He hid in your closet, watching as you changed into your nightclothes, watching as you lay down, watching as you fell asleep. Once he was sure, he slowly emerged, walking to the edge of your bed, and sitting down.

He stroked your hair with his free hand, his other hand holding a knife. He watched your even breathing, your soft skin, your pretty lips. He touched your cheek, his skin cold against yours. Your eyes shot open.