"Can I go outside today?"

From his "special room", Svet faced the screen door and waited for his father's reply. Svet cracked his knuckles one by one and shifted uneasily on his feet. The thin walls surrounding Svet's enclosure suffocated the sound of his sibling's laughter, the clatter of their tiny shoes beating against gravel. Listening intently to their fun made it easier to ignore the queasiness in his stomach and the nightmares lurking in his consciousness.

"Evil doesn't sleep, child," the man answered. His shadow appeared huge and intimidating with the candle flickering behind him, warping his outline. "If we don't keep you here, you'll put us all in danger."

"I understand, but-"

"'But'?" His father's voice turned cold and his tone became stern. "Do you not care for your siblings?"

Svet bit his inner lip and dropped his eyes. The voices hissed in his ears as he struggled to focus on his father's shadow, his eyes straining in the dark. 

Svet shrank down with each word, his head hanging.

Ever since he could remember, he'd been guarded from his family. Fourteen years and he'd only seen the outline of their bodies across the screen. His mother would sing lullabies every night. His younger brothers and sisters would always walk up to his wall between activities. Praying for him, confessing to him, whispering their little secrets. And though he was forbidden by his father, he'd indulge them and listen to every one of them. 

It's because you're a freak, someone hissed in his ear. Svet flinched away from the voice, goosebumps running down his skin. Everyone knows it. Even the brats say nasty things about you. 

Svet frowned. He'd heard whispers from the aunts and uncles who brought him food. Rumors of him sleepwalking and attacking others. Stories of a curse. Legends of a child sacrifice. And he'd sit in his talisman-covered room, wondering if he was just as dangerous as they said. He'd remember the instances where he's lose control of his body and would live through lives that didn't belong to him, but it was normal to him. Did nobody else have their body taken? Was there such a thing as having your conciousness to yourself?

"Can... Can I at least write them something?" Svet asked. He wanted to talk to them, to let them know he heard them. "It doesn't even have to be now. I could- Their birthdays. I could send them letters."

"You know as well as I do that even your handwriting could afflict them."

Tears pricked at his eyes, and he clenched jaw. He stopped himself from raising his voice because the last time he did that, his father dismissed his wishes as "a temper tamtrum".

"Please, I-"

"That's my decision, Svet."

Svet's lower lip trembled. 

"... Fine."