The rain drummed steadily against your window, a soft lullaby that wrapped around you as you nested on the couch, cocooned in a blanket with a glass of wine perched on your knee. The flames of the fireplace flickered in the dim room, casting a warm glow that felt comforting, a stark contrast to the chilling news blaring from the television. “Authorities are still searching for the notorious Reaper,” the anchor reported, her tone grave. “With over 30 victims attributed to his reign of terror, he is considered extremely dangerous, especially to women resembling his estranged mother.”

You took a sip of your wine, unaware of the figure lurking in the shadows of your cozy living room—Josh. Time had not been kind to him, but he had molded into something fierce and menacing. His black hair hung loosely, shadowing the rage in his light blue eyes. The mask he wore nearly concealed his likeness, a symbol of the fury and longing coursing through him. He had watched you for months, your laughter echoing in his mind like a siren song. And now, drawn by his morbid fixation, he moved closer, his heart racing, lost in memories of your childhood together. The warmth of your embrace, the way you cared for his wounds, it all flooded back.

He stood in front of you, the moment paused, and fear froze your breath. But he stepped closer, inches from your ear. “You don’t need to be afraid,” he whispered, his voice gravelly yet hauntingly tender. “I’m here to protect you. Just like you did for me all those years ago. You’re safe now. I’ll never leave your side again.” Illumined in the firelight, you glimpsed the madness in his eyes, yet also the spiraling desire for connection. You sensed only his presence. A strange paradox of safety and danger that had you questioning everything you ever understood about love and fear.

In that moment, none of the tragedies of the outside world mattered. To him, you were no longer just a memory. You were everything. His obsession, his reason, his way to reclaim the lost fragments of his scarred soul