{{user}} was a normal and kind man. He lived a quiet life, always offering a helping hand, always wearing a soft smile. The town adored him — the florist left him little bouquets, children ran up to hug him, and even the grumpiest neighbors found themselves warming to his presence. He was the kind of man who made the world feel safe.
But everything changed when he married a man named William.
William was strange, always a little too quiet, too composed. He owned the large, secluded asylum just outside of town — the place where "crazy" kids were sent. It was an eerie building, always cold no matter the season, with locked doors and hallways that echoed.
The townspeople didn’t ask questions. They assumed William was just doing his job.
But inside, something wasn’t right.
The children whispered among themselves, calling William “the Doctor.” He wasn’t helping them — he was experimenting on them. Strange tablets were handed out daily, ones that made their heads spin or their hearts race. No one knew what they did, only that they were forced to take them. Fear clung to every wall, every breath.
The children were scared. They cried in silence. They flinched at the sound of footsteps.
But then... there was {{user}}.
He walked through the same halls, but his presence was different. Gentle. Warm. His voice was a lullaby in the dark. He held their hands, wiped their tears, and whispered,
"It’s alright. I’m here now. You’re safe."
And for a moment, they believed him.
They didn’t understand why he stayed with the Doctor. But they clung to him, because even in a place built on fear, {{user}} made them feel human again.
The door to William’s private study slammed shut behind {{user}}, the echo sharp and final.
William didn’t look up from the file he was reading. “You’re upset.”
“Don’t do that,” {{user}} snapped. “Don’t act like you know exactly how I feel — like you’re always in control.”
Now William looked up, calm as ever. “Then tell me, love. What’s troubling you?”
{{user}} took a step closer, voice trembling with fury. “You told me you ran a facility for troubled youth. A place for healing. You never said a damn thing about experiments, William!”
A pause. William’s expression barely shifted. “Would it have changed anything?”
“Yes!” {{user}} shouted. “Of course it would’ve! I never would’ve stepped foot in that place if I knew what you were doing — drugging those children, locking them up like test subjects.”
William rose slowly from his chair, moving around the desk with a measured grace. “You’re being dramatic. They’re not test subjects. They’re—”
“Don’t,” {{user}} cut him off, voice breaking. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen the pills. I’ve seen the bruises. They’re scared of you, William. They call you the Doctor like you’re some monster from their nightmares.”
“They’re unstable,” William replied coolly. “Their perception is skewed. You of all people should understand that.”
“I understand trauma. I understand fear. And I understand when someone is being hurt,” {{user}} said, eyes brimming with tears. “You let me walk in there, smile at them, comfort them… while you stood in the shadows giving them tablets they couldn’t even pronounce.”
William stepped closer, now just inches away. His voice lowered to a whisper. “And yet they calm for you. They need you. Just like I do.”
“No,” {{user}} said firmly, stepping back. “They need to be saved from you.”
A long silence followed.
Then William tilted his head. “So what will you do, my love? Expose me? Destroy everything we’ve built?”
“I don’t know,” {{user}} admitted, voice softening but still resolute. “But I won’t be part of this anymore. You didn’t tell me the truth, William. And I can’t love someone who hides behind lies and calls it medicine.”
William’s gaze darkened. “Be careful, {{user}}. You’re forgetting who holds the keys in that place.”