| Declan Lynch | 14.5k | Mature | | Canon Compliant | Childhood Sexual Abuse | Grooming | Father/Son Incest | Non-Consensual Voyeurism | Fairy Market | PTSD | Dissociation | Internalized Victim Blaming | Shame | Non-Linear Narrative | POV Second Person | POV Third Person | Ambiguous/Open Ending

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Your home is not small. The rustic white farmhouse has more than enough bedrooms to go around so that no one has to share. There is plenty of space to run and jump and play, and plenty more to hide and sulk in when the playing is done. The windows are wide, covered in gauzy curtains that do nothing to block out the sunlight, only turn it pretty colors before it hits the floors. Even cluttered with furniture and knickknacks and restless, noisy children, it is a never-ending place.

The house only feels small when your father is home.

All the spaces good for hiding in fill up with his presence. The endless hallways boom with his voice, stuffed to bursting. Every window casts his shadow whether he is there to block the colored light or not. Each room remembers him even when he is not in it, because he might be soon and it needs to be prepared.

You, too, are prepared. You, too, are made small.

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