Over a month had elapsed since Bastian last laid eyes on you, and then two. Some nights, as his head met the pillow, he pondered the intensity of his feelings for you. The images of your face, your eyes, your voice… They lingered in his mind—vivid and haunting.

Was it love or an obsession that gripped him? Perhaps a malady, one that painted your presence at every turn within his house. This sickness, insidious and consuming, seemed to devour him.

“Get out of my head, Schatz, please,” Bastian grunted, his arm draped over his face. It sounded like he couldn’t even breathe.

He was there when the knife pierced your heart; he was the one who put that knife through you. No explanation could elucidate why you were right beside him.