#yandere reader insert

 You shuddered at just the mere thought. You didn’t want to go back there. And since you were already here, you saw no reason to leave. So you decided then and there that you would take this life for yourself and live it to the fullest. And if you were ever discovered, you would simply steal this body and disappear into the night. 

Thankfully, your alleged “accident” made it easy to blend in. Sure, you had no memories, and your mannerisms and speech were occasionally odd and off-putting, but that was to be expected after a near-death experience. No one questioned it, although you would occasionally get skittish looking eyes from the maids. 

So you spent most of the day pretending to be the rightful lady of the house. Deeming you too fragile, no one pestered you with any real duties, meaning you were free to do as you please. And you did. You spent most of your days trying as many new things as possible. You took walks in the gardens. You smelled flowers for the first time. You ran up grassy hills bare-footed, much to your maid's chagrin. 

As fun as all these new experiences were, nothing could compare to food. How you loved food. All the different flavors and textures, the way no dish was quite the same as the last. You ate and ate and yet you were never full.The servants were as equally horrified as they were mystified. Just how exactly did one person eat so much? 

 Here, it was easy to forget the endless void. Here, you could forget the hunger.  It far from paradise, but it was better than anything else you've experienced.  Not that you've really seen or done much.

And then, the Lord of the Manor returned.

“Your husband is due back today. Apparently, he caught the next ship back when he got word of your condition,” The head maid said, gently dusting a priceless vase.

You set down your teacup, eyes wide.

Your what?

“I have a husband?” You said, mouth agape. You hoped the color hadn't drained on your face.

The maid shot you a judgmental look over her shoulder. Then she drew a deep sigh. Before she spoke, she was careful to line her words with faux patience . “Of course, dearie. Who do you think pays for your pretty skirts?”

In theory, you knew what a husband was. And you knew the arrival of this…. husband meant your days of idle freedom might be over. 

---

The Lord of the Manor arrived later that afternoon. 

As he stepped down from his carriage, all the servants of the house lined outside to greet him, bowing deeply. You were at the end of this, fiddling with the scratchy string of lace around your neck. The maids had been sure to dress you a little nicer than usual for the occasion.

Your alleged husband strolled with a slight swagger in his step down the aisle, heading straight to you.

 He looked you up and down, seemingly assessing every inch of you. He could see straight through you, you were sure of it. He knew you weren't his wife and he was going to expose you for the fraud you were. Surely, he wouldn't let such a crime off lightly. He would have you hunted down like the monster you secretly were.

You tried your best to control your breathing, instincts on edge. If he truly saw through you, you would rip him and everyone here to shreds. 

As soon as you started mentally planning out the bloody death of everyone present, he finally opened his lips to speak.

“I'm glad to see you're in good health.”

He then strutted past you without a second thought.

You let yourself exhale the tiniest bit, relieved you could keep up this charade another day. 

---

Married life turned out to be easier than expected.

You slept in separate beds and more or less stayed out of each other's way. He mostly left you alone. The only exception was during dinner time. He was insistent that the two of you eat dinner together in the dining room. 

Initially, you had tried to skip such a ridiculous ritual, but apparently your husband was horrible at taking ‘no’ for an answer. He sent the butler to pester you endlessly until you relented. And that's how you ended up seated across from him under candle light. 

Dinner was mostly a silent affair, the only sound being metal cutlery scraping against ceramic plates. Your food remained untouched, as you stared at the daunting silverware. Whatever does a person do with these things? Who on earth needs four forks? One seemed more than plenty. 

You were honestly afraid to choose the incorrect one and so you just gave up on the idea of eating altogether.

“Is the food not to your liking?” Your so-called husband asked.

To hell with it. You picked up one of the forks closer to you. You hoped it was the right one. You prayed he didn't see the slight tremble in your hand. 

Thankfully, if he saw anything amiss, he didn't comment on it. The Lord of the Manor went back to silently eating his meal.

You took that as a sign to do the same. 

