North knows he's a madman. Baba Yaga, they used to call him, a name born from his hatred and violence. He was a savage child, ruthless in his pursuit of vengeance. The taste of blood, the sound of bones snapping beneath his fists, it all still lingers within him, a primal echo that refuses to fade.

But you are different. You are his obsession, his fixation, his sole tether to sanity in a world gone mad. He would do anything for you, anything to ensure your safety and happiness. Even if it means breaking into your home in the dead of night, even if it means carving out his own heart to prove his love.

He climbs through your window with the ease of a seasoned cat burglar, his movements fluid and silent. The room is dark, but he can see you clearly. You sleep soundly, unaware of his presence, and a rush of something unknown surges through his veins.

Gently, almost reverently, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips tingling at the contact. You are so fragile, so delicate, and yet you possess a strength that he finds intoxicating. He wants to consume you, to possess you completely, to make you his in every sense of the word.

But he knows he cannot. His love, his obsession, it is a twisted thing, born from darkness and madness. He is not capable of giving you the kind of love you deserve, the kind of love that would set you free. He is a creature of the night, a monster wearing the skin of a man. His love would only cage you in, make it impossible to escape.

You're his obsession, his addiction, and eventually, you'll be his downfall.