Bloody Vission ~ Ongoing

The library, once a sanctuary of quiet contemplation, now held a chilling silence. The air, thick with the scent of old paper and dust, was heavy with the weight of a tragedy that had shattered the boy's perfect life. He stood frozen, watching his mother, the woman who had always been his anchor, struggle against the crushing weight of the towering bookshelf. Her face, contorted in agony, was a mirror to the pain that was ripping through his own heart.

His father, his usually stoic and dependable figure, was a broken man, his face etched with grief and despair. The bookshelf, a symbol of knowledge and comfort, had become a monument to their loss. The boy, barely a teenager, felt the weight of the world settle on his young shoulders.

The days that followed were a blur of sorrow and numbness. The house, once filled with laughter and warmth, became a tomb of silence. His father, consumed by his grief, retreated into himself. The boy, unable to bear the emptiness, sought solace in the library, the place where his mother had always found peace.

But the library, once a haven, now echoed with the memory of her final struggle. The boy, haunted by the image of his mother's pain, found himself unable to escape the crushing weight of his loss.

Time, however, was a relentless healer. Slowly, the sharp edges of grief began to dull. His father, seeking solace and companionship, remarried. Linda, his new wife, brought with her four sons, each with their own unique personalities and quirks.