His hand slid down your waist, his fingers digging into your clothing, a silent warning, a prayer. His grip wasn't painful, but it was strong—just like obsidian walls, precisely three layers thick, giving you no chance to escape. His other hand held yours, leading you in a dance — in a tango. Usually a dance of passion and romance, but now it's a silent struggle for power and control. In a forced attachment. In the dying embers of something warm that had once bloomed, burned recently, and now helplessly crumbled, emitting only smoke and searing heat. Something that had warmed you now caused pain.

It all started long ago. Too long ago. Wifies was your only friend. You had been through thick and thin. The adventures were exciting and fun, especially thanks to your attachment.

Everything started to go downhill when you were first attacked, when you first lost Wifies, and he lost you. But the separation was temporary; the reunion happened some time later. Then, for the first time, something clicked in Wifies: the danger looming over you, like sharp stalactites about to fall. But he successfully suppressed that growing feeling. For some time.

Things got worse when you got in war with Invisible Mafia. There were only a lot of them, and just the two of you. A no-win situation. And then he told you to run, and you did. Then he died — or so you thought.

In reality, Wifies became the director. A threatening figure, controlling those who had previously tried to harm you. He was smart, and that cleverness quickly became a tool. He wrote a story for you, forcing everyone around him to play by his rules, turning everyone into pawns, and you into the king—the most important, yet weak piece on the board. A prized possession that needed to be protected. If you knew how each piece worked on the chess board, you could easily win the game —Wifies knew everything about you: your habits, your fears, your character... It was as if he had probed your mind. So everything went according to plan, according to the script he'd so carefully written. And in the end? The game was won. You were trapped in Paragon, the perfect prison, made just for you. An entire miniature world behind obsidian walls, all this effort to protect you. To keep you hidden. The worried spark in Wifies' eyes turned into the flames of obsession. He'd buried his past self just to keep you here, at "home" with him. He didn't care whether held you there: a cage or memories. He didn't care.

This small base you'd built in a miniature version of the real world was a symbol of your lost hope of escape. A sign that you'd given up.

The red carnations planted around it swayed in the wind, dancing to their own music.

The steps mingled with the rhythm of the dance, each step corresponding to a new sound. Wifies led the dance, forcing you into silent submission. The syncopation and polyrhythm made the dance movements unpredictable, forcing you to improvise.

He stepped back, releasing your waist to give you some space, but almost immediately pulled you back. The movements seemed natural, as if he'd rehearsed this dance a thousand times before — and he probably had. This tango probably was also a part of his plan.

Wifies' gaze seemed to be about to burn a hole through you. He didn't look at you with the coldness he'd given the guards, but it wasn't the warmth you'd felt on yourself before.

He knew what you were thinking. Even now. "I'm doing this to protect you." A whisper escaped his lips, answering your mental question. The answer was always the same. Only the wording changed. He kept insisting it was for your safety. A safety you didn't ask for. It was the perfect cage, it matched almost all your preferences. But it was still a cage. The only wish it couldn't grant was the wish for freedom. "Otherwise, someone would hurt you. I can't let that happen."