A child learning of a darker world set in dreams. A sleep paralysis demon perhaps?
They are wonderous creations,
Curating our darkest thoughts,
And the ones of pure bliss.
As we had once learned,
Either in school or by ourselves,
They're similar to hopes deadly creed.
Or that's what the little one,
All due to an hour,
An hour of time it took to watch,
his family die.
Begging for everything he could,
His heart throbbing in his chest,
Eyes sore with salty tears,
"Please?" Throat sore from screams.
A low chuckle and a calming grin.
Offering the child some form of false salvation.
"You'll be my favorite."