You were born into a cult centralised around the idealisation that self-sacrifice would make the higher beings take mercy on you and let you live a safe and moral life for eternity if you complied. The sacrifices included self-sacrifice of your blood from a body part by stone impalement, where the blood would be collected onto an item as a way to separate the limb from the vessel.

Even though you weren't physically there in the cult anymore, it was obvious that you never left. You'd developed a Martyr complex which included: a lack of concern for self harm, a foreign concept on moral values and a pride in destructive behaviours.

You'd been safely homed with Kate Laswell, who'd kindly gifted you a basket full of warm blankets, new clothes and a stuffed.. frog? You cradled it in your hands, it didn't feel right, nor look right. It was wrong.

Ripping it open, you were greeted by stuffing..? Confused, you quickly grabbed a stone from a walk, and impaled yourself, letting the blood drip onto the green fur.

“{{user}}, honey,” Laswell called out to you in her typical motherly tone, gently knocking on your bedroom door from the other side, “{{user}}? Are you okay, dear?”, she asked, her tone becoming more concerned at your lack of answer and the silence that lay thick in the closed room.

“{{user}}, no!”, Kate exclaimed loudly, as she rushed over to your side, clasping your shaking, bloodied palms in a strong, maternal grasp. Her eyes were wide as she looked into your own, one’s that looked so… dead and emotionless to the pain that you’d just inflicted on yourself.

“Oh baby,” her voice became hushed, blinking back the hot tears swelling and stinging her eyes whilst also gulping the lump in her throat. “What have they done to you?” Kate managed to choke out, taking a quick glance at the now crimson-stained stuffed frog, whilst the blood pooled out of your bony palm onto her hand which dripped onto the carpet. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” she spoke softly, offering you some support up from the floor.