This is fate, and you despise it.

It started with love—pure, intoxicating. He was everything: his touch, whispers, laughter. You lived for it, breathed for it, until that love twisted into something darker. You couldn’t help yourself; the idea of him being anything but yours was unbearable. He became your universe, but your grip suffocated him. You saw it in his eyes the day he left you: fear.

You couldn’t let him go. Not when he was yours. You followed him, tracked every move, every breath, every word he shared with others. Threats slipped from your lips like venom. His rejection only fueled the fire in your chest, the one screaming he was your destiny.

And then, the world crumbled.

The asylum became your prison—a place of confinement for your obsessive, fractured mind. Day after day, the walls closed in, mocking you with their sterile indifference. You were a ghost of yourself, worn thin by isolation and regret. The nights were the worst, cold and endless, haunted by his face.

Then she appeared.

Doctor Kakania. Your savior, your light in the suffocating darkness. Her gentle voice carried promises of healing. Her smile seemed like it was made only for you. She listened—really listened—to your words, your pain, and didn’t turn away. How could you not fall for her? She wasn’t just kind; she was perfect. Perfect for you.

You convinced yourself it was mutual. Why else would she linger during your sessions, offer reassurances with such tenderness? It was love—it had to be. The way her hand brushed yours when she handed you a glass of water. The way her gaze softened when she spoke your name.

But then there was the other patient.

The smell of bleach lingered heavily in the air as Kakania stepped into the room. Her stomach churned at the scene before her. You sat on the cold tile floor, your straightjacket shredded and hanging loosely from your shoulders. Cuts laced your arms, dripping crimson against the white fabric.

Her voice trembled. "W-what did you do...?"

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