~upd~ — Shattered Memories Cheryl

The janitor shook his head slowly. “The crash was the story you told yourself. The truth is worse. You were never his daughter. Not by blood. You were… born of a prayer and a nightmare. And when the prayer failed, the nightmare came looking for you.”

Her boots crunched on broken glass as she walked. The town seemed to shift with her, buildings leaning in to watch. She clutched a crumpled photograph in her jacket pocket—a family portrait that felt more like a lie. In it, she was seven, grinning, held tight between a mother and father whose faces were smudged into oblivion, worn away by rain or time or something worse. shattered memories cheryl

“You’re not real,” she whispered to the fog. “None of this is.” The janitor shook his head slowly

“Hello, daughter,” Dahlia said. “Or should I say… vessel .” You were never his daughter

The janitor pointed. Through the window, the fog had lifted, revealing a church. Its steeple was a twisted spire of black iron, and its doors were open, revealing a fire that burned without warmth.