͇̥̮̰̆͜e̴̤̭̮͙̱͓̥͔͙̽̃͑̓͘v̶̭̼͈͉̐͋ę̸̩̩̮̪͗͑̓̀͐ṛ̵̨̠͖̻̹̦̘̣̎̋,̴̗͂͗͆̓̓͘̚ ̶͙͈̲̭̫̬̆h̵̛̫͛́̓̏̿̓̕e̴͍̩͍̘̒͛̈́͆ ̴̨̨̨̠̟̬̾̏̈́̂̋͐̚͠ͅw̸̢̛̜̜̍̒͋͋̃o̷̢̤̺͎͕̫͈̞͜ṇ̴͖͖̮̺̏̿̈́̕'̸̢̡̟͈̖̦͉̼͒͒͐͂̋̕͜ţ̵̹̫̜̩̙̬͍̬͇̑̈͛̇̕͝ ̷̯̺͈̝̻̦̽̎h̸̨̬̬̙̙͓̔͒̉̉̓̊̈́̈̎͝ē̵̖͆ ̶̧̺̳̗̹͕̩̓̌̈͗͛̎̔̾̕w̵̛̰̘̞̔̒̑̄̄̔͘ớ̶̻̰̓̓͛n̴̺͔͇̋͝'̷̞̰͚͈̇t̶̼̰̤͓͋̾̀͛̐͗̚ ̴͙͕͓͇̯̘̩͑̂̈̾̏̔̈̚͜h̴̛̯̔̋̏̋̎͘͝ͅe̴̦͖̫̘͉̞̎̈̀̾̿̓̅̓͝ͅ'̵̛̛͕̝̲̗̲͖̯͌̇̎̂̂͒ͅl̴̡̯̫̽̉̊͑͠ḽ̶̍͑͝ ̴̡̩̟͓͉̤̜͉̻̱̑̅̈́͗̏̄̎̈́n̵̳̝͊̑̔̉̓ȩ̶̮͖̪̦̫͌́̊͆̐̋̍v̸̪̺͖̾͆͊̿̏e̵͍̼̱̓͊̌̈r̶̙̿̉͋̃͐̕͘-̸̼̒).
Helena's drawing greets him as he stands with shaky legs. At first glance, it's nothing harmless, like he had seen earlier in the library, just scribbles he reminds himself. There's nothing threatening about it. Nothing at all. Nothing...
n̷̺̻̹͔͔̊͜o̶̩̠͚̽̏̓́̒̔̒̚t̴̩̻͎͒̌̿̉͆̓̒̿͝͝ͅh̴̛̬̞̃̈͊̌̈́̿̒̏i̸̙͙͓͚͙͉̜̤̯̊̓͂͐̓̅́͝͝ͅn̴̡͓̦͕͓͕͙̜̈́̌͘ģ̸̬͈̞̤̲̰̎͝.̸̛̙͎͈̒͗̒̌̃̽͋.̸̛̳̬̘̯̥͓͕͇̹̀̚.̶̗̹̯̊͌̆̏̚ͅ
It's nothing...until there's a claw, freshly matted with blood, on a twisted black limb that seems to reach out and strangle him. It's coming, closer and closer and he stumbles back, heart pounding so loud, the blood rushing to his head shifts the world at an angle and he grapples for steadiness and peace. But that's never been an option. Especially not for him. He chokes, and then he sees razors for teeth, he sees them chomping down on meat and he's reminded of dinner. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he tries to get to the bathroom but his legs are stuck and glued down as the terrible creature advances. The black is obscuring his vision and everything fades in and out but the creature keeps coming forward, eyes rolling in its sockets and a long tongue flips out as it opens its mouth again to reveal its teeth. He gags as he sees strands of fine hair and skin stuck between the teeth, half an eyeball here, maybe part of the intestine there. He's running, his muscles scream and protest and he knows he'll regret the adrenaline rush later but at least he's at the bathroom, and he fumbles with the lock and his hands repeatedly try to push the little metal piece into the hole but he seems to pull away before he can even complete the action. When he does finally do it, he drops painfully onto his knees and feels his stomach squeeze and his throat clench as the bare minimum he's consumed in the past few days and bile and stomach acid escape his lips, into the toilet he's hanging off. Spluttering, he madly searches for any inhuman presence, and even though he's meant to be the rational one, he can't help it. He needs to make sure. He has to be certain. There's nothing, but he can't stop and his throat is raw and probably peeling because there's blood in his spit when he washes his mouth out. He brushes his teeth a bit too hard but doesn't notice his gums bleeding as he puts his toothbrush away and changes into his pyjamas and stands in front of his bed.
When he gets under the covers, he does his best to ignore the little boy (s̶̡̞̱̜̈́̿̅̈́̓̋t̴͎̝̦̭͕̲͔͆̊͛́ͅa̶̛̭̣̩̖̯̯̼͛̑͌̋ͅy̷͙̣̞͍͊̇͋̓̈́̐̈̓̕ ̵͓̹̄͊͊̄͒̏̈́͋ā̴̠̘͈͍̈͂̌̕w̷̤̻̜͕͔̤̩̖̔̅̈́͂͂a̸̜̤̝̪̮̲̱̪̹̎y̸̧̡̜̱͔̦̼̫͚̭͛̽͋̈́͘ ̷͍̳͉̭̦͙̭̯̓̂͋̒͒̇́͜ͅș̷̢̡͂͗͊͛̍̋̈́̅ṯ̶̬͇̞̟̯̜̂̉̈́̅͆̈́ͅa̴͚̖̟̻͚͂y̶̨̔͛̃̄̅̕ ̸̨̩͉̺̩̠̫̝̻̲͛̾̄̾̔̊̏͘͝͝a̴͈͒̔͋̽̈ẅ̵̡͈̩̥̱̱̦̪̻́͒̾a̷̖͉͕͍̱̝͋͋̏̀͛͠y̵̔̍̆̊̔̈̽̀͜ ̴̧̘̜͝ͅŝ̴̯̺̙̹͉̩̯̇́̌ţ̴͕̔͂͛͛́̅ŏ̵̜͍̰̑͒͝p̴̧̥̹̹̦͓̈́̆͛̅̐̉̆́́̇ ̷͑͑̕ͅi̴̛̲͍̣̎̓̋͑͝t̶̢̡̧̲̮̣̘̤̲̊̋̓̀͐͆) in the corner of the room, and he tries to ignore the underlying sense of panic and fear as Norman walks in but then he remembers Norman can't see the little boy because Norman doesn't know. And Norman won't know until the time is right.
He startles into awareness when Norman's face appears over his own, and for once he doesn't mind it because the blue is better than the red and the white is better than the black.
"Are you okay?" Norman asks and Ray flips the switch to his cold exterior and gives him an uninterested look.
"Yeah, I am."
"I thought I'd find you in the library..." Norman says and Ray wishes Norman would just go help their other siblings with getting ready for bed, as he distinctly hears Emma's voice waver over the noise in the distance.
"Well I was tired, so I'm in bed now, okay?" He mumbled, turning around because now the little boy is right behind Norman and he doesn't want to see what might happen.