“The maids tell me your recovery was unexpectedly swift.” He commented casually, as if reading the day's paper. 

The soft scrape of metal against ceramic caught your hypersensitive ears. Your eyes narrowed on the steak he was meticulously cutting on his plate. The sight and sound of raw meat being mercilessly torn through. Something about it started to stir the deep, unsettling hunger that lurked within you. 

“Although, given what I heard, it's no small miracle you're still with us. Small blessings, I suppose.”

Another cut. Another stab. His steak practically oozed red as he feasted. 

“That is, to say, I'm very glad you're alive and well. The doctors had entirely given up hope of your recovery.” His eyes never left yours for a moment. Gauging your every action and reaction, measuring every breath you took. “Yet, here you are.”

The smell of iron was starting to sicken you. Your hand shot to cover your mouth. To hide your salivating mouth and the canines threatening to show themselves. 

You unceremoniously dropped your silverware. The food in front of you no longer had any appeal. Your appetite was elsewhere. 

The chair creaked loudly as you stood. You didn’t bother excusing yourself as you left. 

---

The next day, the Manor was a bustle. Apparently, that morning all the chickens in the estates’ coop had been found dead. Based on the grotesque nature of the slaughter, all the servants speculated some foull beast had torn them apart. 

You had to hide your smile as you overheard your maids gossiping about the whole affair. No one would ever find the bloodied dress you'd buried. And no one would ever notice if one of your many, many decadent dresses went mysteriously missing. 

The head maid seemed particularly ticked about the whole situation. She couldn't herself from airing out her grievances, even as she dressed you for the day. 

“Those pesky, bloody wolves.” The head maid ticked as she pinned your hair into place. “Our Lord ought to just go out and shoot ‘em all.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Is he some kind of… hunter?” You asked, tentatively.

“Yes ma'am.” She replied without a beat. She'd gotten used to your apparent lapse in memory. “Why, he's the best of the best. There's not a stuffed animal in the house that he didn't shoot himself.”

A hunter was a problem.  He could see the teeth marks on the chickens’ corpses and know that it was no ordinary beast that killed them. He could find your tracks and sniff you out. Perhaps this husband of yours wouldn't be as easy to deal with as you initially thought. 

You'd have to be more careful in future. 

---

Unexpectedly, late that morning, your husband called you to his private study.

As you stepped into his space, you took note of the dozens upon dozens of taxidermied heads that lined the walls. You tried your hardest not to think what your own head would like mounted beside them. 

“Dearest?” Your husband called from his desk. His back was turned to you, but he had presumably heard your footsteps. “Come here for a moment.”

You tentatively stepped toward where he sat. 

He set down whatever papers he was reading, along with the reading spectacles that had been sitting at the bridge of his nose. 

“I'm sure you've heard about the chickens.”

You swallowed thickly. Has he already figured you out? 

Still, the hands hidden behind your back started to instinctively grow claws. If he meant to out you, it would be the last thing he'd ever do. 

And then, suddenly, he drew you into his arms. You couldn't hide the shock on your face. Your husband, a man who seemed nothing short of cold and distant, was hugging you. 

You, who had never been hugged before. More than just a few wires crossed  in your brain.

 “I swear, whatever killed those poor creatures will not land a hand on you.” His hold tightened around you, but it wasn't threatening. It was almost… comforting. “I failed to protect you once. On my honor, it won't happen again.”

Defenseless against such displays of affections, your claws retracted. 

You almost laughed at yourself for your foolishness. The Lord of this estate, for all his wealth and power and esteem, was only a man. And not a single mortal yet had seen you for what you truly were, so how could he?

To him, you were and would always be his darling little wife in need of protection.

A devious grin broke across your face. Your secret was safer than you thought possible.

---

Fear coated the atmosphere of the Manor. It seemed all the servants were on edge. 

Over the past few weeks, more and more animal corpses have appeared strewn across the estate. 

Some of them were small woodland creatures, some of them a domesticated horse or cattle. Once there was even a wolf. Sometimes they would be found in the woods, others left plain in the open for some unlucky soul to find.

