The dark cradle
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The Dark Cradle
Some stories are born in silence… and raised in shadows.
Tagline: Not every cradle rocks the innocent.
They smiled once—before the laughter turned into screams.
They trusted once—before love became a transaction.
They lived once—before their names were replaced with labels like victim, monster, or ghost.
The Dark Cradle is not a sanctuary.
It is a graveyard of innocence and a nursery for nightmares.
This collection of short stories unearths what the world tries to bury: the grinning faces of cruelty, the blood-stained roots of betrayal, and the quiet children forced to carry horrors behind silent lips. Here, monsters aren’t always strangers—they’re classmates, lovers, mothers, fathers, even friends.
These tales don’t ask for sympathy.
They dare you to look away.
Pain is dressed in perfume.
Trauma wears a school uniform.
And sometimes, the most beautiful souls are the most broken.
These are not bedtime stories.
These are confessions from the forgotten, memories from the condemned, and lullabies no one should ever sing.
This isn’t where nightmares begin—
This is where they’re raised.
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The beginning of cruelty, disguised as fun. A world full of predators, where bullying is sport, theft is normal, and rape is a joke behind closed doors. Laughter echoes louder than screams, and silence costs more than money.
Betrayal cuts deeper than blades. Trust is currency and love is bait. The characters begin to understand that being kind is dangerous, and being naïve is fatal.
A camera hidden. A drink laced. A “friend” smiling. Nothing is safe, not even affection. When victims fall in love with their abusers, the line between comfort and control vanishes.
The wealthy have their own playgrounds, and their toys are breathing. Beneath the lights of a club and the glow of pills, lives are bought and sold—and some children never get the chance to grow old.
The ones who watched and did nothing now beg for forgiveness. But some apologies come too late. And some victims don’t want justice—they want the world to burn like they did.
Families rot behind their pretty windows. Parents trade their kids for reputation. children who once begged to be seen now wishes they were invisible.
A name erased. A soul conditioned into silence. Even hope has rules in this place. And kindness? That’s the first thing they break.
A home should be safe, but some walls whisper. Some cradles rock themselves. And some legacies are written not in love—but in blood, fire, and screams.
this is a world were fantasy and friction join together this is reality
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arc one
arc two
arc three
arc four
arc five
More to come…
The cradle is wide.
And the darkness isn’t done.
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