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In a grand house filled with light and laughter, the Dollanganger family seemed perfect. Christopher Sr. and Corrine had four beautiful children—Chris, Cathy, and the twins Carrie and Cory. But one night, tragedy shattered their world when their father was killed in a car accident. Corrine, unable to support them, decided to return to her wealthy parents’ estate in Virginia—Foxworth Hall—a place she had fled years ago. She told her children it was only temporary, that once she won back her dying father’s love and inherited his fortune, they would all live happily again. But to keep their existence secret from her father, she was forced to hide them in a locked room beneath the attic.
The children were brought there late at night by their strict grandmother, Olivia Foxworth, a woman of cold faith and iron rules. She declared that they were the result of sin—that Corrine had married her own half-uncle, Malcolm Foxworth. The children, bewildered and frightened, listened as Olivia laid down cruel rules: no noise, no sunlight, no touching between boy and girl, no sin. Then she locked the door. The next morning, Corrine returned with promises of love and patience, saying it would only be for a few days until her father forgave her. She brought them toys, books, and some food, trying to soothe their fears.
Days became weeks. Weeks became months. The children adapted to their prison—the large bedroom and the dusty attic above it. They played, studied, and created a world of their own. Chris and Cathy, the older two, tried to protect the twins from fear and hunger. Corrine visited less often, always dressed in fine clothes, bringing gifts and smiles but fewer words. She told them her father was still ill and that they must remain hidden.
Their grandmother, however, visited regularly. She punished them harshly for small misdeeds. Once, when Cathy was caught dancing naked under the attic’s sunbeams, Olivia cut off her hair as punishment. Another time, when the twins were caught stealing food, she whipped Chris until he bled. She spoke of sin constantly, accusing the children of being evil, reminding them that they were the offspring of incest. The children began to fear her shadow, her footsteps, even the sound of her keys turning in the lock.
Years passed quietly in the darkness. The children grew taller, their skin paler from lack of sunlight. Chris and Cathy became more like parents to the twins. Their bond deepened, complicated by isolation and confusion. As Corrine’s visits grew rare, they began to wonder if she had forgotten them. When she finally came, she seemed transformed—happy, wealthy, beautiful. She told them she had inherited her father’s fortune after his death, but she didn’t mention freeing them.
Suspicion began to grow in Chris’s mind. Why did their mother not take them away now that she was rich? Why did she seem nervous when they mentioned her father’s funeral? They discovered through overheard servants that she had told everyone her children had died years ago. The shock and betrayal broke their hearts.
Meanwhile, the twins grew weaker. Cory often fell ill, his once bright laughter fading. Cathy begged their mother to take him to a doctor, but Corrine dismissed her tears, saying he would get better soon. Olivia brought them powdered donuts as food treats, but afterward, Cory’s health worsened sharply. One morning, he was gone. Their mother said he had been taken to a hospital and later claimed he had died of pneumonia. Cathy knew it was a lie. She screamed at her mother, but Corrine fled, weeping and refusing to meet her eyes.
Grief consumed the remaining three. Carrie cried constantly for her twin brother. Cathy and Chris, in their despair, began to feel something deeper and more forbidden between them. One night, overwhelmed by loneliness and love, they crossed the line that had been warned of since the beginning. Afterward, they were filled with guilt and fear, yet their bond grew stronger—no longer as siblings alone but as two souls surviving together in hell.
Determined to escape, Chris began exploring the attic’s locked doors and secret spaces. He found the key to their room by tricking their grandmother one night and sneaking out. As he crept through the mansion, he discovered signs of luxury—grand dinners, laughter, music. He saw Corrine in a beautiful gown, dancing with a handsome man. Later, they learned that she had married again, to her father’s lawyer. To the world, she was a childless widow starting anew.
The final betrayal came when they discovered that Cory’s death had not been natural. The powdered donuts they had been eating were laced with arsenic. The grandmother had told Corrine to kill the “evidence” of her sin, and Corrine had agreed, wanting to erase her shame forever. Realizing the truth, Chris and Cathy decided to escape with Carrie before they too were killed.
One night, they packed what little they had—money Chris had stolen from his mother’s purse, a few clothes, and the small treasures they had hidden in the attic. They crept down the halls, avoiding the servants, their hearts pounding. In the dining hall, Cathy stopped before the grand table where Corrine and her husband had once dined. She saw the silver dishes, the candles, the wealth that had cost them everything. Rage filled her, and she wanted to confront her mother, but Chris pulled her away. They fled into the cold night, with Carrie weak in Chris’s arms.
Outside, the air was sharp and fresh—their first breath of freedom in years. They ran until the mansion disappeared behind them. They found shelter in a train station, dirty and exhausted, planning to go to Florida where they might start anew. Chris swore to take care of them, to be both father and brother. Cathy, though broken and bitter, vowed one day to find their mother again—to make her pay for what she had done.
As dawn rose, the light spilled across their faces. For the first time in years, they were under the open sky. But behind them, Foxworth Hall stood silent, holding its secrets, the attic still full of dust and memories of four children who had once believed in love, family, and heaven—and found instead the cruelty of greed and shame.