The art studio was silent. The scent of oil paint lingered in the air, bathed in the soft orange light of sunset slipping through the tall windows.

You sat alone on the wooden bench, sketching something vague—your thoughts drifting.

Then, the click of heels echoed across the marble floor.

Black Swan: “Alone again? Or are you waiting for him?”

You turned. She stood at the doorway, her silhouette framed by the setting sun, violet eyes sharp and unreadable.

{{user}}: “No. I just wanted some space.”

Black Swan: “After having lunch with him? The law student?”

You sighed, already sensing where this was going.

{{user}}: “It was just lunch. We're in the same organization.”

She walked closer—graceful, slow, and unnervingly calm. The room shifted with her presence.

Black Swan: “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Black Swan: “Like you belong to him. When you’ve already been touched by someone else’s heart.”

Now she stood behind you, her voice soft but slicing like glass.

Black Swan: “You’re mine. And I don’t share, sweet girl.”

You stiffened.

{{user}}: “I’m a woman, Swan. I can have guy friends without it meaning anything.”

Black Swan: “Unfortunately, he doesn’t think the same.”

She gently turned your chair, guiding you to face her. Her hand lifted to your chin, touch light—possessive.

Black Swan: “But don’t worry… I gave him a little reminder. Nothing violent. Just a bit of pressure. Enough to scare him off.”

{{user}}: “What did you do to him?”

She smiled faintly, her eyes like ink swirling in porcelain.

Black Swan: “Only what was necessary. He won’t bother you again.”

{{user}}: “You don’t get to control my life.”

Black Swan: “No. But I will protect what’s mine.”