"I   dare   you   to   try."

"Do   you   always   get   close?"

"You’re   pushing   my   limits."

"Stop   looking   at   me   like   that."

"I’m   losing   control   here."

"You   have   no   idea,   do   you?"

"I   can’t   resist   you   anymore."

"Stay   back,   or   don’t."

"I   know   what   you   want."

"This   is   getting   dangerous   now."

"You’re   too   tempting   for   me."

"I   shouldn’t   want   this,   but…"

"I   don’t   play   fair,   remember?"

"Careful,   you’re   testing   me."

"You’re   just   making   it   worse."

"You’re   too   close   for   comfort."

"Do   you   always   push   buttons?"

"Stop   before   I   kiss   you."

"You’re   making   it   too   hard."

"I   can’t   stop   thinking   about   you."

"I   want   you   too   much."

"You   know   exactly   what   you’re   doing."

"I’m   not   playing   games   here."

"You’ve   crossed   the   line   now."

"Keep   pushing,   and   you’ll   regret   it."

"This   is   dangerous,   isn’t   it?"

"I’m   trying   not   to   care."

"Don’t   make   me   regret   this."

"You’re   playing   with   fire."

"You   don’t   know   what’s   coming."

"I   shouldn’t   be   this   close."

"We’re   getting   dangerously   close   now."

"I   can   feel   the   heat."

"Don’t   test   me   right   now."

"I   want   you   too   badly."

"Don’t   make   me   chase   you."

"You’re   distracting   me,   you   know."

"I   won’t   fall   for   this."

"I   want   you,   but…"

"What   do   you   want   from   me?"

"I’ll   never   give   in."

"I’m   trying   not   to   care."

"You’re   playing   with   my   patience."

"Don’t   make   this   harder,   please."

"I   can’t   stop   this   feeling."

"I’m   already   in   too   deep."

"You   won’t   walk   away   unscathed."

"You’re   walking   a   fine   line."

"I’m   trying   to   stay   calm."

" isn't shoving your head into other's memories cheating? "

                          " isn't it a detective's job to gauge the memories of the guilty? "

                          " isn't it a detective's job to bring those memories to light? "

                          " don't call it unfair. "

                " I'm simply altering the rules of the playing field. "

independent. selective. mutuals only. Original Character from "The Quaint Detectives Series"

                                                          Disclaimer:

" isn't shoving your head into other's memories cheating? "

                          " isn't it a detective's job to gauge the memories of the guilty? "

                          " isn't it a detective's job to bring those memories to light? "

                          " don't call it unfair. "

                " I'm simply altering the rules of the playing field. "

independent. selective. mutuals only. Original Character from "The Quaint Detectives Series"

                                                          Disclaimer:

Her lips pressed against each other into a thin line as she ' thought about her answer ' . Every detective that has seen this boy so far was raveled into the mysteries behind ' his reflections of malice ' . Serial killers, the lot of them, always ' have a complicated purpose ' . For when can a ' man become a monster ' ? And when could a ' monster become a man again ' ?

" From where I arrived from, a monster is simply something that pushes past their defects to feel a sense of belonging. Even if it means killing the ones responsible for their suffering. " she holds up the muzzle, not as a threat, but an object of understanding, " When you wrapped your hands around my neck back there, I felt something more than a monster, something that doesn't mind who they are as long as they can do whatever they like to feel happy. That's no monster to me. " That's human. And humans do whatever the hell they want to feel satisfied, even if it costs their reputation. "

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋, these are terminologies used to describe the nexus hiding inside a human heart. as a young boy, min-jun was conditioned to believe the very same as miss. harris, day by day tending to the fields of poppies, practicing smiles before a mirror, granting polite bows before & after each meal, & even after being scolded. he was never late to anything, never complained. a child so thoughtful & altruistic that ' 마을복이 ' ( a village blessing ) is was what the elders called him, never to notice how each act of supposed kindness was anything but humble or sweet. it was intentional.

