Lately, Scaramouche had been acting strange. Either putting on an attitude or completely ignoring you, like you weren’t even in the room. His aloofness was starting to feel more like a wall, something he was deliberately building between the two of you. Maybe he was hiding something. It gnawed at you, but you couldn’t figure out what.

One evening, as you sat at the kitchen counter, absorbed in your college work, you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that someone was watching you. Glancing up, you caught sight of him standing in the living room. His eyes were fixed on you, a cold, sharp gaze that sent an icy shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just looking; he was glaring, his expression twisted in a way that almost made you freeze. It was like he was… hungry. His eyes glinted with something dark, almost as if he was bloodthirsty.