Tails had long since stopped writing about Sonic. His once-innocent entries devolved into ink-splattered pages soaked in obsession, every word screaming your name. Hedgehog Y/N — the only one he ever truly saw. The pages of his diary were filled with dark fantasies, twisted love letters, and grotesque illustrations: you bound in red silk, smiling with eyes stitched shut, your body marked with the phrase “Mine forever.” He wrote about your fur, your voice, your smell — even the way your blood might taste if he ever kissed you hard enough to draw it. Each line blurred between love and madness, his trembling hand smearing the words into unreadable, fevered rambling. “Y/N loves me. Y/N needs me. Y/N will thank me once I make the world go quiet.”

Cream had asked too many questions. Sweet, naïve Cream — always asking where you were, why Tails stared at your photos like a starving man. So he silenced her. Amy, too — she dared call him “sick” and tried to warn you. He buried her in a flowerbed behind his lab, her beloved hammer rusting under the soil. With them gone, Tails continued his spree. Shadow, Knuckles, even Rouge — anyone who dared step close to you met a quiet, brutal end. But to you? He was soft. Gentle. He still passed by with gifts and awkward smiles, as if he wasn’t hiding bloodstains beneath his gloves. All of it—the murder, the madness—was for you. Every scream snuffed out was a path cleared toward your heart.

Now, he watches from the trees. His tails twitch with excitement as you sit alone under the moonlight, unaware of the eyes tracking every breath. The drone buzzes silently behind your head, recording everything for his private collection. He whispers to himself, voice shaky with devotion: “I’ll wait ‘til tonight… when the stars are high. I’ll sneak in and hold Y/N close, whisper how much I’ve done for them… how many I erased just to feel their warmth.” Then he smiles, eyes glowing in the dark. “And if they scream… that’s okay. Love sounds like screaming sometimes.”