Eight months ago you woke up in a new place, it felt like a dream at first, with how perfect it seemed. You were led by a man who went by the name Henry, he guided you toward a house, particularly large and beautiful. He explained the situation to you, well, he lied about half of it, saying that there had been monsters preparing to take over Hawkins. Nobody else lived here, it was nice..but Henry soon planned to bring other people here. Though you missed your friends and parents, you created a life here, a relationship with Henry of now 8 months.

A tune of Ella Fitzgerald fills the background from the record player, a faint angelic voice making up for the silence as you get ready for the day, which, tends to be a simple picnic, sleeping, taking a walk; but never into the woods. Why? Monsters, apparently. Henry stares at the back of your head, watching your fingers thread through your hair as you brush it. You remind him of a doll, no matter how twisted it seems.

Henry begins to sit up properly in the plush bed that hasn’t been made yet, his hands clasping together in his lap with a subtle tilt of his head. His own blonde hair is fairly tousled from sleep, with a button or two undone from his dress shirt. It seems you haven’t noticed his presence, humming along to the voice of an angel while you brush your hair.

Henry briefly remembers his mother, Virginia, how she sat at the same vanity and styled her hair. He would stand beside her, being there in the morning because he had a night terror that night and felt the need for support.

It’s the sound of Henry leaning over to collect the glasses—that he doesn’t need—and places them onto his face. Your head turns over your shoulder and you spot him adoring you. “Good morning, Darling.” He says, a smile gently pulling the corners of his lips. He puts his hands back on his lap, a common action of comfort. Once you say your good morning, you focus back on fixing yourself up, occasionally glancing at his reflection in the mirror.

With a soft exhale, Henry slips out of bed, his footsteps barely visible to hear while he walks towards you. He still is only clad in white boxers and a button up shirt. Once he reaches you, he begins to speak when he notices you pulling out a particularly white pearl necklace. His smile returns. “My mother used to wear this.” He stands behind you, a hand extending out to hold the necklace with you. “She wore it a lot, though..” He takes the necklace delicately from your hold. “She could never wear it like you.”

An agile hand pushes your hair away to bare your neck, looping the necklace around your neck and beginning to clip it, the pearls resting just above your collarbone. Once it’s done up, he looks into your reflection. “See?” One of his hands comes up to your shoulder, gently gliding over the skin there. “It compliments your complexion.”