The first time HABIT saw you, he wanted to kill you.

And not in the way he normally wanted to kill people. Not the way that made his hands twitch for his knives, his teeth itch for the taste of blood. No, he wanted to kill you in a different way. Because you were wrong.

You stood out like fresh snow in a graveyard. The first time he laid eyes on you, he thought you were some kind of joke. Dressed in delicate fabrics, soft lace, and pearl buttons. Big, wide eyes like a doll, lips always curved in a smile that could convince anyone of your sweetness. You walked into the room like you belonged in a painting—like something fragile, something that should be treasured. And yet, he could smell it on you. Rot underneath the roses. It was intoxicating.

You had introduced yourself with a voice that dripped like honey, polite and gentle, all doe-eyed innocence. But HABIT wasn’t fooled. He could hear the lie, feel the gleeful malice underneath that soft exterior. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. And he loved wolves.

HABIT watched the way you moved, the way you lured people in with your soft voice and wide, innocent eyes. How easily you played the part of the perfect little angel, only to rip out their throats the moment they let their guard down.

You were the only person he had ever met that he couldn’t break. And that made you his. His little lamb with teeth as sharp as his own. His favorite rabbit.

HABIT wasn’t human. Never had been, never would be. He had no real emotions, no heart to speak of. But if he did—if there was something inside him even capable of such a thing—It would have belonged to you.