jewel_gene
Isabelle Cruz stood under the flickering light of a rusty lamppost, her small frame soaked, her backpack barely holding together. Her eyes bright and curious were now hollow, darkened by years of pain. Bruises decorated her arms like cruel tattoos, each one a memory of a scream swallowed, a plea ignored. Behind her was the house she had once called "home", a place filled with shouting matches, shattered glass, and fists that came down faster than apologies ever could. Her mother was cold, broken by her own demons, and her father... he was a monster in human skin. Isabelle had learned not to cry. Tears were punished. Questions were silenced. Prayers, if they were ever whispered, went unanswered. So she stopped praying. She stopped believing. If there was a God, she thought, He must've been deaf, cruel, or asleep. That night, she ran with no destination, only the unbearable desire to disappear.