MOTHER
She sat in darkness, motionless on the edge of the bed. She was exhausted and feeble, as she had struggled and fought for her life while claws scratched at the flesh of her back. Her skin - pale, dull, and lifeless - showed scars and wounds from previous fights. Thin streaks of blood were oozing out from the fresh wounds but she did not flinch, nor did she express any signs of pain. She was used to it. All of this was to her as normal as it was for a person to wake up in the morning or to sit down for a meal. Her battle had begun at an early age. Those wounds and marks had started appearing regularly by the time she was seven years old. She was scared at first, but as the years wore on she got more and more accustomed to the creatures that came to her at night. She was no longer terrified by their horrible sights nor repulsed by their horrible stench. Despite this, every single night she would still scream in pain but no one would hear her. Her blood-curdling screams were dr