A Dark and Twisted Thing

Mori was freezing. She recognized these walls: the morgue in the church, part of the orphanage where she had grown up. Rows of bodies lay preserved by magic and the relentless cold. Yet, she couldn’t remember it being this frigid; the icy air bit at her skin, burning through her meager clothes that offered little defense against its harsh grip.

“Come. Warmth awaits,” a voice broke the silence of the dead, startling yet soft. Behind Mori loomed the Pale Queen, draped in white, her gaunt features faded as she sat in a chair, a throne, patting her large lap with an unsettling maternal touch. She reached down and plucked Mori into her embrace. But instead of warmth, a creeping numbness radiated from her, a twisted comfort that felt more like a shackle than safety.

The Pale Queen held Mori tight and pulled a book from the shadows. “Shh, I’ve got you,” she said, though no real comfort lay in her words, only a sense of ownership. She showed Mori the title: A Dark and Twisted Thing.

As she turned the pages, memories blossomed like living things, illustrating the narrative. Mori, a tiny child, loomed over by two nuns whose names had faded from her memory. “A dark and twisted thing,” sneered one. “She killed her mother to be born, wasted away her whole pregnancy. A curse, they say, for infidelity. The child bears no resemblance to either parent—a wretched thing with no name.”

The other nun leaned closer, her eyes cold and calculating. “We can raise her to atone. She will learn how to be worth something, to make up for what she did. Even this we can use.”

The Pale Queen tsked, freezing the memory before them. Her voice was smooth, snaking out slowly. “Listen well. The first people who pretended to accept you knew what you really were, deep inside. Long before you did. Shall we continue?”

The next page filled with the grim scene of a cafeteria, mess hall, lined with hungry orphans. Mori, now older, sat alone. As they passed, each spat dark jeers her way: “Freak!” “Monster!” “Remember Death and Leave Us Be!” Their cruel laughter cut off any protest, and the Mori of that memory stayed silent.

“Even the other children recognized the stain on your soul. No wonder you turned to the nuns to find worth, hiding your face behind that skull,” the Pale Queen said gently, her words wrapping around Mori’s heart like a vice.

Then came a painful leap of pages to show Estelle, her crush, radiant and beautiful, draped over Victor, her friend,'s shoulder. She pointed out something in his book, and they laughed together. Their laughter burned like sudden sunlight, almost too bright for Mori to look at directly. “She sees it too, you know,” the Pale Queen said quietly. “That dark and twisted thing that you are. She seeks the light, something you will never have. No wonder you feel so small.”

With a final sorrowful sigh, the Pale Queen closed the book, her long fingers resting on its surface. “A grim tale... But fret not. I have plans for you. You don’t have to live and die a broken, twisted thing. You will obey me. You will not shut me out again. Only then will you have worth, value.”