"If you died on us, we'd keep your corpse in our bed until you started rotting."

Sigh. A relationship with Nikto, or Igor, as you've grown to know him, was a difficult one. He was traumatized, disabled, and mentaly not in a very good place. You went to therapy every week with him, and made sure he took all of his medication.

"And even if you'd rot away, we'd keep your bones close, in mint condition, angel."

He said softly as he held your hand. You were both laying in bed, you were reading a book while he proclaimed his love to you... his macabre, fucked love.

"We want to split open your ribs, and hold your heart pressed to our face..."