"Okay...but you know you can talk to me if something is bothering you, right?" Ray curses Norman for being too observant, and then he doubts the quality of his nonchalant attitude. Does everyone realise that there's something wrong with him?
t̵̡̡͖̭̯̤̥͉͂̈́̚h̷̡̛̹̖̥̥̪͈̦̀̐͂̕͜͝e̸̛͍̝͉̞͂̆̐͐̌̂̈́̾̂y̵̤͗̀̋̉̄͂͠ ̶̨͖̟͇̦̻͍̠̍̍̆͘͜͝a̷̫̱̱͍̪̚͜l̶̨̝͍̯̠̤̟͔̺͑̐͜l̴̡̧̢̞̼̺͙̗̣̺̔͋̅̂͝ ̵̘͇͉̝̲̭̭̩̅k̵̯͇̥͐̓̕n̶̡͍̭͚̭͎̓̽ö̸̹͍̘̩͕̟̦̣̳̑͗̒̐́̆̏̚̚ͅw̷̳͒̆͗̎̚̚,̵̳̘̼͎̅͂ ̸̺̭͈͈͕̥̱̩̬̈́̈̋h̸̨͔̣̘̮͉̪͉̗̄̄̓͑̓̔͠ë̶̳͕́͂͝'̴̢̪̪̬́͆͌̍͠s̴̡̮̗̣͙̳̹͕͙̑ ̸̛̰̎̂̿͂͘g̸̨̣͉̲͈̞͎̈̂͝o̸̫̗̖̮̫̣̪̩̞̾̏͑̂̇̽̋͜i̸̧̙̪͙̜̣̙̒͐ͅṇ̴̨̦̖̦͕̿̿̓͌̊̐̿̆͜͜g̷̤̟̑ ̵͎̲̹͗̊̎m̷̻̲̀͊͝ą̴͎̝̥̬̱͎̭̩͐͋̄͂̇̔̾̚͠͝ͅd̵̖̊̎ ̵̡̩͇̲͉̥̍a̴̢̱̘͉̖̬̺̣͇͈͗̈̎̾̚͝͝n̷̡̛͇̝̝̺͒̓͋́̍̇͝͝d̸͓̿͑͌͘ ̷̟̫̠̫̭̞͉̗̏̋̋̓̌́ţ̶̹̮̻͍̯̦̤͕̘̓h̷͎̦̺̍̑̈́̈̂͌̿̚̚͜e̴̩̎̓y̸̲̪͙̚ ̸̧̠̫̙̈́̽͋͂̾̚͝͝͠͝k̷̞̖̙̮͎̈͑̒͛͒̕n̴̢͈̪̥̪̗̫̮̦̋͐͋o̵̢͔̠͕̗̰̖͕͐͛͛͐̏̑͜͝͝ͅw̵̜̾̐́̄̀̕͝͝ ̴̢̢̦̹͓̘̭̎͒͐̀͒̚t̷̺͕̜̼͉͍̯̙̲͑̇́̏̔̈́̎ͅh̶̨͇̯̬̟̑̈́̀̈́͠a̷̤͖̎̐t̶̨͐̾̄̓͘͝͠͝ ̸̡̠͖̊͊̽̾̓̓h̸̹͈̑e̶͈̣̼̭͆̃̔͂͛̎̒͛͘͝'̵̝̤̰͇͎̩̝͗̈͘s̷̨̘̦͓̝̘̗̙̐͋͐͊̈́͑͘ ̴̢̧̢͔̘̝͉̱̜͓̾̔͘ą̶̲̭̙̱̘͎̠͗͗̈̂̃̌͛̋̊͠ ̶̢̲̥̿͘ͅm̷̭̈́̏̌̚ǫ̷̹͕͉̉͘n̸̲̹͕̱̞̬̦̩͝s̸̮͕̻͇̬̣͙͒̓̓̇̂̅t̵͎͉͎͓͆̆͆͠e̵͇̪̝̲̞̫͇̊̀͑͐̊͊̐͊͒̕r̸̡̪͖̀̆̃̇
"There's nothing bothering me, why would you think that?" He asks in an accusatory tone, hoping to dissuade Norman from pressing even further.
"Sorry," Norman says (why is he apologising? g̵̪̬̻͔̮̜̭͉͑̿ͅơ̶͍̜̣̅͊̚ͅ ̴̢̠̱͙̹̕ã̴̬̗̱̗͔̌̎̀͛̋̚̚w̸̛̪͍͙̱̩̞̜̭͓͐͒̃á̷̧̭̔͊̆̕̕͜͝y̷̛̛͙̟̌̏̐̉ ̶̩̳͇̘̣̋̈ḧ̵̝͌̊̀͗ȩ̸̗̗͍̭̐̃ ̸̡͇̳̬͉̱͍͒͝ḑ̴̦͓̣͉͙̮̂ő̴̧̳͇̤̱̟͗͒̅̃̇̕ḛ̷̢̥̳͙̦̰̀s̵̞̖̤̙͎̯̠͊͛̎͐̕̚̕͜͜͝͠ṇ̴͌̈́̿̚'̶̦̝̦͎͙̦̣̽̂̅͛̈͛̂̕t̸̩̲̺̬͉̝̻̠̒̈́̇͌̔̚͝ ̸̼̭̀̓u̷̧̞͕̖͖̖̾̑̀n̵̢̯̼̘̹̗͖͈̙̦̊̅̒̂̚d̷̹̙̳̆̂̂̽͑͘͘͝͠ë̴̘̤̰̱̤͔̪̝̌̕͝r̶͎͍̞̯̖̼̩̬̈̏̀̄̋̓̉ͅs̴̨̛̖͇͖̖̝͖͙̯͎̃͗̎͠ț̴̡̦̖͕̩͙̔͠ả̷̢̡̧͇̙͔̳̖̼͗̓͑̍ͅn̸̺̮̻͍̰̤̯͑͆̽̈́́͜d̶̡͚͈̞̺̦͖̯̪͓̈́̏̈́͑͆̌͒͝), "you've just been a bit distant lately...and you haven't eaten much either...I was just...worried? I just assumed that something was making you upset."
Ray blinks, he didn't realise Norman was watching him. And when Norman puts it like that, then obviously something seems wrong (something is wrong, v̴͔̰̬̠̻͕̅̀̎e̸̛͔͖̜̦̟̩͚̝͋͗̃͐̅͑̿͗̉͜r̵̩͇͈̠͔̰̲̘̒̃͗̌̒̊͝y̶̆͑̂̆ͅ ̵̧̤̺̲̳̱̊͐͛v̸̨̳͈̥̐͛̑̇͠͝e̴̦̳͓̞̿̓̉͘͜ŗ̶̅͛̓̌͒͝͝y̸̢͓̘̫̝̪͈͙̎̓̀̐̑̀̎̚͝ͅ ̷͙̭̼̗͇̅̂̓w̵̬͖͙̍̈͒̍̋̀̆̋̈͠r̷̙̻̃̈́͐̂̾̅̓͆ö̶̧͔̯̥̲̪̖́͗̅̽͘͠ͅn̷̦̱̪̬̬̱͚̻̂́͋͂̈́̿̇͘g̷̗̮͇̦̥͍͈̠͌͊̓̽̈́͗͂̎). He needs to be more careful.
"Uhm, right. Well nothing's wrong," he tries to be more sincere, "I'm fine, I haven't been hungry much, but I do eat outside of mealtime. Thanks Norman, but I know how to take care of myself," (no no, he's stuck and he's scared and he wishes he knew what to do instead crumple like a pathetic piece of paper. He wishes someone would help him and take away some of the weight of the burden but when has he ever been that lucky? Life isn't merciful.)
