The Weeping Wolf (Slashers x Reader)

Chapter 10

In the ensuing days, (Y/N) was in deep contemplation assessing her dream. Whether it was a sign; an indication for something unbeknownst or simply unfathomable mechanism gyrating her consciousness into a demented state of 'non compos mentis'.

It was something about the mere thought of her dream that told her it was real, as if her subconscious were attempting to reach out and tell her something.

What was it about this dream that had intrigued her so much? And to an extent where she began thinking more about life; her father's life in particular.

(Y/N) endeavoured to ponder throughout all memories of her Dad. She had tried to remember if she knew any of her father's friends and if he had any friends at all.

She didn't remember her father having any friends, or at least any that she knew of.

Why was it that her Dad would call a bunch of psychopathic murderers his companions? And most importantly why was it that they were now trying to reach out to (Y/N)?

Within the depths of her mind, (Y/N) focused on what she remembered of her confounding and peculiar dream. The slashers had stated that they didn't want to harm her, so what was it that they had wanted from her? They simply stated that they wanted to help her, but why were they so concerned about (Y/N)?

Had she seemed to remind them of happy memories that they shared with (Y/N)'s father?

(Y/M/N) carried a tray over to (Y/N) who was laying down on the couch, covered by a silky brown blanket. Like the splendid monarchs ennobling the Amazonian canopies, so too was (Y/N) eyes gracing the writings; the words printed onto the slightly rough and crisp pages of her book.

As (Y/N) was turning the book page, her mother forcefully manoeuvred a tray of sustenance upon her lap. The tray was adorned with a hearty broth reminiscent of the classic minestrone. Supplementing this rustic bowl were detached segments of a sourdough bread. The crust so crunchy that biting into would require monumental energy, chiselled teeth and a seasoned crocodilian jaw.

As the contents of the bowl dangerously sploshed along the sides, (Y/M/N) took the book out from (Y/N)'s hands and placed it on the coffee table.

"How are you feeling sweet face?" (Y/M/N) placed the palm of her hand onto her daughter's forehead, attempting to diagnose her radiant temperature.

"I'm okay," (Y/N) replied, a slight crack in her voice.

"You'll stay home until those bruises are gone, then you can go back to school."

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Where's (Y/A/N)?"

"She's outside watering the gardens."

(Y/N) internally groaned. If her mother left (Y/A/N) to look after her while she worked, then it was guaranteed that (Y/N) would not live to see the day of tomorrow.

"Are you going to work?" (Y/N) asked, wishing in her mind that her Mum would say 'no'.

"Unfortunately," (Y/M/N) frowned.

(Y/N) was about to tell her about her Aunt and how she had brutally butchered her own niece, and how her intentions of punishment were no different to a butcher inhumanely slaughtering a farm animal. When at that moment, (Y/N) remembered how her Aunt had threatened that if she told her mother then (Y/A/N) would 'kill her'.

"Can't you stay home Mum?" (Y/N) pleaded. "Please?"

"(Y/N) you know I have to work. It's to provide a living for us, I don't want to go either but...I have no choice." (Y/M/N) said, revealing the revolting truth.