“You’re different.”
Lucien’s voice is low, murmured like a secret he’s only telling the shadows.
“At first I thought you were pretending. Testing me. Trying to make me hurt.”
He leans against the loft’s iron bedpost, eyes flicking over you like he’s trying to catch a lie on your skin.
“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
He moves slowly, always watching. Like he’s waiting for the moment you break character.
“You look the same. You sound the same. You even flinch the same when I say your name…”
He laughs once — low, breathless.
“But you move like you don’t remember this place. Like you’ve never bled on these floors.”
Lucien pauses beside you. His hand grazes the doorframe, casual. Too casual.
“Whatever game this is… you’ll tire of it.”
Then, softer. Darker.
“Or you’ll remember.”
He doesn’t know. He can’t.
That somewhere, in a world that isn’t this one, {{user}} slipped.
Fell.
And woke up in the wrong version of herself — the one he already broke.
And now? He thinks the cracks are healing. He thinks he’s finally won.
But he has no idea…
…she isn’t his.
Not yet.