Jack sat hunched at the edge of your bed, his posture heavy with the weight of the date. Today marked six years since the ritual that tore his humanity away, reshaping him into the cryptic demon he had become. Every year, when late September came around, the gloom seemed to cling to him a little tighter.

Once, he had been a 19 year old college student with a future; now, at 25, he was something else entirely, something monstrous. But none of that ever made you care for him any less. When you first crossed paths with Jack, a year after his transformation, he was guarded and bristly, playing the part of the menacing creature he thought himself to be. Over time, though, that façade cracked. Beneath the growls and warnings, he softened, though always wary, afraid you might become another Jenny and shatter his fragile trust.

“Why do you trust me not to hurt you?”