The girl huddled in the corner with the last scraps of a once cute lion plush her brother had discarded. She wasn't there because her skin was screaming in pain, she was there because it was the farthest point in the room from the other trash her mother had discarded in the cellar.

The girl, who would only be around the age of 7, had been the canvas for her mother and to a lesser extent her father and older brother to paint their atrocities on. 

The girl knew both males in the house were tortured as well. Psychological and physical to be certain however nothing close to what she herself received, maybe it was because of this neither was able to exert their twisted fantasies and pent up emotions quite as adeptly as her mother.

The beatings of father had stopped stinging recently, no matter how many limbs he crushed or bones he fractured the pain was mild at best. This enraged the man more as he suddenly lost the little power he once had over another woman in his altogether inconsequential life.

Brother lived in the attic and for this she was grateful, the few times the deranged and stupid 14 year old had managed to make it past whatever traps and locks kept her inside her foul pit were awful in new ways for the girl. Certainly he must have learned such acts by witnessing others from the high view of the attic.

Even these disgusting violations held little fear for the girl though, those wounds healed fairly quickly and brother never played for long before his howling brought Mothers attention.

These were the moments she truly dreaded. Under her mothers cold gaze of superiority and disgust the girl would fracture and break, causing her to either quiver uncontrollably or lose herself completely only to come back to her broken shell in the midst of another one of Mothers 'projects' to make her a better daughter.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Mother was a tall and sharp looking woman in the structural way. The cruel pointed features of her nose and chin and cold, grey-blue eyes hidden behind thin spectacles couldn't hope to reflect the nightmarish monster they outwardly reflected.

Mother believed herself an artist. The girl new this becase of the murmurings she whispered while performing 'projects' on her. These always showed what her mother thought to be beautiful, that being everything artificial and factory produced. Anything from wigs to packing peanuts her mother would gaze at longingly and describe as perfect and unfettered by the filth of nature.

Brother had missed most of the projects before the girl was born as Mother was still too busy shaping her perfect house until the girl was 3. The walls, ceiling and several pieces of furniture all warped and popped under the strain of hundreds of coats she slathered the walls with years before. Each coat a different colour, creating a horrific kaleidescope of scabs peeling from every surface.

A variety of horrific paintings, stitchings and carvings littered every surface capable of holding them. A gallery of obsceneties awaited around each motley corner displaying Mothers creativity when it came to suffering and agony. None however could prepare someone for what she'd done to the girl.

Synthetic fibres were stitched into her scalp at precise intervals, eyebrows and seeing the same with the eylashes ripped away to be glued back synthetic as well.

Her fingernails and toenails had been ripped away and replaced with acrylic imitations after clawing at her skin.

Her skin, had been bleached.

"The first coat" Mother had said a month ago.

The girl sat opposite a mound of spray paint tins emptied onto her flesh. Her entire body stung and prickled begging to have it's pores open to the fetid basement air once more but the nails glued to her nailbeds felt like roofing nails had been driven into her nerves with every touch.

These atrocities would end today. At long last the girl would find her freedom.