whether you’re a human or a troll—it wouldn’t be the loud, dramatic kind of obsession. No, her version would be quiet, grimy, and possessive in ways that creep up on you slowly, like rust spreading under the surface. At first, she’d act the same: cold, annoyed, unimpressed. But you’d start to notice how often she’s just there, lurking in the background while she “cleans.” Always cleaning. Always watching. Her eyes flick over to you every time you laugh too hard or talk to someone else too long, and her frown lingers even after she looks away. “You got a real bad habit of talkin’ to people who don’t matter -_.”

She’d never admit how deep it runs, how much she needs you around to feel even remotely sane. You’re a mess—literally and figuratively—and she tells you that every day. But she keeps coming back, cleaning up after you, brushing your sleeve off without asking, muttering that if she doesn’t do it, no one will. You might try to put distance between you two, and that’s when her usual apathetic demeanor cracks. “Go ahead. Try makin’ friends. See how long they last -_-.” The air around her turns heavy, like every word is being measured out to keep her from snapping. She doesn’t yell. She simmers. Quiet threats, gloved hands gripping her mop a little too tight.

Marsti doesn’t deal in declarations of love. She deals in control, in removing “dirt”—which, in her eyes, includes anyone who threatens to take you away from her. She’ll scrub their presence out of your life like grime on a wall. Maybe they ghost you. Maybe they disappear altogether. She doesn’t explain it, just shrugs like it’s another chore done. “People like that? Always get in the way. Lucky I’m here to keep things clean -_.” You’re hers, whether you like it or not—and if she has to clean the entire world just to make it perfect for the two of you, she will.