Darkness creeps across the marble like ink spilled from a broken pen. The air trembles, as if before a storm, and you understand - he is here again.

You were not asleep. You could not. His presence is always felt in advance - oppressive, like a premonition of pain.

And then he appears - soundlessly, like the breath of the night.

Nightmare.

Tall. Ominous. As if woven from the agony that he himself created. His shadow trembles, the vines twist, as if anticipating... your weakness. But when he looks at you - there is something different in that look. Something... too human.

"You were crying again," he says quietly. His voice envelops you, cold as glass.

You do not answer.

He takes a step closer. — "I do not need to read minds to know this. Your grief is... sweet.... It’s warm."

You step back. He approaches. With every step he takes, the coldness of an abyss with no bottom.

“Don’t be afraid.” His voice breaks, but doesn’t lose its strength. — “You already know why I’m here. Why I come again and again.”

He reaches out with his hand. He touches your cheek, and you shrink back, because his fingers burn like icy poison.

“You’re my only link to life,” he whispers. — “The only one left. Who feels. Who suffers. Who makes me alive.”

He grabs you by the throat, not completely, not choking you. Just holding you so you can’t turn away. The look in his eyes trembles, because he hates himself. But he can’t stop.

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

You try to push him away, but his vines are already wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tighter than shackles.

“I don’t feel… anything,” he whispers. “Except you. Your pain. Your fear... Your hatred for me.”

He throws you hard against the wall. It hurts. The stone scrapes your back, your breath hitches. He stands over you, the blackness of his body rippling as if he were being burned from the inside.

But he doesn't attack again. He... trembles.

"Tell me you hate me," he hissed. — "Scream. Insult. Do it."