There was little connecting all these incidents, except for the grotesque state their remains were left in. Whatever or whoever had done this was obviously no stranger to blood and guts. The carnage was visceral, and odor stomach-churning. 

The maids have started gossiping about the possibility of werewolves in their midst. Or some other supernatural force tormenting the poor animals. You didn't pay much attention to the idle chatter of your attendants, too focused on other matters.

Like, for one: your hunger. While your appetites have certainly grown, none of it satiated you. No longer how big the kill, you never felt full. And that emptiness from never being truly fulfilled was starting to eat away at you. You could feel it. Your rabid nature was starting to claw away at your facade. 

Day by day, it was becoming more difficult to maintain appearances. A maid had cut herself on accident in front of you and you had bared your teeth at her. Slowly but steadily, you were slipping. 

Then, the sickness came. Human food had long lost its appeal. Now anything the servants brought you tasted like ashes.

You didn't hunt animals anymore, I'm finding it an exercise in futility. However little eating animal carcasses helped before, it did nothing now. 

There were bad days and there were worse days. On worse days, you were weak with hunger, stumbling about in a mindless daze. Today was one such day. And today, your husband had once again called you to his study.

Your feet dragged as you lifelessly shuffled to him.

He immediately took you into his embrace, the worry apparent on his face. “Whatever is the matter?” He asked, running his hand gently through the tresses of your hair. “You don't seem to be well.”

He pressed his hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.

You were too tired, too weak to do anything but lean against him.

He took your face in his palms, seemingly fretting over you. “My dearest,” He said, stroking your cheek with his thumb in a show of affection. “Do you remember when I first called you that?”

As always, his eyes never left yours. The soft, low-light of the nearby fireplace illuminated his eyes with such tenderness. 

“Do you, dearest? It was when we were first courting. The two of us were strolling in your father's gardens, with a chaperone of course, when a bird perched on your shoulder.” He smiled fondly, as if recalling a beloved, old memory. “You yelped and jumped, and the poor startled thing flew right off you. You always were such a skittish little thing.”

You didn't respond. Couldn't, really. You had no memory of this. This wasn't really your body.

“Do you remember, my love?” He said expectantly, still stroking your cheek like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. 

Thoughtlessly,  you nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

One moment he was holding you lovingly, the next his hands were on your throat. The two of you fell to the ground as he constricted his grip around your neck.

“How funny.” The Lord of the Manor spoke. “Although…Last I recall, your father died before we ever met”

Such an obvious trap and you feel for it anyway. You tried to choke out some excuse, but you couldn't so much as croak a single coherent syllable. Your fingers clawed at his hands, your nails growing inhumanely long. 

“You know, I've been watching you for long time,” he casually confessed. He grinned wickedly, a complete departure from the vaguely adoring look you've come to know.

“You aren't my wife. I’ve suspected the truth for a long time.” He confessed. His hands were growing tighter around your throat. You struggled to breathe, your sharp claws drawing streaks of blood on his skin in your desperation.  “You think you're quite smart, don't you? Trying to fool everyone, to fool me.”

“My wife never once met my gaze. Not once. Not even when we said our wedding vows.” He broke out into a mad, almost distorted chuckle. “I think, deep down, she was terrified of me. Perhaps she thought I'd be the death of her. She was right, of course, but still…”

The fangs you had tried so painstakingly to hide started to peak through. You couldn't help yourself, it was instinct.

“Ah,” he inhaled quietly. “There you are.”

“I was wondering when you would show your true colors.”  He only squeezed tighter the more you struggled. And for all your power, in your weakened state, your bones felt so hollow you feared they might break in his hold. “I'm not sure what you are, but I do know one thing. I know you're quite fond of tearing apart defenseless animals.”

The shock must have been written on your face, because he laughed in cruel amusement. 

“You think I don't know what goes on in my own home?” 

