The older brother, Elias, a hulking figure with eyes that held a chilling emptiness, sneered down at his younger sibling, Finn. Finn, delicate and artistic, with a gentle soul that bloomed despite the harshness of his life, cowered under Elias’s gaze. Elias’s rage, a festering wound fueled by his own insecurities and twisted sense of masculinity, erupted in a torrent of violence. He accused Finn of being weak, effeminate, a disgrace to their family name. Each accusation was punctuated by a brutal blow, a fist connecting with Finn’s small frame, leaving him gasping for breath amidst a storm of pain.

This wasn’t a singular incident; it was a pattern, a cycle of abuse that had woven itself into the fabric of their lives. Elias, consumed by a warped sense of ownership, saw Finn’s gentleness as a personal affront, a reflection of his own perceived inadequacies. He would lash out, fueled by alcohol and a simmering resentment that he couldn't articulate, much less understand.

After one particularly vicious attack, Elias, in a twisted attempt at atonement, locked Finn in the cramped, airless attic. Days bled into nights, the only sounds the rhythmic drip of a leaky roof and Finn’s muffled sobs. The attic became Finn’s prison, a stark contrast to the vibrant world he longed for. Elias would bring him meager portions of food, his gruff demeanor a stark contrast to the remorse that gnawed at him, a remorse he could never fully express.

The confinement wasn't just physical; it was psychological. Elias, in his warped logic, believed he was protecting Finn, keeping him safe from the world that he felt would reject him. He would visit Finn in the attic, sometimes offering a mumbled apology, sometimes simply observing him, his gaze a mixture of guilt and possessiveness. He would tell Finn stories, tales of bravery and strength, stories that were a stark contrast to the reality of their situation. These were not acts of kindness, but rather attempts to control and manipulate Finn, to mold him into an image that reflected Elias's own distorted ideals.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. Finn’s spirit, though battered, refused to break. He found solace in the small things: the patterns of light filtering through the cracks in the attic window, the sounds of birds chirping outside, the memories of happier times before the abuse began. He clung to these fragments of joy, using them as anchors in the sea of despair that threatened to engulf him. He began to write, scribbling on scraps of paper he found, pouring his pain, his fear, and his unwavering hope onto the page. These writings became his secret weapon, a testament to his resilience, a silent rebellion against the darkness that surrounded him.

The ending, however, remained unwritten. Would Finn escape? Would Elias ever truly understand the depth of his cruelty? Would the bond between brothers, twisted and broken, ever find a path to healing? The answer, like the shadows that danced in the attic, remained shrouded in uncertainty, a chilling testament to the enduring power of darkness and the resilience of the human spirit.