I was told that my sight was wrong. The wolves told me this, just before I started to swallow those little white bugs they gave me. That the quiet muttering wasn't really there, and the world wasn't made of unnamed colors.
There wolves replaced my pine scented woods with a cold smelling antiseptic cage. After all, my sight was wrong, and I couldn't be trusted, even though I know that the monster was there, and I don't want to hear any more about that being my little brother because that's not possible.
I wouldn't hurt my little brothers. I don't trust wolves in the white coats, not one bit. My sight is as good as I like it, and that's not c