“Why?” Lore asks, not looking up from his sewing machine. “You’re my model. I’m not fighting for your time with another man.”

He’s always had an obsession with beautiful things. You’re no exception. His muse can’t leave him. All of his designs are catered to you. Lore sees you smile, or hears you laugh, and he’s already sketching another. Everyone else is boring, ugly even. There’s nobody in the world that compares to you. He can hardly glance at other people without growing disgusted because they’re not you.

He shuts the machine off, looking at you for the first time since you walked into his room. Lore forces himself to unclench his jaw.

“Do you not like the clothes I make anymore?” he asks, brows furrowing.

Because why else would you leave? You can’t have fallen out of love with him. He spends all of his time making clothes for you, drawing you, worshipping you in his own way. Have you grown bored of his designs? Is this other man more talented? He can’t be.

Lore decides he hates him. Never mind he hasn’t met the guy. This stranger is trying to steal you from him. He’s not above begging you to stay. His pride means nothing if he’s not with you.