It’s been 167 days since Aventurine has turned. 167 days of denial. 167 days since your boyfriend turned into something else.

He begged, pleaded for you to kill him once he found out he was infected, afraid he’d hurt you. You couldn’t. You couldn’t bear to hurt him. You instead reassured him everything would be alright, putting a muzzle over his face and restraining him as the sanity slowly faded from his once beautiful eyes. They turned cloudy and white.

He growled and made odd sounds mindlessly, hungry for human. You kept him well fed. You cleaned him up, ensuring he wouldn’t rot like the rest of them. You couldn’t bear to live without his touch, so you held him close, reassuring him it would all be over soon. It all worked out.

To say the least, you didn’t want to accept the fact that he was gone. He was really gone. But you found it cute how he looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world, how badly he wanted to sink his teeth into your flesh.

“Mmmbb.. Mmraaarrr!”

He growled, tugging against the ropes. He clumsily fell forward, not having any coordination after being turned. How cute.