So Many Questions

Why?

Why did my mother scowl at me when I came home, like I wasn’t supposed to? I didn’t know.

Why did my father spend his nights away when he was supposed to be watching me? I didn’t know.

Why when my sister cried at night, did I hear my name over and over, like I was a curse? I didn’t know.

Why did the teachers at school give me pitying glances and ask if I wanted to see the counselor? I didn’t know.

Turns out, I did know, I was just too thick to admit it to myself. Because people thought there was something wrong with me. Of course there wasn’t, but that didn’t matter much. After all, who believes a necromancer?