"I wasn't doubting you, Ray, I know that, but sometimes it's okay to ask for help," Norman says as if it's an easy thing, and then he walks away. Ray cries himself to sleep that night.
a̷̧̛͕̼͖̟̫͕̮̍̒̋͌n̷͕̱̺̭̻̘̊̔̽̊̏̊̄́̈́͠d̶̨̦͎̩̹̤̖̺̑̄ ̷̫̪́̉̎͑̿ţ̵̛͓̖̺̜͓͕͊̎̅͋͜h̶̗̲̉̈́͋̆̋͘ḛ̸̹̳͖͍͚̓̊͝ ̵̯͐͋̏̽͌̈ļ̵̻̣̥̮̌̒̚ỉ̸̧͉̠̺̟̼̯̌̅̉̑̚t̷̜̬̟̼̺̠͌̂̑t̶̛͎̫̠̭͍̝̣̅̾̾̑̊̀̕͝͝l̸̩̲͙͇͔̃̍̕͠͠e̸̢̝͊͋̆͋͒̄͗̾̿͆ͅ ̸̰͎̂́͐͐̏̽͌b̷̪̫̠̘͙̜̘͉̪̔̃̆͂̿͐ȍ̴͖͚̭̻̍y̵̲̋͊̍͊̉̈́̓͛ ̷̞̺̖͊̅̈̎͒̎͆w̷̡̡̜̯̫͓͔̲̪̳̅̊͊̈́̊͋̐ạ̴̡̝̙̣̮̿̈́̍͛̐̑̾͘t̸̳̦̪̯̠͔̩̞̑̈́͆̅̓̆̕c̸͎̭̦̜͙͖̽͑̽h̷̩̳̄̃ë̷͉̻͎̣̳́̄̾̆͆͒̌s̵͚̀ͅ ̵̨̫̣̭͙͙̮̏̅͌̿͌̐̅͝ḣ̵̹̻͚͖̰͐̌͝͠i̴̢̛̗͉̘̥̅̄̕m̸̡͔͖̠̼̯̭̙̐̅͜ ̴͔̲͈̻͔̈́͑͝ĭ̷̜̹̫̇̃̄͋̒n̷͙̥̭̞̱̺͓̫͗̔̈͆ ̷͉̬͊͌t̸̞̠̼͕̱̰͓̪̎͂̉͗̅͛̚͠͠h̸͔͗̓̽͘͘͝e̷͍͍̳̗̟̻̼̟̔̂̿͝͝ ̴̧̳̼̹̈͊̑̍̓͂͋͠ç̷͇̤͔̟̥̓̈́̈́͜o̴̧̠̖̤̍r̸̝͙̘̰͍̺̆͌͛͑̌̃̕n̶̛̗͉̦͖̥̘̳͎̓̌͐̄͂͝ẹ̵͒̒͊͛r̶̡̺̬̪̲̗͑̏͌̄̂̋̕͘.̵̀̃̒̆͜
~~~
He avoids the wall with the drawings, and screws his eyes shut if he has to walk past it ǎ̶̢̧̢̙̠̗̰ñ̴̡͚̻̰͎͔̒̿͝d̴̗̭͇͌̎̐̇̌̓̕̚͝ ̸͙̘̪͓̣̺͑̊͊̋̔͂̀̚h̴͔́̓̓̔̈̌͌͋͘̚e̴͍̲̬͉̞̫̺͋͌̂͝͝ ̵̨͚̥̬̲̙̮̹̦̉f̶̨̢̼͇̥͍̩͈̬̗̈́̒͐̌͊̕͝ë̶̡̢̛̫̹̠̮͚̦́͌͠ȩ̴̱̮̠̼̋ļ̶̦̻͓̲͌̋s̷͈̯̽̾͑̍̈ ̶̧̳͆͛̔̔̊̚ā̸̛̮̖̳͚̰̬̼̯̱̺͛͛̿͠ ̶͇͂͌̃͑̓̿͘g̶̭̰͉̬̗̮͚͎̭̈́̔̀̌͂͝͝h̴̩͚̲͕̻͔̮̭̥͊̾o̴̯̣̻͕͛͐̂̄̈́̒͊͝s̷̢̧̰͖͇͇͉͓̏t̸͍͍͙̦̄ͅ ̴̡̖̱̠͕̝͕̉͊͛̍͜͜ͅȏ̸̲̾̅f̴̛̥̰̒̅̆̏͛͋͝ ̸̙̞͚̓͜ā̴̲̖̝͎̄̓̎͗͑ ̴̧̲͑̒͛̐̌͋͋̏̓͠h̴̢̀͂͒̒͂͊̎̚͝a̴͓͒̽́̈́̈́̐̕n̸̛̬͗̌̎͛͒̾͒d̵̟̅̉̾͊ͅ ̴̡͇͖̫̙͘ḇ̸͙̜͓̜̘͔͌̊͝ŗ̶̯̣̈́u̵̯̞̹͎̭̭͍͆́͗̈́͛̀͒͆̚͠ͅş̷̡͖͔̝̗́̈́ĥ̸̛̬̯̩̳͔͈̲̇́͆̂̚͜͜͠ ̸̲͕̭̜͔̠̆̚p̶͓̮̜̤͔̠͋̋̈́̃͛̒̐̕a̷̢̖̹̰̐s̵̹̥̫̟̒́̎t̶͓͖̖̝̰̞̋̎̅̅̽̀ ̷͍̳̻̤̳̣̺̘͆̅̕h̸͍͉̙͍̹͍̜͐͝ḭ̶̡̟̲̝͔̥͖͙̀̈́̄̀̐̂̒̌͘s̷̛̼̟͖̱͋̊͂͐̍̈́͘̚͝ ̵̡̢̢̱͍̼̤̐̈͑̓͐͛̽̽̂͜n̸̛̥̖͋̇͜͝e̵̩͋͊̀̈̉̓c̵̹͙͈̬̳̆͋̀̋̏̀͛̅͘͘k̷̢̨͔̦͇̍̆̍̊̈́̿͝͠.
"Helena's getting adopted in two weeks," Mama tells him as she hands him the latest reward (how can he call it a reward when it's for selling out his siblings?).
"But she hasn't been getting bad scores- I thought she'd make it till at least 11-"
"The date has been decided," Mama's cold voice cuts through and he bites his lip.
"When are you announcing it?"
"Dinnertime."
"Okay. I'm going to go now. Emma was looking for me."
~~~
He watches Helena play with Gilda after breakfast and he watches as she shows Thoma how to draw a house and he watches Helena as she gets out her pencils and he w̵̝͖͕̦͈͙̹̘͒͂̆͐̊̏̌̚͜a̸̯̬̟̙̓̃̉̈́͒͆̍̚ț̸̨͎͙̞̼͖̂̾̀͂̓̉c̷̖̫̻̺͓͕͆ͅh̶̬̀̓̈́͐̌ḛ̸͓̘̠̎̂̑̚͝͠͝s̷̠̫̺̟̜̱͕͙̮̊̊́̌̔͘͠
“I can’t believe Helena is getting adopted soon! I can’t wait for her to meet her new family!” Emma gushes as they go over last week’s material. He might throw up, but he’s certain he’s doing a better job at hiding his trepidation. Whether that be the bone-crushing grip on his pencil or the bruise that will most definitely form on his thigh from the way he’s pinching his skin, as long as his face is devoid of any emotion, then he’ll be fine.
“But I’m really going to miss her! Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I wonder what her new family will be like...”
