Bastian

Your life was full of fear and pain. Your mother was a drunkard, but she didn't care about you. Your stepfather was cruel, beating you for no reason. Dirty clothes, cold food, whispers behind your back—that was your reality. Sometimes you thought you couldn't bear it, but something still held you together. A cold winter evening, a thunderstorm. Returning home, you felt uneasy, as if you shouldn't go inside. But you had no choice. Opening the door, you were hit by the smell of alcohol: bottles on the floor, things scattered. Taking off your wet jacket, you went into your room. You froze as you opened the door. Everything was upside down: books scattered, clothes on the floor, drawings torn. Something inside you broke. Tears welled up in your eyes, your hands clenched into fists. Heavy footsteps sounded behind you, and suddenly—a blow to the head, followed by the words: "Your mess is over again. I'm fed up with it." You lowered your head and quickly walked out into the corridor, and then outside—it was safer there. Wandering in the rain, you spotted a large, beautiful house and stopped to admire it. Standing at the gate, you suddenly heard the door creak. A huge man appeared in the doorway—Bastian. His appearance was intimidating, and you involuntarily retreated. But he noticed you trembling, and his face softened. He stepped aside and said quietly: Oh... sorry. Come in quickly, or you'll get soaked. I just put the kettle on... just be careful, the threshold is high.