min-jun spent countless hours just watching the world & those who live in it, much like a scientist looking through the lens of a magnifying glass. dissecting. learning. adapting. not a single stone left unturned until he understood something a little better, such as how colours can influence someone's mood or how a smile can go a long way, only to toss aside everything else which may have been considered inefficient. some can say that he was a manipulative child, insincere, perhaps, yet min-jun never asked for anything in return...

wishing merely to belong somewhere, to feel, anything.

the first strike he had received 'pon the cheek made the dream-pipe shatter, & every single one after that barely even registered. min-jun may have been born a human, but a human without a heart in the eyes of the world isn't anything short of an aberration, a monster, & with yumi's* death he came to finally understand just why. unlike any other child, min-jun didn't cry when she did. he didn't look away when he should have. instead, he watched her slowly bleed to death while laying on top of the shattered glass, gasping, gargling with dark trails pouring from the corner of her still moving lips. he watched it all without blinking, the blood-stained knife gripped all too tightly in his tiny hand & still not even an inkling of emotion to be seen. he always was... ' a monster. ' that's what the villagers called him & what he accepted, subsequently allowing the evil to fester inside without knowing. the very same which devoured his light before first breath was ever drawn, so very, terribly, starved in its vast expanse of the ever-growing nihil.

miss. harris states that she ' felt something more than a monster, something that doesn't mind who they are as long as they can do whatever they like to feel happy, ' but what is happiness exactly to someone who sees butterflies instead of people? who once smiled & danced in a open restraint jacket among the blazing fires & burning bodies of his supposed friends, all the while feeling nothing but cold? who calls himself after a sin? the young serial killer's broad shoulders ease a little as he continues to stare at miss. harris, only for the dark lashes to finally give a slow, shallow blink, the pitch black eyes becoming half-lidded underneath the messy fringe. something has changed in the way he looks at her now, no longer attempting to tear past her beautiful caramel flesh to take a peek inside, no. that senseless intent is no longer applicable nor needed, becoming replaced by something else entirely.

he slowly raises up 'pon his knees & drags himself closer until the metal chain linked to the heavy cuffs can no longer stretch, forcing the young serial killer to halt & lean. ❝ miss. harris... ❞ murmuring through the fanged smile, he shifts even closer, making the metal chain rattle from strain. ❝ i.... don't know what is this satisfaction you speak of, but the fact you just called me human, i suppose, it's... the closest thing to a genuine feeling... in my mind.... ❞ the bruised wrists tense against their restraints as his pale face looms inches away from her stomach & the muzzle she upholds, looking almost reverent in most twisted of ways. ❝ miss. harris.... ❞ he repeats, the half-lidded eyes focused on her & her alone, ❝ i will show you where she is.... & even answer your questions... only if you agree to come with me... alone... ❞

To think words coming from the heart would lower the defenses of someone who only wanted her for ' whatever lies beneath her very surface ' . She could only stare down at him, refusing to move an inch ' as she felt no harm intent that would turn physical ' . She knew he could break from the ' chains at the most unexpected moment ' . But the words that left his mouth ' spoke of two alternative futures ' .

One where her life is replaced by the very woman in danger, chained up against whatever wall she had been ' screaming through for hours upon days, unable to return home ' .

                                                                  Or.

One where she falls victim to whatever sick demise this boy has encouraged previous detectives in the past, ' through loss of sanity and loss of life's treasures, unable to return home ' .

So many promises to return to her assistant and father figure ' after the case is done, shattered within seconds ' . It pains her, ' perhaps Chief Hendrickson was right all along ' ...

' You think you can hold some sort of promise system in the event of a killer on the loose? Crimes ruin lives, Ms. Harris. They change lives too, and you of all people should know that. '

Half of her face darkened as she stares down at him, juggling the ' possibilities in her head for a matter of seconds ' . Those white iota star threatening to ' burn that brown beauty of the sclera away ' . 