“I hope they’re really nice! Maybe they have a cat! No, no maybe a dog! Or a cute little hamster! Wouldn’t that be awesome! I hope my family will have a pet! What about you two? What pet would you like?”
“Maybe a cat?”
“Imagine if they had a zoo in their back garden! Then I could totally ride a giraffe!”
“I doubt it would be enough space, Emma. What if they don’t have any pets?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind! I’d be way too excited to care! Ughh, Helena’s so lucky! I can’t wait for my adoption!”
“Me too! What about you, Ray?”
“Yeah! What do you think your family would be like?”
"̸̛̤̪̠͖͎͊́̓͋̒̔̒͘͜W̸̞͎͖̏̔̃͌̌̅̋̀̏h̴̢̦̗̝̳͉͍̬͆͑͑̈́́a̸̡̝̼͎̘͌̊͂͋̏t̸̛̲̍͆̓̓̀͐̌͒͝ ̶̢̭͈̮̌̌̌̈́̔̆́͂͝d̶̛͚̈́̓̓̑́̋ơ̷̺͎̤̦͓͐́͌͠ ̴̢͖̘͖͉̗͓̈́̑͠ÿ̴̦́̐̽̂͒̓͘̕o̶̪̦̞͒̐̒̒̚͠ų̸̨̦̙̲͖̗̪̱͑͜ ̸̟̳́̔͗͝t̷̞͆ḣ̴͔̜̦̫̭͊͋͗͛̑̉̚ḯ̸̛͇̦̞̯̪̼̘̭͉̩̑̿̔̐̚͝ñ̷̰͙͙̰͍̬̺̱̟̈́̓̾k̸̢̛̞͗͛͗̊̑̈̆̿͝,̵̣̺̣͓̈́́̂̂̋̏̊͒͝ ̸̯̞͈̝̱͐͑̂̉Ŗ̸̧͈̗̩̭̙̺̹̈́͝ą̸̛̘̜͆̆̾̃̄́ỹ̸̢̨̬̠̙̟̘̝̆̈́̀͊̑̋̚͝?̵̡̠͐͑͆̐̆͌̚"̵̢͖̼͇͓̦̫̔̎͋̈̈́̊̈͜͝
"̴̭͐̇̽͂̽̒̑̐͝Ŗ̸̢̹͕͎͚̗͙̱̈a̸̺̲͍̮̎̌̔͘͝͠y̸̡̺͇̳̾͗̊͆͛̊̾̎?̸͓̦̮͚̇͋͛̇̐͂̇ ̶̩̱̾̽̈̿̄͑͗͒R̵̡̫͎̜̝̼̳͍͙̀̽̎̓̉̽̾̒̐̈́a̷͉͖̮̬̺̜̗̭̥̞̎̑́͐̀̚y̷̛̦̲̱̲̦̗͎̠̾̂͛̍͋̚͘͝y̵̧̠̬̜̞͋̈́̌̾͗̓̈́̅͝y̶̟̰̿̈́̓͂̚̚,̶̡͈̂̒̕ ̷̢̡̼͈̻̻̖͓̼̽͛͐̉̈́̚ͅw̶̨̖̉h̷̨̗̤̺̣̼͇͐̊̽́́͒a̶̩̟͍͐̎̋̈́̌̾̑̃t̸̨͓̯̜̠͈̗̭̥̖͊͐̌̈̒̂̇͘͝ ̷̼̩̞͚̯͈̤̫͗̾͌̑͒̓̊̄̿d̵̡̫͇͔͍͑͆͂̃̿͝ǒ̶͕͖͚̺͔͗̅̑̅̊͋̌͠ ̷͉̳͕͎͇̐͒̽̎̾̍͌̍͗͠y̵̧̧͖̜̲̱̘͙̼̫͒͂̏͠ȯ̸̦̗̬͈͚̈́ų̴͔̜̙̹̿̌̃͐̓̂̽̈ ̵̹̤̈́̐͛̿̄t̴̨̡̋̈́͂̐̎̒ḩ̵͓̼̠̝͎̱͝ȋ̷̛͉͕͕̦̖̩̩̦̹̠̔̔̊͆̚͘n̸̡̖̯̪̘̰̑̒̍͂̈́̒͠k̸̹͙̻͇͇̰͔̒̓͋̋͋͑̊̕͜?̶̃̇̆͂̋͘͜"̸̢̫͕̜̹͍̯̘̋͜
"̵̡̖̠͙̟͔͉̪͂ͅͅW̷̨̢̭͙̻͚̗̭͕̳̅̋͋̇̊̀̓͠h̴̭̎͊̋a̷̧̨̛̹̹̙͓͛͐ţ̴̩̱̜̜͔̖͎̜͕̄͆̔̈́͐͗̾̊
̷̶̧͉̠̦͚̤͙̑͆͗͊̈̐̃̒͆̍̚͝d̵̨̳̭̭̤̣̑̆̾͂̀͜ǫ̶̣̒͗ͅ ̴̡͖̱̬̣͈̗̭͔̅͌̃̂̒
̴̨̩̗̟͖̗̈́̽̚͜
̷̛̟̓͒̽̈́̿̅̉͜y̸̢̹͓̥̖̠͈̠̥̑̒͒̐͆̃̈̉͠͝ō̵͉̊ͅư̸̧̲̥̤̝̰͒̓͆͆̏͒̍
̶͖̟̭̐̊̐̕͠
̷̢͕̱̐̂̐̔́͂ẗ̸̢̨̡͍͎̯͇̤̤͗́͘ḣ̷̨̢̳̗̣̲̺̥͓̓̿̚͝ͅȉ̴̛̻͍͂̂͂̕n̷͍̋̽̔ķ̴͖̩̜͕͔̗̝̈͆̈́ͅͅ
̶͇͈̻̣͖͝
̴̢̧̥͉̘̲̲̉̉́̈̚̚͠R̶͔͇̜̪̳̠̰̔̓̍̉͒̇̂̌͐͝ͅ
̸̢̘̜̄͊̽͛͝
̵͕̻̝͎̩̈͛̒̈́͠Ȁ̴̢͔̭̲̪̼͓̌̃͑͠
̷̥͇͓͕̥͕̪̮͊͜͠
̷̨̣̥͚̣͇͎̘͂̆̇͛̆̌͌̚͝Y̸͕͗̄̌͊͗̏̇͝͝
"̶̓"̷͎͑̐̈́̃̈́Ẇ̷̪̩̖̹̬̹̣ḩ̸̼̪̪̑͠y̷̧̡̪̦̼̖̼̝̙̓͂̑̔̚ͅ ̷̣̤̹̆̓͜d̴͉̱͎̺͈͎̙̤̰̏̔̇̾͗̍̓͝i̴̧̟̪̖̱̤̟͍̣̿͐̎̄̊̈́͛̈́͠d̵̢̡͈̯̝̹̫͌̐͊ ̵̨͈̣͚̟̣̤̪͖̳͒̈́̇̓̓͆͝͝ẙ̵̤͚̺͈̱̂͂͊̇̔͝ͅo̸̙̰͎̦̼̻͙̎̓͜͜ű̶̜͐͊̈̇ ̸̨͓̹͈̬͚̤̫͙͆̉l̴̛̠̳̪̽̎͗͆̊͠ë̶̛̱̰̥̦́̽̈̆̓̓̔̂͠t̴̳͐̊͐͘̕ ̷̘̫͈͚͇͈̑̈͐̈́͋͐ư̷̡̨̢͙̪͔̬̈͋̋͝s̴̢̰̬̲̒ ̸̭̫͚̞͓̗͓̾̕͘d̴̬̓̈́̃͐̑̒̂̄i̵̢̡̬̯̠̘̖͈̼̦̓͐̃̒e̶̙̊̅̽͆̽̚,̸̡̝̺͓̳̯̗̺̉̑͊̔̕ ̸̢̮̩͗͑͛̅͝R̷͐͜͜͝ą̷̬̮̬̣̈́͗͜͠y̷̧̰͉͉̞̜̺͎͕̫͆̊̍̅͆̆̿͘͠?̷͈̏̈́̂"̸̻͈͕̫̃
