Trigger Warning - This is pretty dark so proceed with caution.
I was a child before He had taken me, but I wasn't a child anymore.
I have memories of my other life, ghosts in the shadows of my mind taunting me with hope.
My name was Coco, which was short for Colette Adelaide Baker. I don't have a name anymore. He's only ever called me Wife. I was about seven years old when he took me. I don't know how old I am now, but I feel like a grandmother with a battered, withered old body.
I'm old enough to have a child. I know this because of my daughter. She was so small and warm and helpless, like a naked little bird and I'd loved her so much. She had given me hope for something new. He wouldn't give her a name, but when we were alone, I called her Eliza, after my mother. The month after she had been born and before she died was the happiest I'd been since before he'd taken me. I was more than just Wife.
Killing her was the hardest thing I'd ever done. It was harder than the first time He'd put himself inside me. It was harder than giving birth. It was harder than the countless hours I spent locked in the dark and silence, with only the scattering of rats in the walls to keep me company. I had to do it when I heard him call her Little Wife. He had been so angry that he'd beaten me bloody and I had been rendered unconscious. When I woke up, Eliza was gone, and He never told me where she was.
Killing Him was easy. All it had taken was a clean, hard bite, and it was over. He had bled to death in the room where He had kept me for at least a thousand years. I was resigned to dying there too, but it was only a few days before the police came looking for him and found me instead.
The officers assured me that I was safe and that everything would be alright, but I didn't believe them until they took me outside, and I saw the sky for the first time since I was a little girl.
I was a child before He had taken me, but I wasn't a child anymore.
I have memories of my other life, ghosts in the shadows of my mind taunting me with hope.
My name was Coco, which was short for Colette Adelaide Baker. I don't have a name anymore. He's only ever called me Wife. I was about seven years old when he took me. I don't know how old I am now, but I feel like a grandmother with a battered, withered old body.
I'm old enough to have a child. I know this because of my daughter. She was so small and warm and helpless, like a naked little bird and I'd loved her so much. She had given me hope for something new. He wouldn't give her a name, but when we were alone, I called her Eliza, after my mother. The month after she had been born and before she died was the happiest I'd been since before he'd taken me. I was more than just Wife.
Killing her was the hardest thing I'd ever done. It was harder than the first time He'd put himself inside me. It was harder than giving birth. It was harder than the countless hours I spent locked in the dark and silence, with only the scattering of rats in the walls to keep me company. I had to do it when I heard him call her Little Wife. He had been so angry that he'd beaten me bloody and I had been rendered unconscious. When I woke up, Eliza was gone, and He never told me where she was.
Killing Him was easy. All it had taken was a clean, hard bite, and it was over. He had bled to death in the room where He had kept me for at least a thousand years. I was resigned to dying there too, but it was only a few days before the police came looking for him and found me instead.
The officers assured me that I was safe and that everything would be alright, but I didn't believe them until they took me outside, and I saw the sky for the first time since I was a little girl.
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