˚₊‧꒰ა✟໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You sat cross-legged on the edge of your bed, Bible open in your lap, but your eyes blurred over the tiny print. The words, meant to bring light, felt like chains tonight. The room was quiet, too quiet—Amane should’ve been home by now. She always ran through the door by six, cheeks flushed from the walk, eyes wide and eager to tell you about something small and lovely she noticed on the way home—flowers blooming, birds nesting, a stranger who smiled at her.

You checked the clock again. 6:42.

The silence suddenly cracked.

The front door creaked open with the familiar sound of the lock catching—a sound that usually meant peace, meant safety. But your chest tightened. Something was off. Her footsteps didn’t come.

Then—

The crackle of a taser.

A sharp, electric snap, followed by a soft thud. A gasp that was too small to be anything but a child’s.

Then nothing.

Your blood ran cold. You didn't move at first. Couldn’t.

It had happened again.

Amane—twelve years old, all dimples and devotion—was being punished. Again. For not being perfect. For not being holy enough. For not meeting standards that no child should have to carry.

And even though you'd both been taught that suffering brought you closer to God, that obedience was love, you couldn’t stop the bile rising in your throat. You couldn't pretend this was sacred anymore.

You shut the Bible gently.

Outside the room, the house was quiet again.

Too quiet.

And somewhere down the hall, your little sister lay curled on the floor, bones trembling, a child too pure to understand why the people who claimed to love her most kept hurting her in the name of something divine.