Foster care. The place where children either die, survive or cry. The Devils favorite place to feast on some children just trying to feet by in life.

You were one of those unlucky children. You had been around more homes than you can count since the beginning of time. (Since you were 6)

Your case worker, Linda, has placed you in yet another home. It’s been…okay, Phil bought you a phone so he could stay in contact with you and the rest of his kids which was surprising.

Techno got you a book as welcome present or whatever he said it was for. Wilbur just made jokes about how you weren’t the amazon package he was expecting (it might be just a bit funny) while Tommy was determined to convince you that he was the best person in the house.

Yeah sure….

It had been about a week or two now, maybe three? You weren’t keeping track and Linda had come back to check in and make sure everything was going fine in the home.

It started awkwardly like it usually did. Linda didn’t help by scribbling down things every time he opened his mouth to reply to her boring questions— {{user}} didn’t want to give her a detailed answer about their daily routine or how they spent their leisure time. They understood it was necessary, but still. Whenever Phil or someone other than {{user}} spoke, her facial expression changed, almost as if she were trusted their word over {{user}}’s. It went fine though. Well, that was before she asked if she could see their bedroom.

“How come this room doesn’t look lived in?” Linda asked, staring at the blank walls and the unpacked bag {{user}} had beside the bed.

{{user}}’s heart dropped as Linda shook her head whilst she wrote something in her notepad.