It was pointless. No matter how much you scratched or gnawed your teeth, he wouldn't budget. You were starting to feel lightheaded, and dark spots were clouding your vision. This was it. This was how you were going to die. Your arrogance was literally going to be the death of you.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic. It’d be too much trouble to try and kill you a second time.” He said, as if reading your thoughts perfectly. His eyes roamed the curves of your face, searching for something that wasn’t there. “Though, I suppose, you're not really her.” 

All at once, he let go of you, leaving you to heave as you forced air to flood back into your lungs. Your blood raged. How could this body be married to its murderer?

“At first, I only kept you around for that face of yours.”  

“Your job was simple. Play your part. Pretend to be my wife and don't raise suspicion.” He turned to face the fireplace. “And you couldn’t even do that.”

As you finished collecting yourself, a realization struck you. His back was turned to you.

This was it. This was your best and perhaps chance to end this. To kill him before he killed you.

Instinct took over, your claws unsheathing themselves. Your eyes narrowed into slits, trained  on the small of his back. One clean strike, and the danger would be over. The threat would be eliminated. 

Your back arched, ready to pounce. Just as you were about to lunge, you heard a faint click.

In a flash of silver, a pistol was aimed square at your forehead.

You could see it now. Those animals hanging on his walls weren't just for show. Underneath his prim and proper guise was the mark of a cold-blooded killer.

You stared down the barrel of his gun, unblinking.

“You killed your  own wife in cold blood,” you stated apathetically. “Why not pull the trigger?”

For a moment, under the dim light of the fireplace, you saw yourself in him. You could see yourself in the deranged glint in his eyes. You were truly foolish to ever believe you were the only monster in this house. 

“I am not an unreasonable man.” You could tell even now, by the glimmer of his eye, he was weighing the cost of this interaction. “Any further accidents would only raise suspicion."

Out of all the ways you thought he might reply, that certainly wasn't one of them.

“You get to keep playing your role as Lady of the Estate and I satiate your…appetites.”

He was offering a deal that was too good to be true. You might have fallen for it, if it weren't for the gun aimed at your head.

“What's the catch?” 

“The catch  is you do so under my terms. You do as I say.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits again. You hardly liked being told what to do. “And if I say no?”

“That's obvious. I shoot you where you stand.”

He wasn't lying. His heartbeat gave away as much. He would shoot without hesitation if you so much as tried to hurt a hair on his head. And while you weren't sure if a bullet to the head could kill you, you weren't particularly keen to find out. 

“And how do you know I won't turn on you when you least expect it?” You asked carefully.

His obvious amusement sent every hair on your body on edge. “You won't.”

“How can you be so sure?” You looked at him skeptically. 

He lowered his gun steadily before skillfully tucking it away.

“You won't because who else would keep you like I would? Who else would give you the flesh and blood you seem to crave?” He stretched out his hand to you, waiting for you to take it. “Only I can accept you for who-- what you really are. Only I can supply what you so desperately need.” 

You still didn't trust a single word that left his mouth. A man this calculating should never be trusted. 

“And what do you get out of all this?”

He withdrew his hand from you with a disappointed frown. Then the Lord of the Manor took his rightful place on the upholstered chair at his desk. Any onlooker would have compared him to a King sitting on his throne. 

“An obedient and loving wife.” The biting sarcasm wasn't lost on you.

Your silence spoke to just how much you trusted his word.

“Someone who shares my peculiar… taste.” Everything out of his mouth was no better than lies. At least this one was a tad more palatable. 

For now, at least. Who knows why or when a pet bites the hand that feeds them?

Pleased, he took his hand off the handle of his firearms. “I've always heard second wives are far better than first.”

Unexpectedly, he tore his hand agape with the letter opener on his desk. He extended his bleeding palm towards you. The unsaid offer was obvious, but not to be trusted, given who it came from.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. 

“Don't look at me so stupidly.” He chastised.

You were a starving dog, and even you, in all your animal nature, knew it was a bad idea to feed strays. He was either extremely brave or exceedingly stupid. You weren't sure which. One thing for certain, though, you were more than ready to tear him open to find out. 

