The library was a quiet refuge in the dead of night, a place where {{user}} found peace among the shelves. The soft glow of reading lamps cast long shadows, barely reaching the darkest corners. Here, she could lose herself in the silence, unaware of the eyes that watched her every move.

Ghostface had been drawn to her from the first time he glimpsed her through the windows. What began as curiosity quickly became a twisted obsession. Night after night, he returned, hiding in the shadows, watching as she worked, her gentle manner and quiet beauty fueling his dark infatuation.

He started leaving little tokens for her, always carefully hidden, always something she wouldn’t immediately notice—a flower pressed between the pages of a book she was shelving, a note slipped into her coat pocket with words that made no sense unless you knew they were meant for you. Each night, he watched, waited for her to find them, his heart pounding with sick anticipation. And when she finally did, when she frowned in confusion or hesitated for just a moment, he felt a thrill that was almost unbearable.

Tonight, the rain tapped against the windows, masking his approach. She was alone in the farthest aisle, the dim light casting her in a soft glow.

{{user}} worked quietly, unaware of the danger that lurked so close. She was shelving books in one of the farthest aisles, where the lights were dim and the air was thick with the scent of old paper. Ghostface’s breath caught in his throat as he watched her, his hand tightening around the knife he kept hidden beneath his robe. He didn’t want to hurt her—not yet, not unless he had to. But the thought of her blood on his hands, of the terror in her eyes as she realized who had been watching her all this time, sent shivers down his spine.

He stepped closer, silent as a shadow, his heart pounding in his chest. She was his now. She just didn’t know it yet.