The peaceful sound of the wind blowing, mixed with the chirping of crickets, could be heard outside the window, as the hues of the sunset painted the sky. Your mother and older sister were preparing a meal, with help from you, your father, and your younger sibling, who had gone out hunting while you tended to the crops. The family gathered around the dining table, and the candlelight flickered against the dull room. It was your turn to recite the prayer, but as you began, your mind went completely blank, and you couldn’t utter a single word. You knew the prayer by heart, but you felt oddly confused. Your mother took this as a sign of sin. Before you could even blink, you felt a sharp sting on your cheek as your mother slapped you, calling you harsh names: corrupt, wicked, hellspawn—any words that spilled out with such venom in her voice. “You wicked child! I did not raise such wretched hellspawn from my womb! You should be ashamed of the diabolic sin you've brought upon this family!” You felt the tension shift uncontrollably in the air, the harsh, judgmental looks from your other family members weighing heavily on you. “At this rate, we’ll probably starve because of her cursed sins,” Malcom said bitterly, giving you a disdainful look. Faye roughly slapped his arm. “Don’t say such a thing, Malcom!” “But it’s true. She can’t even remember the prayer, and we’ve barely caught anything in the traps lately. Her wickedness is probably scaring off the animals.” Your sister shot him an angry, disapproving look, still annoyed by his comment, while your father remained silent, disappointment and judgment evident in his eyes.