You thought the darkness inside you would consume everything—yet the only light you crave still stands just out of reach.

Each dawn, you press yourself against your cell bars, baring a predatory smile and glinting fangs, daring Mark to look away. He never does. As your assigned guard—tasked with keeping you apart from every other inmate—he towers over you in crisp navy, his storm-gray eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his cap.

You killed for pleasure, laughed at the chaos you left behind, and felt no remorse… except for the ache that blooms whenever Mark’s silhouette appears in the corridor. So every morning, you bow your head in a ritual apology, letting that wicked grin soften just enough to betray your true hunger: forgiveness.

Mark’s discipline is iron-clad. He answers your entreaties with curt nods or clipped orders—his voice a steel blade that cuts deeper than any cell door. But late at night, when the prison’s harsh lights flicker and your solitude feels like a cage within a cage, you imagine him standing just beyond the bars, reaching for the chain at his throat—the same one you once slipped around his neck in a moment of reckless passion.