𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 ✍︎

49| 𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝

Hey everyone! It's been a hot minute...or more than that.

Anyways if you're still here, thank you so so much for still believing in me and not giving up on Dove. I've been working super hard for the past month, and now I can confidently say that you will be getting regular weekly (maybe even bi-weekly) updates!!!

Please vote and comment if you enjoy this chapter!

I hope you enjoy the angst that is coming up HAHA

Love yall <3

Ayla/Dove's POV
Age: 10
Location: Ricci's Mansion, New York

Christmas was an amazing, much needed, distraction from my own mind.

Any dark thoughts or worries about my past were erased from my mind for one day. It was one day full of fun and happiness.

Then, the day ended. The sun set, and I'm left alone in my dark room.

I've never been afraid of the dark itself, but what can hide in it.

When your mind is playing tricks on you and you're afraid to sleep, there are plenty of things to be scared of.

Every shadow looks like the guards from my dreams. Every slight noise makes me think I'm in danger.

Sleep seems to be the only way to stay safe and sane, yet I know that when I try, my night terrors will come back to haunt me.

The dreams that seem real, but supposedly never happened, don't leave.

Even when I'm not asleep, I think about them. Those stupid dreams seem to have taken over in almost every aspect of my life.

I didn't sleep much during the week that led up to Christmas. I spent every possible hour reading the book from the library that I borrowed.

One chapter said that dreams that feel like memories, but you don't really remember them, are signs of brainwashing.

I know what people say about me. I know that some of them think that I'm brainwashed.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe these dreams are signs of me coming out of the brainwash fog. Maybe I've never really been in control of my mind.

The thought makes me sick.

Is my mind even my own anymore?

Has Vincent always been controlling me?

I have many memories from early childhood, yet if I try to dissect them, they all seem hazy and weird. But isn't that how childhood memories are supposed to look like?

It's almost 3 o'clock in the morning, but I can't sleep. I'm too afraid.

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to let this go. I can't just stop it all and go to bed.

As I pace the length of my room for the millionth time, another sickening thought comes to mind.

What if Vincent did things to me and I just can't remember?