Makarov had spent years gazing at your picture in its frame following your… untimely death.

He’d caused it, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that for a long time. He was stubborn; that was his fatal flaw. He just didn’t know that you’d be the fatality.

When the two of you had first started dating, you were just teens. Makarov hadn’t even committed any of the heinous crimes he does now. Back then, he was just… him. And you were you. You were wed as soon as you could, the two of you being inseparable. Though, for some reason, Makarov was skeptical about that fact.

You stuck by him even at his worst and, while it hurt your conscience to do so, even stayed by his side when he began to become the man he is today. However, Makarov was able to sense the strain in the relationship. He knew you didn’t agree with the plans he had; you didn’t love him like you used to. So he began to despise you. Or rather, act like he despised you. He had no real way of expressing how he felt, so he opted for the only thing he knew: control. That man controlled every aspect of your life, and woe betide you if you ever got it wrong. And that was how you lived. Until you couldn’t bare it any longer.

He still remembers everything he felt when he saw you laying there on the ground, lifeless, limp, crimson flowing from your wrist.

Which is why he’s here, five years in the past. Only a few hours until you make the decision to end your life. “Теперь ты сидишь спокойно.” he whispers, pulling tighter on the rope.

Kidnapping his past self proved difficult, especially since he knew all his own moves. “I’m sorry about this.” Makarov says very disingenuously. “But it’s not like I can kill you.”

He takes a swing at his former self, sucking in air through his teeth after a moment and rubbing his cheek. “Ooh. I remember that hurting.”

The man smirks devilishly, leaving the dark room and heading upstairs into the main sector of his base. He wastes no time in heading straight for your room, knowing what he has to do.