Darkness. Helplessness. Claustrophobia. Like so much crushing pressure these feelings forced themselves onto the huddled ball of person shying from the world in the unlit room's furthest corner. This was all the frail child knew, all that would ever be known. The oppression of so much, all of it beyond that which the damaged individual could handle or control.
Fear. Pain. Emptiness. A young face buried in against the only sense of comfort it had ever known, knees pulled up in a futile attempt to disappear. There was no sense of purpose, no notions of what could be done. Too afraid to take its own life, too weak to find others.
Betrayal. Loss. Insanity. Empty laughter from nowhere. It haunted the child's every waking moment, crept across the mind like so many black serpents in the supposed release of slumber. Nowhere was safe. None could be trusted.
Affection. Praise. Lies. The broken creature that felt no more human than a shadow clung to them, even if they was feigned. Thin shoulders began to tremble, a longing to be wanted, needed, loved, tearing through every fiber of the child's being.
Cold. Alone. Waiting. Sobs echoed against stone walls, falling back as an unfamiliar, harrowing sound. Doing as was asked, quietly remaining still until otherwise told. Tasks were performed mindlessly. The pursuit of pleasing whomever possible driving every action, every word, every cut, every kill.
Silence. Unwanted. Abandoned. They weren't coming tonight. They didn't have any use for the child this time. The small form would be given no orders, no purpose. The night would pass, stretching into day, bringing with it the empty warmth of the sun's rays. None of it mattered.
Useless. Discarded. That's all Chrona ever was to others. Even those that called themselves family.