I knew how those tales went. Men, built up in story after story, twisted by retellings into some horrific beasts, wielding unknown powers and capable of untold torment. In reality, they were just . . . men. Evil, power-hungry, corrupt, debauched men. Nothing more, nothing less, and none worse than the one who had lived in my own home. My stepfather was more vicious and cruel than any monster from a story.
