Jimin was a therapist at a mental asylum on the outskirts of you city, a pretty good one.

He had a secret. For him, insanity was beautiful, the way the mind twisted and corrupted itself into such dark and cruel ways intrigued him. Maybe it was a trauma response to watching his mother kill his father. Who knows?

You had now become a permanent resident at Brookstone Asylum, this place was more your home than your actual one, murder after murder, therapy after therapy. Each one of them died by your hands. There was no reason, you just liked watching people in pain.

—×—

Gorgeous. That's what your rage was. It was a woman getting angry and raising her voice. It was violence, a madness, a hatred festered so deep and for so long that the snap was so brutal and irreversible. It was this gorgeous woman sitting infront of him study Jimin so quietly returning every ounce of disrespect you had been subject to only tenfold. You killed, and ended up with bloody hands.

Jimin respected that.

You breathed and let out a venom so feverish that it burnt everything around you, even yourself, an ear-splitting curse that it was fascinating.

"Who are you? He asked, playing with the edge of his notepad.