"̴̢̻͓͕̌̀͗̽̕W̶͉̠̰̜͈̖̠͔̔̓̈́̍̈́͌̄̂͠h̶̡̬̟̅̂̇̓̆͌̌ỳ̷͔̾͊́͂̊͝ ̶͍̠̈́͂̅̑̊̏͘͜ͅd̸̡̢̝̠̫͓̲̹͂͒͜i̷̢̛̜̮̣̬̞̩̓̓͠d̸̪͚̥̓̅̓͂̌̅͝͝n̷̛̹̿̌͒̄̑̔͂'̴̰̗͚͇̖͎̜̞̟̃͌̐̈́t̷̲͎̩̠̩͕̖̲̒̏̆͝ͅ ̷̺͇̇̀̈́͆̓y̵̧̝̲͛͛͂̄̂̄̽̅͊o̷̼̓͂̇͂̔͗u̴̖̪͇̞͂͌̏̀̂̈͗̍̕͠ ̷̠̿͆̾̈́͌̈͌́ș̶̻̝͚̼̻̩̗̥͆̇̽͆̈́̃̂ͅt̸͈̰̻͙͇̱͌͐̂͋ŏ̴̧̨̖̩̟̤̼̆͠p̵̛̜̰͙͖ ̸̫̪̳̜̺̿͌̉͊̑̃̍͗̑h̴̺̖̮͖̠̤͎̻̾͐̿͠͝e̴̡͔͎͕̠̬͙͇̾̇͂̇̂̒̀̈̐͠r̶̮̫̦͐͛̕?̴̬͚̠̦͇͕͐̆̈́̾̎̋̀͒̚͝"̶͉̩̺͕̫̭̺̙͒̅͘
Ỷ̶̘͖̝ȯ̶̗͓̙̆͌̂̋̆̽u̸̢̞̰̲͍̾͌̂͋̈́̚ ̵͖̯̖͙̅̎̔͒c̸̡͚͓͍͚̲̦͋̃̈́̔͒́̊̕̕͠ǫ̶̞̥̰̰̫͔̭̳͈̋͑̏͛͠ų̴̛̤̤̤͐̃͌̀͒͘ĺ̵͍̬̒̉̌d̶͉͍̭̳̗̺̕͠ ̸̧̻̞̉͊̈ẖ̷̛̬̦̪͕̖̹͎̈́̈̀̈́͂̀͗̕a̸̛͋̋̍͆͜v̴̢͕̮̲̥͊̀̀e̷̡͈̳̲͈̞̗̗͍̒̊̌̌̓̑̇͠ ̶̙͕̲͎̲̭͈̝̭̲̿̿̒͂͊̈́́̋͝s̴̺̅͒á̵͔̹̺̘̣̩̞͚̥̽̌̏̿͐̈́v̸̤̲͈͔̟́ě̶̢̧̯͖̓̍̈́̾d̶̲̈́͊̑̆̽ ̷̜̟̎͑̓̈́̅̕ͅṵ̷̢̘̹͍̟̭̹͖̽̌̊̓͜͠s̴̨̧̢͖͈̹̙̞̈́͒̄͑.̶̨̡̮͎̜̅̃̍̾̐̔̂͋̚͜ͅ"̸͚̘̤̭͍̗̩̫̍̓͒͋̒̽̔̓͂
"̴̡̧̹̤̬̜̩́̍Ẁ̴̡̢̛̺͓͕̞͈̣̐̔̅͐͜ḧ̸̢̢͖͖͙̹̱́ÿ̴̧̩̱̪͖͎̦͍́͋̎͘ͅͅ ̵̨͇̜̤͚̯͇̺̂̈́͐͗͌ḑ̴̡̤̟̮̗͚̥͚̜̿̾͗̈́̿i̵̛͔̝̹͍̯̋̈́͊͂̌̕d̴̰̥̻̝͂̿͗ ̵̱͉̣͎̝̝͍̠͌̓̒̉͊̒ỳ̶̡̈́̏͗̏̾͊͐͝o̷̼͎̘̍͑̕u̷̹͉̩͓̥̖̳̥̰͛͗͜ ̵̲̭͇̔̔̏k̴̫̪̬̉͊̚͠ị̷̦̜̖̏͐̑l̶̝̬̻͐̈́͝ͅļ̸͈̠̣̭͓̻̄́͗̑͘ ̵̢̮͉̘͓̫̣̳͔̘́̐͝u̴͉͍̬̣̦̫̺̼͌́͗̂͑̉̇̂̋̚͜s̷̤͙̮̹͉̟̩̻̝̝͂͒͋̃?̶̻̺̮͙̠͍̰̫͎̌̒́̅̍̋̈́͐̒͝"̴̡͕̩̮̮̆
Ṟ̵̴̶̸̸̷̴̷̸̸̴̶̶̶̵̴̴̸̨̢̢̢̧̡̡̛̛̛̮͖̫͖͈̩̦͉͉̭̼̞̲̳̠̫͉̭͔̠̳̪̲̫̙͎͇̲̫̣̜͉̮̥̥̘̱̺̳̜̙̱̝͇̣͉͉̮̬̹̳̪̘͉̺͉̞̬̘̰̞̞͍̜̲͎̯͚̜̝̳̞̣̲̞̰̙̦̫̳̜̯̲͚̗͎͇̟̫̃̓̽̏͗̀͒̔̂̈͋͛͆͗̉̋͛̈́̄͂͑̌͋̓̊͋͋̑̀̐̾̅̊̏̃͋̏̊̈́̈́̉̾͗̈́̏̐́̒̋̅̔̅̃̒͋̑̐̓͐̑̅̈́̋̿̐͐̌̾͆̑̔̏̋̽̃̓̀͋̈̅̍̕̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅ ̸̶̸̴̶̵̷̸̵̴̷̴̵̴̴̢̨̡̧̧̡̛̞̼̘̱̺͕͈̬̩̳̲̖̞̫͖̞͙͙͉̝̭̤̰̗̱̞̬̼͓̘͍̞͕̙̥̫̫̣͎̦̹̤̭̟̭̻̫̬͖̞̳͔̲̱̮͈̰͍̜̣̰̦̤͇̯̤̍̿͐͛̒̓̉̽̀̈́̈́̒̍̽̌͊̔̎̍̂͗̀̈́̽̅̉̔̓͗̀̾̊̿̄͊̑̈́̋͊͒͌̅̒̅̈́̓̈̎̀̈̈́̿̋̌͒̄̓̓͆̈̅̌̆̊̾͆̏́̐͛̅͗̋̚͘̚̚̚͘̚͘͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅÄ̶̵̵̴̴̸̵̶̢̢̨̨̢̧̛̞̱͚͖͙̹̹͔̞̣̦̼͈̤̙̭̜͎͓̹͖͖͇̙̯̣̖̝̲̲̻̞́́̆͋̃̒̈́̈́̈́͐̃̈́̋̐̎͗̾͊̑̒̾̂̈́̉̍̈́̊͛̃̂͐͋̑̚̚͜͝ͅ ̷̵̸̵̴̴̴̸̷̵̶̷̴̨̢̧̧̢̡̛̛̛̛͉͙̣͇̫͍͕̰̝͎̗̲̺̙̰͕̠̬̭̲͎̱̫̮̝̥̦͈̘̠̫̼̯̤͖̼̙̜̟͓̻̥̝̗̲̰͙̝̩̬̟̗̦̲̩͕͓͚̳̟̼̃͊̅́̂̓̏̈́̈̑̓̓̂́̄̆̇͌͋̾̆͑͛͒̉̄͊̑͆̈́͆̀̈́͆̀̌̀̓̓̍́̇̒͗̋̓̄͗̾̌̕̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͠ͅŸ̵̵̸̴̶̷̴̷̷̸̷̸̴̴̵̧̨̧̧̧̛̛̛̛̛̹͇̙̤̼̫̣̤͕̩͖͖̟̜̝͚̫̘͎̝͇̙͈̙̤̘̭̣̦̦͍͕̻͕̞̙̙̝̪̘͙̙̬̮͕͓̗̯̺̝̝̙͎̺̩̺̘͎͍͖̘̦̗̯̟̏̍͗͂͑͆̈̑͊̽̈̒̑͛̅͂̈̏͗̌̍͒̔̀͌͛͆̈́̐͋͂̉͛̋̈́̇̄̈́̓̽̒̃̾̃̾̄̐̒̈͂́́̑̔͐̓̇̃̎͒͂͒̍͊̅̈́̈́̈̊̓̿͛̽̏͛̆̇͘̕͘̕̚͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͝ͅͅ
“I hope that we will have each other as family, even after we get adopted.”