“Don't even think about it.” He snapped, like he could sense you were thinking about his untimely death.

Ah. You supposed you never were one to hide your desires well. If you were, you wouldn't have ended up here, would you?

You didn’t hesitate, your rationality giving way to your hunger. Your fangs poked through the corners of your mouth, digging into his flesh. 

His blood tasted as vile as you knew him to be. Yet despite its acrid taste, there was an overflowing, pulsing warmth that overcame you. You could taste his heartbeat as you took his lifeblood. 

Your husband grew pale as all that gave him color was steadily drained. Having decided you had enough, he attempted to gently pull you off. You didn’t give way. You only latched on harder, refusing to so easily give up what you had once so badly craved.

“Enough,” he warned.

 Still, you wouldn't release him. 

“Enough.”

He yanked his palm clean out of your grasp, the sheer force spewing crimson onto the otherwise pristine floorboards. 

And you, in all your bloodlust, dropped to your knees to lick it clean.

“You really are a mindless animal, aren't you?” Your husband jeered, taking out a white handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. The white started to drown in red as he wrapped it around his palm. He shook his head in obvious disapproval.

For all feigned disgust, he couldn't peel his eyes away from you. A beast in the cloak of a woman, ravenously feasting on mere morsels. The light of the fireplace gleaming madly in your eyes. How he found art in the way you slaughtered. One day he'd have to  tell you how your lips looked their best smeared in red. 

6:00 AM

As always, you snoozed your first alarm of the day. It was funny how you always needed those “extra five minutes,” even if they never really did much for you anyway. I’ll make sure to factor that into your sleep schedule when I finally bring you home for good tonight.  

6:05 AM

Once again, you pressed the snooze button. That was different. Did I miss something yesterday that caused this change?

6:13 AM

You're finally up.   Brushing your teeth. Fixing up your hair.  I can't believe how adorable you look so early in the morning, but I shouldn't be surprised. Only someone as perfect as you could pull it off. 

6:24 - 6:46 AM

Now you’re rushing back and forth between rooms. First comes the kitchen, where you place two slices of bread into the toaster and pull a jar of jam from the fridge. After leaving it on the counter, you return to the closet, where you reach in to pick an outfit for the tasks of your typical Tuesday. You changed quickly before rushing back to the kitchen at the sound of your breakfast popping up from the toaster. Then you haphazardly smeared jam across both pieces with a plastic butter knife before biting into them with fervor. Poor thing. I’ll make sure you never have to eat junk like that again. There will only be delicious, well-balanced meals once you’re here with me. You won’t be rushed like you are now, either. You clean up as quickly as you can before moving on. There’s still a bit of jam on the edge of your lip when you race into your room one final time. I watch you lap it up with your tongue. God, it almost feels like you’re deliberately teasing me. Like you’re begging for me to come in there right now and ruin all the plans I’ve set for us.  I want to be the one tasting it. Licking it from your lips while pinning you against the wall of your bedroom until things escalate and the rest of our day disappears in a haze. But I can’t do that yet. No. I have to be patient. It’s only a few more hours, anyway. We can make it until then, can’t we, darling?

6:50 - 7:13 AM

You gather all the supplies you need for the day, quickly packing them into your bag before swinging it over your shoulder. Then you slip on the shoes sitting by your bedroom door. You still look incredibly tired as you leave your apartment, locking the door behind you in a rush before hurrying downstairs to begin your day. If only you were more aware of your surroundings... Maybe then you would have noticed the lock sometimes doesn’t properly ‘click’ into place when you’re rushing out in the mornings. That was a mistake you'd made on more than one occasion.  But that careless little habit of yours let me sneak into your home again and again. It's how I installed cameras everywhere and learned all your secrets. That's how I'm watching you now from my car, waiting for you to get into yours so I can trail behind…

