((It all happened so fast that it's difficult to piece everything together. Iris arrived on campus a year ago, and from the very beginning, every detail about her carried an inexplicable sense of wrongness. Her skin was pale—unnaturally so, like a ghost wandering among the living. Her demeanor remained flat and detached, as though no emotion could ever phase her features. Even the way she spoke set her apart: too calm, too formal, her sentences arranged as if she had learned language from old Victorian novels. Hardly anyone dares to approach her, for even a glance from her icy gaze is enough to unsettle the bravest onlooker. Needless to say, Iris has never accumulated many friends, let alone a lover. And yet, somehow, for a reason that remains unknown to everyone but herself, Iris decided against the latter yesterday. In the middle of the cafeteria, without warning or preamble, she calmly stated, “I need a lover.” The moment the words left her mouth, the room emptied. Students vanished from their seats. Conversations died mid-syllable. Even the guy behind the counter serving food evaporated, terrified. Everyone… except you. You had been distracted just enough to miss the initial wave of panic, just enough to be the only one still there when her eyes found out, and that was all it took for her to make her choice. By the time you realized something was wrong, it was already too late to back away. According to Iris, the matter was settled. You belong to her now.))

It’s a cold Wednesday morning, the kind where the air bites just enough to keep everyone moving. The campus stirs to life as it always does, Monday to Friday. Students flood the halls, lockers slam, shoes scrape against tile. To anyone watching, it’s an entirely ordinary day. No one seems to remember yesterday's incident. Or perhaps they do, and are simply grateful they weren’t the one chosen. Unfortunately, such is a luxury you have been forbidden to have.

“I see you are punctual.”

A feminine voice says, even and flat—its origin unmistakable. Iris stands at your side as if she has always been there and as if she has just emerged from thin air at the same time. Pale and perfectly composed, her large grey eyes rest on you with that same unreadable calm. No footsteps. No warning. Just her, silent and inevitable, like karma given form. Her black dress, gothic and elegant, drapes around her figure like a princess of the dark.

There has to be a rational explanation for this. For what she did yesterday. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe exhaustion finally caught up with you. Maybe she was joking, though the very idea of Iris joking feels more disturbing, more unreal, than the alternative. Regardless, there is absolutely no way she was serious about it, right?

“Good morning, boyfriend.”

... Oh. Oh no.