4: The red doll

Ethan's pov

Growing up as the favored son of Alpha Strayon, I had everything handed to me on a silver platter—or so it seemed. But now, as I lay in this cold room without a blanket.

Just imagine!

The center was supposed to be a place of healing, a place where wolves struggling with their inner demons could find peace and redemption. For me, it had become a nightmare—a prison where every moment felt like an eternity of torment.

The rehabilitation center was a far cry from the pack's territory. Cold, gray walls and the ever-present stench of despair filled the air. Each day was a struggle, an endless cycle of pain and sorrow.

The so-called 'rehabilitation' was nothing more than a facade for torture, designed to break even the strongest of spirits.

From the moment I arrived, the guards took pleasure in inflicting pain, both physical and mental. Beatings, starvation, and sleep deprivation were their tools of choice. Every moment was a test of endurance, a battle to maintain my sanity. But through it all, I clung to one thought: survival. I had to survive at all cost no matter what it took.

I have to get back to the pack. They needed me. The only person that could take up my place was no other than Leo.

Nights were the worst. The darkness brought with it a suffocating sense of isolation.

I often lay awake, my body aching, my mind racing with different thoughts. Leo's face haunted my dreams, his smug smile a constant reminder of my downfall.

Damn that old crap!

I knew he was behind this. There was no other explanation for the way my life turned out this way.

Black magic? That was hellish!

One particular night, the air in my cell felt different, heavier. I lay on my cot, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread that had settled over me. Suddenly, I felt an invisible force pinning me down, tightening around my chest. Panic surged through me as I struggled to breathe, my limbs thrashing against the unseen pressure. It was as if the very air was trying to snuff out my life.

I fought with everything I had, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Just as I thought I couldn't hold on any longer, the force released me, leaving me gasping for breath. I jolted upright, scanning my dark surroundings.

"What just happened?" I questioned myself.

The cell was silent, the only sound my ragged breathing. No one was there. No one had seen or heard anything.

My pulse still racing, I decided to check my surroundings. If someone was trying to kill me, I needed to know. I carefully inspected every corner of the small, cramped space, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

Exhausted, I sank back onto my cot, my mind whirling with questions.

As I adjusted my pillow, my hand brushed against something cold and hard. Frowning, I lifted the pillow and scrambled back in horror. A red doll, tied up and covered in strange symbols, lay there, staring up at me with lifeless eyes.

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I stared at the cursed object. It was a clear sign of black magic, a tool used to torment and control. Leo's doing, no doubt. He wasn't content with just imprisoning me; he wanted to drive me to the brink of madness.

"Damn it!" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What do you want from me, Leo?"

The doll was a symbol of everything that had gone wrong.

I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. How could I fight against something so insidious, so evil?

I carefully wrapped the doll in a piece of cloth and hid it in a corner of my cell.

Then thought better of it and threw it out of the tiny window, possible that it'll end up in the bush underneath the building.

The direction I threw it wasn't even my side so no one would have any reason to suspect me.

Damn you Leo!

The next morning, sirens were heard, loud and piercing in my ear. Damn it.

Today was for painting, which is, surprisingly, the only peaceful thing we do around here. I sighed as I went to freshen up and threw on the orange slacks. The routine was numbing, but painting days offered a small escape.

The garden was quiet and peaceful as I saw other inmates walking over. Don't get me wrong, inmate's the only thing I could call others here because this is worse than hell itself. The air felt different today, a bit lighter, though tension still filled the air.

I grabbed my brushes and paint, making my way to my usual spot by the far wall. It wasn't much, but it was the only place where I felt a shred of sanity. The guards watched us closely, their eyes following every move, but during painting sessions, they seemed less intrusive.

I set up my canvas and started with broad strokes, letting the colors blend and dance across the surface.

The motion was soothing, almost meditative. For a moment, I could pretend I wasn't trapped in this place. The memories of the palace and peacefulness was all I thought about surprisingly.

Around me, the other inmates were lost in their own worlds, creating their own worlds on canvas. Some painted landscapes, others abstract forms.

I'm actually surprised no one found that fucked up doll.