In some attempt to intimidate him herself (which has a low chance of avail), she kneels downwards, holding the boy's lower half of face with the dip between her thumb and index finger, forcing him to ' stare into the stars within both of her eyes ' .

" That won't be the only thing you'll be showing me, dear. " her voice remained soft, her expression too, " I want a tour of the entire vicinity you took her to. Escape routes, the room filied with your finest 'tools'. Everything. Because I know deep down, you'll just replace her with me. "

“ …He must be very important to you. “ her eyes ' flicked up from the notebook ' , “ Children attend churches, or rather public rituals for religious purposes just because their parents take them. I see the same may have happened with you. “ the book was closed shut, the slamming of multiple crumpled, stained papers against each other ' echoing around the small room around them ' , “ Which means you’re lying to me. “

In a quick motion, she strips the killer’s mouth of the muzzle, a singular strap of its remaining string whipping mere inches from his mouth, leaving ' no harm outside of a warning ' ,

“ You want something from me. From us. I can tell by the look in your eyes. Optical Illusions are my speciality, and it seems to me you want more than killing another man for your so called “aesthetic”. If you wanted that man so badly, you would have gone after him instead of lurking around Mississippi to indulge in your so-called desires. “

Her eyes flickered against the dim light, her brows furrowing so close, a pair of the ' brown hairs could hold hands if applicable ' .

𝐎𝐇, 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. they've only known each other for a day, & she's already catching on. it's impressive, if not a little confounding. envy has met many detectives & psychiatrists throughout his life, but none of them ever managed to connect the dots like ms. harris did, using no more than a single drawing. ❝ hnn... ~ ❞ slowly running the wicked tongue across own liberated fangs, envy stares at her with newfound respect; she's good. very good, in fact, even if only grasping at the straws.

envy decides to finally indulge her.

❝ you are right, i do want something from you... ms. harris. ❞ answering in a low, husky tone, the little killer of mississippi regards her with his dark eyes, their vile pools of black never softening nor growing any less dreadful despite the heavy chains; ❝ but before i speak my thoughts... allow me to ask... what is a monster, to you? define the word for me... if you may... ❞

staring at her with disturbing intensity, the young serial killer waits like a haunted painting. he doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't even attempt to correct a certain flaw in her narrative or act upset for being caged, only for something to crawl in depths of those bottomless voids. something evil, yet knowing, now creeping closer & closer to the surface, using her words as guidance. ❝ seeing how you regard all criminals as inhumane... do you think.... i am a monster? ❞

the light bulb above suddenly flickers & with it so does the entire stone chamber, blinking sharp between darkness & light as he continues on, slowly, nonchalantly, a wicked smile spreading across his lips for a split second, ❝ go on, detective... your time... is ticking. ❞

Her lips pressed against each other into a thin line as she ' thought about her answer ' . Every detective that has seen this boy so far was raveled into the mysteries behind ' his reflections of malice ' . Serial killers, the lot of them, always ' have a complicated purpose ' . For when can a ' man become a monster ' ? And when could a ' monster become a man again ' ?

" From where I arrived from, a monster is simply something that pushes past their defects to feel a sense of belonging. Even if it means killing the ones responsible for their suffering. " she holds up the muzzle, not as a threat, but an object of understanding, " When you wrapped your hands around my neck back there, I felt something more than a monster, something that doesn't mind who they are as long as they can do whatever they like to feel happy. That's no monster to me. " That's human. And humans do whatever the hell they want to feel satisfied, even if it costs their reputation. "

Send a sentence in my inbox for my muses reaction to yours saying that to them.

