𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 | [𝐁𝐋]

第四 | FOUR

( warnings: blood, religious imagery, violence, yandere behavior, sin, purity, discrimination, drugs and alcohol, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sexual assault, mentioned self harm, graphic scenes, extreme self hate. )

In general, warnings will be included at the start of every chapter if necessary. Please tell me if I leave anything out. The content inside might be sensitive to some so viewer discretion is advised.

Regarding the religious aspect, it is heavily based on Christianity, but it's written to be more of a cult than an actual religion. Only certain aspects are similar to Christianity, but the majority of it is made up and written to be slightly more diabolical.

Again, I emphasise that this book is extremely dark, darker than twisted faith. Please read the chapter warnings beforehand.

Chapter Warnings; blood; mentions of self harm

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Lucas.

Y/n would have to change him back—morph him back, somewhat. Thankfully the boy still seemed to love him dearly, and had gone from Father to a more affectionate and fond Papa—but still...

But was he to judge? He was slowly turning to Anton—he was slowly becoming dependent on him. Even in a world where Y/n could live by himself, and did not need to fear fire, or death, or even escaping from a horrific reality—Y/n still needed him. He had been independent once, Y/n swore he was, but now he felt like his limbs could not even move properly without him. It took great effort to even think.

"I love you," was what Lucas had told him when Y/n had showed him his room. I love you, Papa. And Y/n felt deeply wounded and betrayed when he felt that tinge of affection towards his son—why? Why was it so easy for him to forgive? Forgive, and not forget—that was true—Y/n would remember that familiar burn present in the little child's eyes as the fire blazed behind, hand holding on to the lighter. Father Anton taught me. He taught me.

God, Y/n thought with numbing fervour, God, I know he is your son, but he is my son, too. Save him. Someone, please, save him. I will sever my soul and bleed to stop this madness. And now that child looked innocently at him as Y/n poured him a glass of milk.

"I like this new world better," Lucas said softly, looking at Y/n with a smile. "Thank you, Papa."

Y/n nodded his head and his lips tugged up into a smile. A false one. He found it was hard to even move his face; to form the expressions that was expected of him. He felt like his mother was chiding and reprimanding him again; when you are out, look happy. Pull the corners of your lips up. You must make yourself look genuine. Everyone can see through that fakeness of yours. When he was young, he was so sad, so depressed all the time that he never really knew the feeling of joy. But at least then he had been alright. Y/n had not yet felt true devastation.

And now he was twenty four, and where did it get him? He didn't know what would happen to his university degree—no, wait, was he actually twenty four? Or had the years eclipsed him, and now he was simply more teeth than tongue, leaking lies out of his mouth? Y/n wished he knew how to cry and weep about things. But there was no one to cry to. And at least as a kid, he could still believe that there was a God above—now the sky was deaf to his pleas. He has nothing left. All he saw was pain and sorrow—and what you saw in the world was what was being given out. This was all the heavens could promise him: suffering, grief, pain.