“Aww, I hope we can all be a big family even when we’re older!” Emma squeals, eyes shining like big stars.
“That would be really nice.” Norman nods, entertaining the idea.
“Who knew Ray was such a big softie!”
Ray stomaches dinner for the first time in a long time because if he keeps Emma and Norman alive to see another day past their twelfth birthday, then that is more than enough for Ray. But even if his dream comes true, he’d be ruining Emma’s.
He decides to be selfish.
~~~
It’s been a few years since Helena’s drawing was taken down, stashed away somewhere in Mama’s office. He’s glad it’s gone, at least she has the decency to remove the pictures so he doesn’t have to see it again. Maybe she does it for herself as well, so she doesn’t have to remember what really happened behind the false promise of a new family.
He holds the syrup in its jar, its sweet scent is overwhelming and he’s quick to place it on the table and turn away. The calendar stares at him from across the room, October 12th marked heavily with a red marker, reminding him of oozing blood.
“Good morning Ray!” Emma chirps as she settles down beside him, placing the last of the cutlery down.
“Morning,” He replies, studying his fingers as to avoid watching Emma fiddle with the butter knife.
“Mama’s making pancakes!” Someone yells and there’s a chorus of excited chattering that fills the silence.
“I love pancakes!” Emma says, but what is there that Emma hates? (When Emma finds out, she’ll h̶̛̖̖͐̎̿̅͌̽͜͠a̷͇̹͎͙͔͈͋̃͂̚ṭ̷̢̝͇͓̥̝̈̇͒̓̈́̅̽̀e̸̮̘͛̂̆̄ ̸̜̓̅̋̇̈́̏̚͝h̴̡̛̜͖̝̲͇̽̾i̷̧̛̗͚̘̝̐̔́m̷̪͎̹̤̞̪̯͐̔͗̔͌͜ ̵̢̹͓̝͙͍͙̭̤̌̂͊͋͒̆͐͘h̵̛̛͕̯̪̝̻͖̻̱̦͔͆̆̾̂̏̕̕͠ą̴̦̹͎̻͎̦̘̤̈͑̄͒̕͜͝͝t̶̗͈̤̙̬̩̹̬͎̄̓e̶̫̤̞̳̯͙̰͗͛̓̈́̊̏̌)
“It’s been a while since we’ve had pancakes,” Norman says as he walks in with a tray full of plates and pancakes, alongside Don and Anna.
“I’m so hungry!” Emma says in giddiness. Ray doesn’t mind the food anymore, he’s gotten used to it over the years and he can’t afford to have a meltdown every two months or someone will notice (ș̷̫̥̼̮͖̝͂͋͌̆̆͌͂ǭ̷͓̜̗͌̇͆͑͂͝m̷̢̛̗͖̤͓̺̖̲͝ȅ̶̘̲̰̤̜͎̞̫̂̈́̆̑̒̈́͠ǫ̸̥̝̼̥̾̈́ͅͅn̸̛͓͐̈́̎̉̂́͝ĕ̵̠̯͔͎̖̙͇̜̣͙̊̐͑ ̵̤͈̲̠͉̼̽̉̈̒̌͘͝͝p̶̧͔͚̈́͌̈́̀̉͝͝͠ͅḽ̴̳̅̔̕͝e̶̘͕̭̯̻̅̾͐͌͊́̈̚͜ä̷̗̰͍̩̜̻̭̘͇̦́͘͝s̸̖̞̝̃͛̾̑́̂̾̈͂͠ĕ̴̺̖̎̚͝ ̴͎̻̬̣̬̘̌̃̆̿̈́͑̊̽̉͠h̷̨̡͈̯͍̔̊̓̿͒e̷̡̡̛͍͚̖̻̱̼̙̻̾̌l̸̨̎̄p̸̠̪̒͑̎̉͋̓͋͘).
Mama walks in with the last tray in one hand and a bell in the other. Once everyone has sat down, she rings the bell and they all tuck in.
“Thank you for the food!”
“Syrup, Ray?”
“Here,” he passes it along.
“You don’t want any?”
“No,” the pancakes are sweet enough on their own and he knows he won’t be able to eat with the thick syrup running down his throat. He knows he’s gotten better, but syrup would just be pushing it.
“Suit yourself.”
Don busies himself in building a perfect pancake stack for him and Conny, piling on strawberries and chocolate sauce.
“Oh, oh, let’s make a stack, as well, Norman! Ray!” Emma brings her plate closer and plops her pancakes on his plate, followed by Norman.
“I’ll get the toppings,” Norman leaves, and without the supporting party, Ray has no choice but to persuade Emma on his own not to waste his time.
“I don’t want a stack,” he tries to say, but Emma doesn’t listen.
“It’ll be fun!” Emma insists, hovering over all the toppings as Norman returns, looking slightly sullen.
“What’s wrong, Norman? Don’t tell me you don’t want to build our pancake stack as well?”
“No, it’s not that,” he says as he sits down beside them, “I heard Gilda and you stayed up last night because Conny was having a nightmare?”
