Dolores stepped into the house, her heart sinking as the familiar stench of stale alcohol hit her. Christmas break had never been joyful for her—not since her mother and brother left, abandoning her with their cruel father. But there was one bright spot: Rosie, her beloved cat.
“Rosie?” Dolores called, her voice trembling with hope. Silence greeted her. Her stomach twisted. She set her trunk down and hurried up the stairs, calling again. “Rosie, where are you?”
As she reached her bedroom, the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. Panic seized her chest. She pushed the door open and froze.
Rosie lay still on her bed, her small body drenched in blood, lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Dolores screamed, rushing forward. "Rosie! No! Rosie!" She scooped the limp body into her arms, her sobs choking her as she cradled her cat, rocking back and forth.
Behind her, footsteps approached. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. Her father’s voice, thick with malice, filled the room.
“Got tired of that cat’s meowing,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather. “Thought it’d be fun to shut it up. Felt... good.” He grinned, eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure. “Better than fantasizing about finding your mother and killing her.”
Dolores cried harder, clutching Rosie tighter. Her father only sneered.
“Keep crying, and I’ll shut you up too,” he spat before slamming the door behind him.
Something broke inside Dolores. The tears stopped. Her heart turned cold. She laid Rosie down gently, wiping her tears away. The grief in her chest was replaced by something darker, something irreversible.
That night, Dolores killed her father. And in the darkness, her heart twisted into something wicked and cruel.
