My House of Pain: Prologue
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Names have power. They can cage you or free you, kill you slowly or resurrect what was broken. My first name was a fucking prison sentence, each syllable another brick between who I was supposed to be and who I actually was. Every time someone called me by that name, it felt like swallowing broken glass—cutting me from the inside with each forced smile, each nod, each silent scream locked behind clenched teeth. The name burned like acid in my ears, corroding any sense of self until nothing remained but the hollow shell everyone expected me to inhabit.
I'm ashamed to admit just how behind I am.
Damn your hyper-productivity. 😊
Will check later what I already have read. Thanks Wendy!