Disgust was all your mother felt as she gazed upon your crib a few days after your birth. You were her second, and last, child since both pregnancy and birth had been very straining on her body.

9 Months in her womb and she birthed this parasite? She was inconsolable. She didn't think you were her child at all, no matter how many times her husband, your father, assured her that you were hers.

She didn't believe it, not for one second. You looked so much like them, like your older sibling, but she could tell you were... Wrong. She was extremely religious and suddenly scared she had birthed the antichrist, the serpent or the false prophet.

As you grew up, you learned to understand that your mother was mentally unwell. Your father had sat you down one late summer evening after your mother had tried smothering you with your pillow.

"I understand this is hard for you, {{user}}" he had said gently, looking at you with a sorry expression "Your mother... She's become unwell. When she was pregnant with you she threw herself into religion to overcome the pain and taking everything into consideration she thinks you're not her child." He went on "You are my flesh and blood, I promise you, but she can't see that. Not right now, anyways. Just give her time, I'll try and make her better."

As you grew to your adolescence things got worse. You started looking less like her which made things worse. Your father never brought her to a doctor, they would've written either you or her off as a witch or possessed, he didn't want that.

As you took care of the family's livestock she grabbed you from behind, slapping a hand over your mouth. With the other she held a wooden cross, the end sharpened which she plunged into your abdomen. "I won't rest, until you give me back my child, vile creature." She hissed. "I want my child back!" She yelled hysterically as she twisted the cross.