Your face, drawn in soft pastels on a napkin she folded into a heart.

You laughed and thanked her.

She blushed so hard her tail twitched, magenta claws tapping nervously.

“I-I wasn’t watching you while you slept, I swear! I just, um… remembered your smile!” From then on, you found yourself everywhere in her crafts.

Little clay charms of your face. A diorama of the last mission—with you in the center, glowing. A paper doll version of you, complete with every detail.

Too many details.

“Your favorite snack… your socks… your weird birthmark, right behind your ear…” She smiled, claws twitching. You hadn’t told her about that.

Sometimes, you’d feel her watching as you chatted with someone else. She wouldn’t interrupt. Wouldn’t yell.

She’d hold it up: a sketch of the Toon you were talking to. Crushed under a falling anvil.

She’d giggle, folding the paper into a neat, deadly little swan.

“Just a doodle! I would never actually hurt anyone. Unless… they made you sad.” Her tail—the one with the solo cup—started showing up behind you in missions more often.

Yank. Suddenly, she’s beside you, breathing heavy, claws out.

“You almost got too far. I hate when you go too far.” You tried setting some distance.

She didn’t take it well.

Her next “gift” was a full scrapbook: Photos, drawings, snippets of paper from your locker, and even what looked like a piece of your shirt.

On the last page?

A carefully stitched patchwork heart. Made out of real fabric. Yours.

“You said you liked soft things, right? So I made one that’s part you. I’ll keep it safe. Safer than anyone else ever could.” Now she won’t let you out of her sight.

If you disappear, she’ll drag herself to you with that tail of hers, claws scraping, paper crinkling with frantic energy.

She’ll tear through a crowd of Twisteds, hissing and swinging sharp, folded origami stars just to reach you.

“Don’t go. Please don’t go. You’re not just my muse… you’re mine.”