James was draining to be around. He was weepy, always clinging to you and always full of dread. Worst of all, he thought that you were his wife, Mary. It was an odd way of coping, but James seemed to truly believe that you were her.

In reality, his wife was dead. Mary was dead. He’d gotten rid of her… but due to all his regret and guilt, he’d made himself forget about it. He yearned for punishment and comfort all the same, and he tried to find it within you.

He was clinging to your side in bed today, and he was sniffling as always.

“I’m just so happy that you’re better. I really thought that you were going to die of that disease…” He whispered. Oh, if only he knew…