Emma looks thoughtful for a second, as she makes a grab towards the red strawberry jam and the assortment of berries, “Yeah, it was quite bad,” why she glances at Ray is beyond him, “she woke up a little past twelve, crying and screaming that the monsters were coming for her.” And Ray did everything not to take in a sharp breath and shudder in response. He could only thank god that he was able to keep a straight face. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’s okay it’s n̷̛̘͔͓̣̙͍̜͙̑͘͜o̶͕̹̥̞̼̥̔̈̍̆͝t̸̢̪͉̪̻̹̟̖̱̠̆̈́͊̒̉͘̕͝͠ ̷̨̤̃̆̉̀͐̔̄͌ō̵̧̨̪̰̻̰̻̝̙̯̆̆͑k̷̡̞̞̩͎͖̩̣̳̔ą̸̯̲̲̩̓͋͋͑͊̓͝y̴̟̭̙̰̫̌-
“That’s not very nice, did she get any sleep after that?”
“Oh yeah, she did, but it took a long time. I think it was almost three o’clock when she finally fell asleep,” Emma places the last strawberry and sprinkles a bit of sugar over the pancakes. Suddenly, Ray feels sick at the amount of red on the plate. The berries were saturated in the colour, gleaming at him with the goal of smothering him, as well as the jam that sat in chunks and what message was Emma trying to get across?
Ray closes his eyes as Emma’s knife sliced through the monstrosity she had created, burying his face his palms as if to feign tiredness, but maybe it was just because he didn’t have to see the knife s̶̨̛̛̮̠̹͍̆̏̏̆͊̑͘͠l̸̤̩̰̫̹̤̈́͋͒i̶̛͉̹̪̭͓̖̳̥̿ͅć̸̖̺͓̩̠͈̹͇ǐ̵̮̦̝̜̝̖̙̰̘̬̈̾͋͛n̸̖̲͚̒͋̿́͘͝͝g̸̨̺͚̎̈̎ ̷̧̛̦̺͖̭͓͙͆̈́͌͗̀ḯ̶̧̫͍͈͓̼͔̾̽͐́̑͒̚̚ͅṇ̷͈̣̣͕̤͎͇̣͈̏t̶̗̎͛̄̐̓o̸̪̬̭̊ ̵̨̖̪̱͔̘̞͂̆͒̑͒́͘͠ͅb̸̢͉͈͇̟̯̰̙̓̈́̐̉̈́͒̊l̵̛̟̻̐͆̓̄o̴̯̗̫̜̽̂̃̈́̈͒͂̓͜o̵̢̡̠̦͕̠͑͐͛̆d̷̲̭̺̠́̏̐̃͋̚ỵ̶̧̨̗̩̑ ̷͋͑̋ͅf̴͕̜̈́͋ḻ̴̦͚͕͇̠͂̒͘͝͠ë̸͚̟̝̮̠͙̹͈̻́̇̌̀̈͠s̷̢̖̗̥͗h̴̡̙̬̗͔͛̔̅̈́͑̔-̸̡̨͖͍̤̲͎̳͒͊͜. He knows he’ll never be able to eat now, which was a bit depressing because he was priding himself with being able to eat without any problems, but whatever, he’d just pretend that it was too sweet for him.
“Try it, Ray!” Emma shoves a plate in front of him and he tries not to shrink away. He’s never been one to eat deserts, that was more of Norman’s things as he has the worst sweet tooth in the trio, maybe even in the orphanage.
“Too sweet,” he complains, but Emma wouldn’t budge, and Norman gives him a look as if saying that he should eat a little just to please Emma. That is also a Norman thing, never a Ray thing. He couldn’t care less. He only plays with her or helps her with studying because she was annoying him. Not because he cares. He didn’t care.
Or so he tells himself.
So he does take a bite, wincing at the assault of sugar on his tongue, but he doesn’t look outwardly disgusted, so Emma grins in delight.
“See, I knew you’d like it!”
He takes another bite just while Emma’s looking, and as soon as she averts her eyes to her own plate, he twiddles the fork in his hand, staring absent-mindedly at the food when Emma and Norman talk over his head.
It’s just settled in his mind that Conny’s leaving in about 2 weeks. 2 weeks and then she’s dead, gone forever, and her delicate golden pigtails won’t flutter in the wind and there won’t be the rosy blush dusted across her cheeks and her twinkling blue eyes will be dull and gouged out of her little head, and her fair skin will be a sickly grey and her existence will be reduced to a tangle of limbs and a still heart. She’ll be dead. She’ll be dead dead dead DEAD D̶̜̝̹̙͓̙́̈̚Ẹ̶̖̦͓̇̆̉̊͌͒̑̕A̵̜̙̠͇͑̃D̶̦̫̲̫̯͔̦̩̳̏̌̉̾̋̚ ̵̭̺͛̓͆̓̿͌̑̐͝D̶̛̥̳͈̥̮͎͂͛͒̊͗̈́̚͠E̴̞̓A̵̢̤͖͓̔̓́͆͑͋̊̉Ḏ̷̩̾ ̴̧̭͎̗̤͎̱̗̞̘̾̏̓̈́͌D̴̫͇̣͆͐̇E̶̬̲͓̣̜̮̻̲̟͇͊̈́̊̓͑͘A̵͇̯͕̮̦̦̟͂͆̈́̾͜ͅD̴͚̙̐̍̒̀͛͛̚
̴̴̶̵̶̴̸̷̸̵̶̵̴̶̴̸̸̢̨̨̧̧̢̧̧̛̛͈̗̺͖͓͉̪̳̭̩͉̹̩͉̲̟̮̠̝͔̲̙̫̳̯͖̝̭̘̦̥͎̳̗̯͙̗̜̱͕̱͎͇͕̺̤̘͎̘̥̻͈̪͈̫͍̗͎̠͚̜̱̯̤̤̼̯̱̻̰͓̗̫͓̮͚̱̞̙̭͍͔͖̳̳̘̩̹̳̔͛̂̾̊͑̋̏̈́̄̋̓̀̇̓͗̂̀̐̅̐̈́̈͌͛̽̇̅͐̆̈͂̐́̊́͑͛̄̈́̽̔̄̒̒̾̉̑͛̈́͊͛͗̒̓̆͂̄̅̂͑̾̏̌̍̅̑͑͆͐̃́͆̓̑̂͊̍̚̚̕͘͜͜͝͠͠͠Ḑ̷̴̶̶̵̶̶̵̸̧̨̢̡̛͖͙̮̱̤͖̻̘̩͕̖̜̺̠̜̜̫͉͍̹͙̺͇͔͉̜̣͖͙̮͚̍̎͋͂̈́͌͐͐͂̑͆̔́̈́̆̽̋͐͛͐̇̒̂̃̈́͊̓͛̉̆͌͛́̋̕̕͘͜͜͝͠ͅͅE̷̶̶̵̵̸̴̴̷̵̴̴̵̶̵̸̸̴̷̡̢̨̡̢̢̢̛̛̳̱̦͈̣̮͇͎͕̭̳͍͖̞̬͎̼͔̘̤̗̳̘̭̲͍̺̙̤̥̬͔̲͙͓͙͚̫̣̘̹̥͓̣̬̲͎̟̦̠̜̙̮̮̺̭̻̺̙̜̳̣̗̠̥̲͎̻̠͚͔̖̤̺̟̯͖̗̳̮̥̠͇͓̺̹͒̑͂̆̐͛̈́̊̉͆͆͂̂͊̎̔̐͗̄̒̈́̄̀̄̎͊͗̄̊̈́̃̊̄̽͗̓̑̃͑̔̏̽͂̎̃͐͆́̌͑̓̈́͑̏̌̾̊̇͋͐͌͒̎͆̍͗̇̃̈́͌͌̀̍͌͊̓̎̎͐̽͂̉͗̒̇͆̀̏̇̂̎̈̈͌͘̚͘͘͘̕̕̚̕̕͘͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅA̸̵̷̶̴̷̸̵̸̸̸̵̶̷̶̵̷̢̧̨̨̧̢̢̛̛̺̣̖̜̜̩̟̬̣̲̤̰̝̖̻͉͓̬̟͖͈̯̦̱̪͔͇͍͖̦͉̼͉̘̘͇͕̝̼̲͇͎̯̦̹͉̠̟̬̩͕̘͇̟͈͔͇̠̙͓̥͈͙̦̼͈̪̮̘̦͖̪̥̮̗͙̪͙̪̦̦̘̟͂̋͂̄̎͂̋͌́̈́͒͊̉̀̎̂̅͂͋͆͑̃̐̈́͗̆͆̽̀̾̅̃̆͊̔̂͆̿͛̀̑̔̔̂̒͑͒͊̈́̽́͂̈́̇̍̿̉̓̽̐̈́̏̓̈̉̾̏̔͛̾̍̋̏͋̇̂͋̇̈́͌̌̚͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅD̵̴̷̴̶̷̶̷̵̴̷̴̨̢̡̧̨̧̨̧̛̘̝͔̗̹͚̳̹͚͙̼̣̰̜̦̗̤͇̗͍̥̰̻̟̥̘̤͔͇̼͚̺͉̗̹̼̪͕͚͔͇͚͖̫͚̙̻̱̜͔̩͉͚̞̘͆̏́̍̐̏̈́̍̒̈́̓̾̌̒̒̍̈́̋̇̄̈͌̄͊̀̑̆̒̓́͂̏͊͛̎̀͛́̄̽̾̅̽͗̑̓̾͆͐̕̕̕̚̚̕̚͘͘͠͠͝
Her innocent smile will be forever frozen into a silent scream and extinguished terror. Just like the many children before her. Just like the children that Ray left to be killed. And she’ll never amount to anything apart from a single meal, enough to satisfy a few hours before the hunger returns. 6 years and human life for a single meal. And then she’ll be gone, forever. Just like the others. Conny is going to- Conny is going to die. And he won’t be able to do anything.
