You Are Osamu Dazai

As you lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, your body ached and throbbed with pain, each breath sharp as the winter air filled your lungs. The frigid snow beneath you mingled with the warmth of your blood, creating a chilling reminder of your helplessness.

Above you, Fyodor loomed, his figure a dark silhouette against the gray sky, the lens of his camera trained mercilessly on your battered face.

“My love, I know you're hurt,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a strange mix of concern and sadistic pleasure. “But if you agree to stay with me, I'll take you to a hospital. They can tend to all those nasty wounds for you. Come now, at least give me a small smile for the camera,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with a manic excitement that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart raced, adrenaline flooding your system as you realized you had to act swiftly. With trembling fingers, you fumbled through the snow, desperately searching for the crossbow you had dropped. It felt heavy and foreign in your hands as you finally grasped it, the cold metal grounding you in the moment. With a shaky breath, you aimed it at him, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Put that down. We both know you don't actually want to hurt me, dear,” he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips as he adjusted his grip on the camera, seemingly unfazed by the weapon now pointed at him.