The sun beat down on their small town, turning the air into a sweltering haze. The sky was a brilliant blue, but the heat was relentless. People took shelter beneath trees and awnings, anything to escape the oppressive warmth.
Linda and her daughter did the same. They sat beneath a Melina tree—Linda on the ground, leisurely braiding Lyli’s thick hair. It was long, dark, and full—a sharp contrast to her own, which was fine and short.
Running a brush through the strands, Linda marveled at her daughter’s beauty. She silently thanked the heavens that Lyli didn’t look like her. Linda had grown up teased for her nose, her awkward frame. During pregnancy, she had prayed for a miracle—that the child would inherit her father’s genes.
God hadn’t disappointed.
Lyli had the makings of a beauty queen.
Linda parted the hair down the middle and worked each half into a neat plait, her fingers moving with practiced ease. As she worked, Lyli sat perfectly still, soaking in the touch.
When the braids were done, Lyli looked up and asked, “Mom, I want to play outside with my friends. Can I?”
Linda smiled and nodded.
It was a decision she would punish herself for the rest of her life.
***
The sun spilled through the curtains in strips of gold, crawling across the floorboards like lazy fingers. Lyli opened her eyes slowly. Her body was still, as if waking up disturbed something sacred.
She sat up stiffly. The sheets slid from her shoulders. Her bare arms prickled with cold.
The room looked the same. The same beige walls, the old dresser, the small mirror by the door. The familiar smell of dust and lavender soap.
But her breath came shallow, and her stomach was twisting. Something inside her buzzed—not pain, not fear. Something worse.
She stood. Her knees popped. Her toes curled against the tile, searching for stability. Then she reached for the curtain.
And froze.
There—just beyond the edges of vision.
A splash of red. A girl’s silhouette, sprinting across a hallway—no, a forest. Hair wild, her small fists pumping, her face streaked with dirt and tears.
Lyli blinked. The room steadied.
She took a step back, but her heel met resistance.
A sound pierced the quiet.
A scream. High. Raw. A child's scream, as if something were being ripped apart.
Her hands flew to her ears—but the sound wasn’t outside. It echoed in her skull.
And then—a flash:
A hand, covered in blood, reaching.
Not toward her. Through her.
The fingers twitched.
Pale. Small. Then a sound, a wrist snapped at the wrong angle.
Lyli stumbled backward. Her spine hit the edge of the dresser. A gasp escaped her lips. Her hand clutched her chest. She groaned.
Her eyes closed, then snapped open.
Gone.
It was just her room again. Still. Unbothered.
She tried to breathe. In. Out.
But her throat constricted.
A low, pulsing throb radiated from her temples. She bent forward, elbows on her knees, grounding her to the present, to herself. Her palms pressed into her thighs, pinching the skin, trying to remind herself what was real. Tile. Air. Morning light.
YOU ARE READING
Berceuse for The Suffering (Complete)
Horror{Her innocence was taken. Her innocence was lost. Lylibeth Adams became something else. Something else that is meant for vengeance.} In the quiet depths of her mind, a storm raged. A tempest of emotions that she couldn't quite understand or control...
