Lance awoke to the faint glimmer of dawn creeping through the threadbare curtains of his small, dingy room. The musty scent of stale beer and cigarettes hung heavily in the air, a constant reminder of the torment that awaited him beyond those walls. He gingerly sat up, his wavy, black hair tousled, and his eyes still heavy with sleep. His feminine features, like long eyelashes and vibrant lips, were an odd contrast to the tough life he endured.

As Lance rose from the worn-out mattress, his back bore the painful reminders of his father's violent outbursts. The long, jagged scars etched across his skin served as a haunting testimony to the belt that had been mercilessly wielded by his drunken father. His heart ached as he tried to suppress the memories of the relentless beatings.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away. Crying was a weakness he couldn't afford, not in this house. Instead, he clung to the faint hope of escaping the misery every morning by going to the Balvuant mansion.

Lance's only respite was found in the company of Alice, the pretty blonde-haired girl who lived in the grandeur of the Balvuant estate. They were both six years old, one year away from starting school. She was the only one who had ever managed to make him feel safe, and he cherished their friendship like a precious gem.

As he reached the gates of the mansion, Lance's heart fluttered with excitement and relief. The sprawling estate, guarded and protected, was a stark contrast to his own dismal home. The manicured lawns and towering walls formed a cocoon of opulence that offered an escape from the harsh realities of his life.

Inside, Alice eagerly awaited his arrival, her radiant smile illuminating the grand entrance hall. She beckoned him with open arms, and he rushed into her embrace. With her, Lance forgot the bruises and scars, the constant fear of his father's rage. Playing together, exploring the vast mansion, it felt like the good parts of his life came alive.

But there were shadows even in this sanctuary. As Lance and Alice delved deeper into the mansion's hallways, adorned with unsettling humanoid paintings and mysterious family portraits, a shiver crept down his spine. The eyes of the painted figures seemed to follow him, and he couldn't help but feel that there was more to the Balvuant family than met the eye.

Alice dismissed his unease, assuring him that it was all just art, but Lance couldn't shake the feeling that there was something hidden beneath the surface of the Balvuant legacy.

As days turned into weeks, Lance found himself more attached to Alice. She became his sanctuary, the only light in his dark world. She showered him with affection, and he, a people pleaser by nature, basked in her attention.

However, even in the warmth of her friendship, there were moments that made him question reality. Sometimes, Alice seemed possessive, not wanting him to interact with other children, even his old friends from the neighborhood. She sowed seeds of doubt, making him believe that they were jealous of their bond.

Yet, despite the growing unease, Lance couldn't bring himself to let go of the girl who made him feel safe. He held on to their friendship as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded in this topsy-turvy world.

Unaware of the darkness that loomed over him, Lance's days continued, and he soon found himself walking the path of gaslighting, unsure of what was real and what was fiction. And as the shadows of poverty and obsession intertwined, his life would become a haunting tale of psychological horror.