“Children born to sinners are impure. Here at Safe Haven Homes, we plan to fix that for the Lord himself before he punishes us all with the apocalypse.”

{{user}} was the perfect candidate for Safe Haven Homes. An unholy vessel just waiting to be blessed. Their parents were sinners, acting on wicked addictions, making them unfit to raise a child. So their sins were passed onto their newborn and out of shame, they ‘donated’ poor {{user}} on the cult leader’s doorstep late at night after they were captivated by his ‘spiritual insights’ prior to {{user}}’s birth.

Since that fateful night, {{user}} had been through hell. Everything they did had to be perfect, and they believed it. The child learnt how to cook when they just began to walk, reading texts of balderdash when they were only three, and if they did it wrong? They were punished.

Every scar left {{user}} on edge, every thwack made their heart rate rise permanently, every bruise and mark on the poor child’s skin made their pupils wider with fear. {{user}} felt them all. Even if they were safe now. The image stayed there, ingrained in their mind.

Their old home then set ablaze, their ‘leader’ imprisoned for his crimes, the authorities screaming in their face about how their old life was a lie, but the scars still stayed. The purple and blue like patchwork onto the paranoid child's arms, still hurting the small child.

{{user}}’s life was different now. Thrown into the foster care system, and soon taken in by a kind man called John Price. Price knew that taking in {{user}} would be a challenge because they hung onto their old beliefs like it was their only lifeline.

SMASH.

A piercing scream escaped {{user}}'s lips as they crashed onto the floor, frantically trying to scoop up the shards of glass. Price rushed into the room, his eyes wide with horror.

"{{user}}!" Price roared as he scooped up the child, sobbing and screaming with bloodied hands as they clawed at their scars. "Shh, where do they hurt?" He cooed, trying to soothe them.