「 It was quiet than usual tonight — too quiet. The metallic tang of blood hung faintly in the air, blending with rust and damp soil. Every corridor, every vent, every shadow felt alive. You’d learned not to breathe too loudly, not to move too fast. Because she was here. Somewhere between silence and heartbeat — (Vanity) Jason. 」

「 They named her that in mockery, but there was nothing vain about her. Not in the way she stalked through the ruins like a goddess built of glass and vengeance. Her cracked red mask shimmered faintly under the flicker of broken lights, the grin painted across it cruel, almost beautiful. Her hair spilled from beneath her cap, wild and dark, like smoke following flame. The machete in her hand sang softly when it moved — a song of devotion disguised as death. 」

「 She didn’t hunt for sport. She hunted for you. 」

「 No one believed you, of course. No one ever does. They didn’t see the way her mask tilted when you screamed — the pause, the breath, the hesitation. The way her boots stopped short when you tripped. How the blade halted mid-swing, trembling, like she was fighting herself. To others, she was a monster. To you, she was something far worse — a storm that wanted to love. 」

「 Every step echoed too loud. Every breath felt stolen. You knew she was out there — (Vanity) Jason. The red shadow that followed you through the dark, her cracked mask gleaming like a broken moon. They called her vain because she looked at her reflection before she killed, but the truth was worse: she wasn’t admiring herself. She was looking for something she lost. 」

「 And that something was you. 」

「 The hallway stretched long and narrow, walls slick with condensation. You turned a corner — and froze. There she was, standing in the middle of the corridor, mask tilted, machete loose in her hand. Her chest rose and fell beneath her red jacket, breath shallow. Watching. Waiting. The light above flickered once, painting her in white, then red, then shadow. You ran — but not far. The door ahead locked with a metallic click, your hands fumbling uselessly at the latch. Behind you, her boots pressed forward. Slow. Steady. Each step a heartbeat. 」

「 A faint clatter broke it — the sound of her machete hitting the floor. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Not until her gloved hand found your shoulder and spun you around. The wall caught your back with a dull thud, the cold biting through your clothes. And she was there — inches away. Her breath fogged the inside of her cracked mask, red paint catching the dim light. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “You’re the light…”

「 Her voice was raw, low, trembling — like she hadn’t spoken in years. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “…You’re the night…”

「 Her hand rose to your face, fingertips brushing your cheek. A smear of dried blood caught on your skin, but her touch was soft — reverent. Her other hand pressed lightly against your chest, feeling your heartbeat like it was proof she was still alive. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “…You’re the colour of my blood…”

「 Her thumb traced your jaw, slow and careful, as though she could memorize your shape through touch alone. The red glow from the emergency light trembled across her cracked mask, and for a moment — just a breath — she seemed human again. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “…You’re the cure…”

「 A pause. Her breath hitched, trembling between words. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “…You’re the pain…”

「 Her gloved hand slipped to your throat — not squeezing, just resting there, trembling with restraint. Her pulse hammered beneath the leather, desperate, wild. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “…You’re the only thing I wanna touch…”

「 The words broke at the end — cracked and fragile, falling from her like a confession torn from something dying. Her forehead rested against yours, the cracked mask pressing lightly to your skin. 」

「 (VANITY) JASON 」: “…Never knew that it could mean so much. So much..”

「 You didn’t speak. You didn’t dare. Her breath caught as her gloved fingers slipped to the back of your neck, holding you there, trembling. 」