“Ray! Norman’s trying to take your pancakes!” Emma’s shrill voice fades in and out, as he watches Norman sheepishly ask for the barely touched pancakes. He slides it into the empty plate.
But it’s the last time. And he’ll do everything to keep it that way. Conny will be the last child he’ll use for his own selfish desires because, after Conny, it’ll be him and he’s not going to let the demons eat him. After Conny, he’ll make sure Emma and Norman get shipped out. And after that?
It’ll be the end of his suffering.
He glances up at Norman licking off the last bit of syrup from his fork and Emma stuff the last morsel of pancake and he almost smiles fondly. The room is coming to the end of breakfast, and some of the tiny children scurry away after putting their plates in a neat pile in the kitchen sink.
Now, Norman looked a bit queasy. He snorted, rolling his eyes, “You eat too much?”
“Maybe, or I didn’t realise how horrible this combination is,” he grits his teeth, “sorry Emma.”
“What! What do you mean?”
“Who puts jam on pancakes?” Ray smirks, “That’s weird.”
“It’s not weird! I’ve done it many times before!”
“How have I not noticed?” Norman mutters, “Don’t do it again, please. It was a bit much if I had to be honest.”
“But you ate all of it!”
“I was hungry, okay?”
“I like strawberries, and plus you two weren’t actively helping with topping choosing. You can’t complain,” Emma huffs.
“I’m not complaining, I didn’t eat it because it tasted weird!” Ray says, enjoying riling Emma up.
“Was it that bad? I think you’re just being rude! You never try anything new, at least Norman ate it. Silly Ray,” she pouts, standing up to leave as if she’s mad, but she still collects his plate and cutlery. Norman gazes at her as she stalks away, a warm smile on his face.
“Typical Emma,” he chuckles, turning back to Ray, “come on, it’s our turn on washing up duty.”
“Sure,” he says, feeling light for a second as he goes to stand up. His eyes land on the calendar, the one thing he was hoping not to see again for that day. He scowled at it, cursing the day of October 12th. His eyes flickered over to Emma and Norman. They were going to find out soon. They were going to find out in 2 weeks, and they were going to be cruelly ripped away from the comfort and peace they knew their entire life. The price to pay for the loss of innocence, he supposes.
“Come on, Ray!”
“Coming,” he sighs. He wishes for the best, watching Mama brush past the calendar. He glares at the calendar, wanting to tear it off the wall and burn it. But he can’t do that, so he settles for the glaring.
And the calendar glares back, blood dripping out as the days continue.
i̴͓͖͓̯̍̓ͅt̵̛̖̪̾͂̈́͋̅͗͛̃̚ ̸̨͈͎̬̮̞̬̐̔k̵̰̗̥̦̯̮̂̾̽̃̿͝͠e̴̼̙͎͖̫̊͑̾ͅę̶̙͍̠͓̺̪̠̩̋̈́̈́͋͆͗̽̈́̕p̴͉̥̭̈́̎̂̿̆̄s̵̝̺͕̣̀͊͒͐̃̓̈́͌͝͝ͅ ̵̘̳̱̗͚̫̰̟̓͂g̶̛̳͔̳̙͙̑̇̏̆̉̑̚͠͠l̶͖̭͗̒͆̾͐̋̊ą̶̤͖͇̯̠̳̼͉̞́͑̏̍̈́̄̐͘r̴͔͆͆̏ḭ̷͈̜̭͎̣̞̹͂̊̕n̴͙̬̹̼̲͍͍͌̅͠g̷̡̛̣̯͔̟̤̗͔͕
a̶̢̛͉͖̺̻̼̫͈̱͂͆̓̍̋͋̚n̴̨̙̟͗̓d̵̙͔̃͊̊̈́̃͝ ̴̣̰̯̬͕̪̫́t̶̞̖̥̘̳͔͑̇̓̈́͐̍͝h̶̰͙̞͎̄̂e̸̛͈̪̎ͅ ̴̨̝͕̭̞̮̲̰͓̋͗̽͛͒̔̍b̸̧̳̙̱̖́͋͝l̸̲̞̲̥̜̟̮̃̉̂͜ö̴̙̊̅̐͑̂̈ǒ̶̧̨̢͖͍̗̩͚̔̌͋̋͛̓̈́̚͜d̶̡̳͕̙͍̤͓̱̋͂̿͊̇̂̕ͅͅ ̶̨͎̠̝̪̹̅̍̿͌̿̃̍͜ͅḵ̸̡̯̪̥̈́̈́͗͘͝͝ę̵̝͚͕̬̲̭͑̊̊̆͑̓̇͘͘ẽ̵̹̭̬̰̪̞̠͆̅̄̑̋̿͝p̶̢̬̗̝̦̣͎̈́̀͛̿̉̽̏̊͠ͅs̷̬̫̺̻̳͌ ̵͙͇͙͕̇̐ͅd̴̡̛̘̳̝̳̭͍͍̓͊̓́͝ṛ̶̨̡̧̍͒̑̿̚͜ͅi̷̩̝̮͙̾́͆̚ͅp̷͍͆͌̓̔͝p̶̡̮͋̍͛̆͆̈́i̵̝̱͉͙̳͌͑͛n̶͉̝̄̂͐̐̽ǵ̵̨̨̺̜̹̑̃̑͊͛̚͝
~~~
“Let’s begin.”