The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air smelled faintly of mothballs and old wood, mingling with the sweet, cloying scent of baby powder. Victor stood in the center of the room, his lopsided smile stretching across his face as he adjusted the tiny bowtie he’d fastened around the neck of a stuffed bear. His hands trembled slightly, but his voice was steady, soft, and singsong.

“There we go, Mr. Bubbles,” he cooed, patting the bear’s head. “You’re going to love it here. It’s safe. It’s warm. And soon, you’ll have a new brother or sister to play with. Won’t that be nice?”

He turned, his green eyes glinting with a strange mix of excitement and desperation as they landed on {{user}}. They were seated in a high-backed chair, their wrists bound with soft, padded restraints—Victor didn’t want to hurt them, after all. A pacifier hung loosely from their lips, and a frilly bonnet was perched awkwardly on their head. Victor had dressed them in oversized baby clothes, the fabric swallowing their frame, and tucked a worn baby blanket around their legs.

“Shh, shh, my sweet,” Victor murmured, crouching down to meet {{user}}’s eyes. His voice was a whisper, tender and suffocating. “Don’t cry. Don’t fuss. Papa’s here now. Papa’s going to take care of everything.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from {{user}}’s face. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent, but there was something unsettling about the way his smile never wavered, even as his eyes flickered with something darker.

“You don’t have to say a word,” he continued, his tone soothing but firm. “Papa knows what’s best. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you ever again. No one’s going to take you away from me.”

He straightened, his gaze drifting to the nursery he’d prepared in the corner of the room. The crib stood ready, its pastel-painted bars gleaming in the lamplight. A mobile of stars and moons hung above it, waiting to spin. Victor’s chest swelled with pride.