Chapter 1: The Crybaby
Crybaby's life began not with a gentle lullaby, but with a label. Her incessant crying, a response to the chaos and instability of her early life, earned her the moniker from her mother, a title that stuck with a chilling permanence. Her brother, perhaps sensing the weight of his mother's words, or perhaps simply mirroring her sentiment, inscribed "Crybaby" onto her birth certificate, a literal inscription of her mother's judgment.
Home was far from a haven. It was a cacophony of tantrums, fueled by unmet needs and a pervasive sense of unease. Even in the simple act of feeding, Crybaby's struggles were amplified by vivid hallucinations, her toys transforming into menacing figures in her young mind. Sleep offered no respite, her nights filled with restless anxieties. But the true horror lay not in her childish fears, but in the adult world that surrounded her. One night, her mother, fueled by alcohol and a broken heart, discovered her husband's infidelity. In a fit of rage, she tied them both up, her fury culminating in a brutal act of violence.
Crybaby awoke to a scene that would forever haunt the edges of her memory: the lifeless bodies of her parents. The trauma was too great for her young mind to bear. Her mother, perhaps driven by guilt or a desperate attempt to protect her daughter, administered drugs to erase the horrifying memory, leaving behind a gaping hole in Crybaby's understanding of her own beginnings. The silence that followed was as deafening as the cries that had once defined her
