UNTAMED: The Inspo book

Part 8: (NO NAME- CARICATURE)

As I tread through the dimly lit corridors of this decrepit manor, memories emerge like ghosts from the shadows, each one a haunting reminder of the life I endured within these suffocating walls. This place, this supposed "home," was nothing but a prison to me for eighteen long, grueling years. I dare not call it home, for home is where one finds solace, where one can breathe freely. But here, amidst the oppressive weight of fear and despair, I suffocated, gasping for air in a void of loneliness and torment.The facade of grandeur that this house once presented is now a cruel illusion, masking the horrors that lurked within its ornate design. Each room held its own twisted tale of torment, every corner whispered echoes of past traumas. The elaborate architecture, with its grand chandeliers and opulent furnishings, served only to amplify the suffocating sense of confinement that plagued me since childhood. The portraits lining the walls, once symbols of prestige and lineage, now seem to mock me with their lifeless eyes, bearing witness to my silent suffering.The air within these walls is thick with an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the creaks and groans of the aging structure. The scent of decay and neglect permeates the manor, a testament to the years of emotional rot that have festered within. Dust motes dance in the beams of moonlight that struggle to penetrate the heavy drapes, casting eerie patterns on the floor that seem to shift and writhe like the memories that haunt me.I left this place long ago, fleeing the tyranny of my tormentors. Nanny dearest, with her authoritarian gaze and iron fist, ruled over me with a cruelty unmatched. Her presence was suffocating, her words like venomous snakes coiling around my heart. I can still feel the sting of her reprimands, the sharp bite of her punishments. Her shrill voice still rings in my ears, a constant reminder of the emotional scars she left behind, scars that cut deeper than any physical wound ever could."Be a good girl, Asterin," she would say, her voice dripping with disdain. "Don't cause trouble. Don't make a fuss." And so, I learned to hide behind a mask of hollow jocularity, burying my true self beneath layers of false laughter and empty smiles. It was easier to play the fool than to face her wrath. The nursery, once a place of potential joy and innocence, became a chamber of dread, its pastel walls and cheerful toys turned grotesque under her oppressive gaze.Her punishments were swift and severe. A missed chore or a spilled drink would earn me hours locked in the dark, cold basement. "You must learn to be perfect," she'd hiss, her eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. Each beating left bruises that ached for days, each cruel word left wounds that never healed. Her discipline was not just physical; she thrived on breaking my spirit, crushing any flicker of rebellion or self-worth that dared to surface.Mother... oh, Mother, with her manipulative smiles and cutting words. She wielded affection like a weapon, using it to control and manipulate me at every turn. Her love was conditional, her praise a fleeting illusion that vanished as quickly as it came. I was never enough for her, always falling short of her impossible standards. The parlor, where she entertained her guests with grace and charm, became a stage where I was forever the understudy, stumbling through my lines and falling short of her expectations."No daughter of mine should be so clumsy," she would say, her voice laced with disappointment. "Why can't you be more like your sister?" But no matter how hard I tried, I could never be what she wanted me to be. Her words were like barbs, digging into my skin and festering there, a constant reminder of my inadequacy. The grand mirrors that lined the hallways reflected not just my image but the distorted, twisted version of myself that she saw—a pale shadow of what I could never be.And Father... the silent enforcer of this twisted charade. His presence was like a shadow, looming over me with silent judgment. He demanded perfection, molding me into his image of the ideal daughter. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never live up to his expectations. His study, a dark and foreboding room filled with leather-bound books and the scent of tobacco, was a place of judgment. His silent, watchful eyes would follow me, a constant reminder that I was never enough. The weight of his expectations crushed me, molding me into a caricature of obedience and submission.They were a trio of tormentors, each one more monstrous than the last. And yet, despite the horror they inflicted upon me, I remained silent. For to speak out would be to invite even more pain, more suffering. So I buried my true self beneath layers of hollow jocularity, hiding behind a facade of false smiles and empty laughter. The grand ballroom, with its crystal chandeliers and polished floors, became a stage where I performed my role as the perfect daughter, hiding my pain behind a mask of forced cheerfulness.Years have passed since I fled from this prison, seeking solace and freedom far from the reach of their cruelty. But now, as I return to these decaying walls, I find the manor a mere shadow of its former self. The once opulent grandeur is now marred by neglect and decay, a fitting reflection of the rot that always lay within. The air is colder, the silence more profound, and the sense of desolation hangs heavy in the air.They are gone now, all of them. Nanny, Mother, Father—their voices silenced, their oppressive presence nothing more than memories. The rooms that once echoed with their commands and criticisms now stand empty, the silence a stark reminder of their absence. Dust and cobwebs cling to the remnants of their lives, the decay of time and neglect consuming everything they once held dear.In this place of death and decay, I find no solace, only a grim reminder of the past I left behind. The grand mirrors that once reflected my distorted image now reflect only the empty halls, the portraits that once mocked me now gaze with hollow eyes upon the emptiness. The manor, like its inhabitants, is but a shell of what it once was—a monument to the suffering and cruelty that defined my childhood.

I walk through these halls one last time, not as the broken girl they tried to mold, but as a survivor of their torment. I leave behind nothing but a letter, a testament to the horrors I endured and the strength I found to escape. For I am Asterin, named for a star that could never shine in the darkness of this forsaken manor. And well, I live in a world where monsters wore the masks of those we loved, and this...... scoff "Family" is just a little bit of... training.As the door closes behind me for the final time, I breathe in the cool night air, tasting freedom anew. The letter, left upon my vanity, is a silent scream against the darkness that consumed me and a declaration of my triumph over their cruelty. The past may haunt me, but it no longer defines me. I walk away from this place, leaving behind the ghosts of my torment, stepping into a future of my own making.