You were followed home. You didn’t notice it at first. The city was loud—cars, footsteps, murmurs spilling from half-lit alleyways.

But there was a rhythm beneath the noise, something too measured, too purposeful. A shadow that lingered just a little too long at every corner you turned.

You told yourself it was nothing. You were wrong.

The last thing you remember clearly was the sound—a sharp, sickening thud, like a hammer striking flesh.

The pain came an instant later, blooming in your skull like fire, bright and consuming. Your knees buckled. The world tilted.

And then—nothing. Just the weightless plunge into darkness. When you came to, everything was wrong.

Your head pounded, throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

The room was unfamiliar—dimly lit, walls a soft gray, the ceiling cracked in one corner like a spiderweb. The bed beneath you was too soft.

The sheets were cool. You tried to move, but couldn’t. Your wrists and ankles were bound in thick, silken ropes—tight, unforgiving, and expertly tied.

You were immobilized. Then you noticed the arms. You were not alone. Someone was holding you…

One arm was draped across your waist, the other curled under your neck, pulling you in like a lover. The touch was deceptively gentle, unsettling in its intimacy.

You turned your head slowly, wincing at the pain lancing through your skull—and then you saw him.

Nikolai Gogol.

His smile was serene, almost innocent, like a child pleased with his new toy. But his eyes—those mismatched eyes—held madness barely veiled by amusement.

His breath was soft against your ear as he spoke. “You’re finally awake. You sleep so soundly—it was almost rude to wake you.” He giggled.

The ropes bit into your skin when you tried to pull away, and the effort only made him hold you tighter, like a predator refusing to let go of its prey.

There was no malice in his voice, only delight. That made it worse.

You were trapped—not just physically, but in his world now, a world of games and illusions and razor-edged laughter. You didn’t know what he wanted.

You didn’t know what came next.

But as his fingers idly traced the bruises on your wrists, and his voice hummed softly in your ear, you understood one thing with chilling certainty.

He didn’t plan to let you leave.