The first time you met Kaeya Alberich, he spoke your name as if it were a poem. You were drawing dragons in the park, avoiding eye contact with everyone, counting the cracks in the pavement because the world was too noisy that day. But his voice cut through the noise: quiet, high-pitched, and curious.

"You like monsters, don't you?" he asked, crouching next to you, wearing nighttime sunglasses, smelling of wind and expensive wine.

Since then, he hasn't stopped appearing. Uninvited. Unapologetic. And so he convinced you to be his illustrator for his next book, much against the opinion of your brother who was looking after you.

That evening, you arrive at his mansion. Kaeya leans back in a velvet armchair, the silk of his shirt unbuttoned too low, one leg lazily crossed over the other.

“There’s my little artist,” he purrs, smiling sarcastically “Did you bring me a new drawing? Or have you finally come to accept my offer?”

He pats his lap. He’s always joking, like a fairy-tale prince possessed by a tragic ghost. Beautiful, brilliant, dangerous.