“ I don’t see it that way. ”

“ I’m not like that. ”

“ I say the right things, but act the wrong way. ”

“ I like it right here, but I can’t stay. ”

“ The joke’s on you - this place is a zoo. ”

“ You’re right, it’s true. ”

“ Everything’s just great. ”

“ I just can’t remember. ”

“ Can’t you see I’m nervous? ”

“ Pretend to be nice. ”

“ I try, but you see… It’s hard to explain. ”

“ Oh, maybe someday you’ll know. ”

“ Thanks my friend, thought that we was dead. ”

“ Well I don’t care, ‘cause it’s free. ”

“ I hope it’s you who set this trap. ”

“ But, to me, it’s all the same. ”

“ I lost my page. Again. ”

“ I know this is surreal… ”

“ Believe me, this is a chance. ”

“ Leave me alone. ”

“ I’m in control. ”

“ Just take it or leave it. ”

“ Enough is enough. ”

“ He/she’s gonna let you down. ”

“ I can’t go back. ”

“ I want to be forgotten. ”

“ I don’t want to be reminded. ”

“ Please don’t make this harder. ”

“ Oh dear, is it really all true? ”

“ Life ain’t chess. ”

“ You don’t miss me, I know. ”

“ He/she seemed impressed by the way you came in. ”

“ Tell us a story; I know you’re not boring. ”

“ You’re not trying hard enough. ”

“  You sound so sleepy. ”

“ You sound so angry. ”

“ Just calm down, you found me. ”

“ I’m not your friend, I never was. ”

“ Yeah, I know you warned me… But this is too important. ”

“ Why can’t you wait? ”

“   ”“   ”“   “ Fuck goin’ to that party. ”

“ Alright, let’s go, you convinced me. ”

“ I won’t try to control you. ”

“ Friday nights have been lonely. ”

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 is enough to make the young serial killer raise his head, the tar-black tresses looming over his wicked gaze like a dark veil. among the ever-twisting thoughts & memories, it's impossible for him not to recognize that particular drawing & its crude yet precise lines, the face of his target forever immortalized onto the yellowed pages. mi-reu-sshi, as she'd called him; a retired taoist & an old family friend, now destined to die by none other than their youngest offspring.

        envy feels no pity for him nor those who shall mourn.

mrs. saebom has promised him a heart by the end of this long journey, & he shall claw his way through it if he has to. after all, what are five old men worth to a lifetime worth of fulfillment? that's right. nothing. he will be whole again, he will taste the essence of life, even if he has to deal with this pesky butterfly first. ❝ . . . . . ❝ slowly shifting his dead eyes over, envy carves them deeply into her own, starry seas, & just for a split second something vile crosses his pale face. something that makes it look colder, harsher, sharper, as if a mask on a verge of cracking ── but surprisingly enough, it doesn't. the young serial killer merely stares at ms. harris like a beast locked within a cage, his long fangs scraping against the cold metal bar lodged between them.

hungry. always hungry. he silently swears that he will get her soon, but for now, envy merely nods his head, deciding to play along just as grandmother sweetly suggests, the whole confinement room now reverberating with the sound of her voice ── the hundreds of low, deep, man-like whispers, constantly stretching & lapping their incoherent words like melting audio tapes ── once more coaxing him back to patience. ❝ . . . . . . ❝ they both know that she will have no choice but to remove the muzzle soon enough.

“ …He must be very important to you. “ her eyes ' flicked up from the notebook ' , “ Children attend churches, or rather public rituals for religious purposes just because their parents take them. I see the same may have happened with you. “ the book was closed shut, the slamming of multiple crumpled, stained papers against each other ' echoing around the small room around them ' , “ Which means you’re lying to me. “

In a quick motion, she strips the killer’s mouth of the muzzle, a singular strap of its remaining string whipping mere inches from his mouth, leaving ' no harm outside of a warning ' ,

“ You want something from me. From us. I can tell by the look in your eyes. Optical Illusions are my speciality, and it seems to me you want more than killing another man for your so called “aesthetic”. If you wanted that man so badly, you would have gone after him instead of lurking around Mississippi to indulge in your so-called desires. “

Her eyes flickered against the dim light, her brows furrowing so close, a pair of the ' brown hairs could hold hands if applicable ' .