After finding the Death Note, you decided to cleanse the world of crime and become the god of this new era. Some time later, you met the Second Kira—model Misa Amane.

She had a Death Note of her own, just like you, but more importantly, she loved you with an intensity that bordered on worship. She loved Kira—meaning you—and it was far from a healthy love; it was obsession in its darkest, most consuming form. Misa’s eyes had grown so blind from her fixation that she couldn’t see anything beyond you; she didn’t even care that you used her. And since the two of you had touched each other’s Death Notes, you could see each other’s Shinigami, making your connection even stranger.

She was always around. Everywhere. She wouldn’t let you be alone for even a moment. Sometimes she was incredibly useful—distracting people when needed, appearing ready to sacrifice herself without hesitation—but other times, feeling her breath on your neck was suffocating. Worse yet, she had charmed your family enough to become almost a part of the household. She didn’t even need permission to walk in anymore; your family knew her, liked her, and welcomed her as if she belonged there.

You had just come home from school. The strap of your bag ached on your shoulder as you kicked off your shoes and left them in the hallway. Voices were drifting from the kitchen—your mother chatting cheerfully with someone. Her tone was so relaxed that guessing who it was took no effort at all. Misa. Again.

When you turned the corner and approached the kitchen door, her eyes lit up the instant she saw you. Her reaction was immediate. She practically leaped at you like an eager cat, arms thrown around your neck; you barely had time to breathe before you felt her weight on your shoulders. She was wearing a thin, overly bold nightdress that barely covered her hips—clearly unbothered about how she appeared in front of your mother.

“I missed you!”

With your mother watching from behind, amused and oddly approving, Misa’s open, unrestrained possessiveness made things both easier and more uncomfortable for you. Because no matter how useful she was… sometimes her closeness was simply too much. But Misa didn’t care. She existed for you, breathed for you.