7:45 - 10:45 AM

The drive to your destination was uneventful, and I was able to park three spaces away from you as planned. We arrived just in time for our first class of the day. Actually, we had fifteen minutes to spare. I'm sitting behind you in my usual row. From here, I can see what you type on your laptop. Sometimes it’s notes. Other times, you’re multitasking or slacking off. I hate when you do the latter. It usually means you’re talking to someone else, giving them your attention when it should be on me instead… Or at the very least, the instructor. Graduate school isn’t cheap. Why are you wasting your time and money like this? It’s irresponsible and irritating. Luckily, all that will change after today. Now I’m sitting here, watching as you talk to our annoying classmates about the recent slew of assignments. You just mentioned finals week, and it’s true. The end of this grueling semester is right around the corner. Not that it will be affecting you, really… but of course you don't know that yet.  They can’t blame you for failing to complete your exams and projects if you’re “missing.” At least I’ll be sparing you from having to stress over any of it. Aren’t I the most considerate lover? 

11:30 - 2:30 PM

You have a late lunch after our second class. I’m so glad I managed to get into the same program as you. It would’ve been much harder to follow you around without rousing suspicion otherwise. Though, you likely wouldn’t have noticed. You're too preoccupied with your laptop or phone half the time. From what I can see from the table behind yours, you’re focusing on the last assignments due at the end of the week. Headphones on and unaware of anyone else. That’s better. I prefer you like this.  Away from others. God, I can’t wait to have you all to myself. Every single day… for the rest of our lives. 

3:30 - 7:47 PM

It’s convenient that you work on campus on Tuesdays. Late into the evening, too. That means there are fewer people around. Everyone tends to scatter after five, rushing to wherever they need to be. It’s what makes this next part so easy. So absolutely perfect. I’m following you to the parking lot now. You don’t think it’s strange. I’ve done it before. You’ve seen me in your courses and know I’m a classmate. Hell, we’ve even been in a few group projects together before. I wave at you sometimes, too, when we’re both leaving at this hour. See, I had to get you used to this before today. Otherwise, you might have— It’s time. I’ll see you on the other side.

10:29 PM

You’re home. You’re finally home. I can’t believe it. You’re here in my arms. In our bed. Together. I’m sorry for having to be forceful at the end. I miscalculated how much of the drug you needed to stay unconscious. Luckily, I was smart enough to have a backup just in case something went wrong. Didn’t our professors teach us that? To always back up our data and samples. Have extras of everything, take proper precautions.  I can’t wait until you wake up. I’m trying to be patient, but it’s proving more difficult than this morning with the jam. Already, I want to show you everything here. Everything I’ve done to accommodate your needs. Don’t worry. I made sure to follow your style of decor and preferences. Hell, I’ve even taken a few things directly from your apartment so you’ll feel more comfortable in the beginning. I’ll let you change things later as a treat if you behave.  Maybe I should just let you sleep through the night instead...

11:03 PM

Easier said than done.  I’m almost too excited to wait that long (hence the horrible drawings), but it’s better if you rest after the struggle from earlier. It was good that we took your car instead of mine. I even changed the license plate before we left campus as an added measure. Can you believe they still don’t have cameras at our university? All that money from our tuition, and they couldn’t care less about the safety of their students. If it hadn’t worked in our favor, I’d complain to the administration.

1:50 AM

I dozed off with you for a while. That’s how at peace you make me feel. Seriously. Feeling your warmth beside me was perfect. I always knew you were the one, ever since the day we met. I hope the restraints I put on your legs aren't too bothersome or painful. Once we trust each other, I promise you won’t have to wear them anymore. It’s just one of the many precautions I’ve taken to ensure the transition into our future together goes smoothly help you settle into our life together. You won’t have to worry about anything else from here on out. I’ll handle everything for both of us.

2:05 - 4:14 AM

That sketchy ride service back to campus was something else, but I needed to get my car before morning. It was good that I slept with you earlier. I needed the energy for that lonely, long drive back to you. I missed you the whole time. Missed peeking at the rearview mirror and seeing you lying across the backseat underneath the blanket I stole from your place earlier in the semester. I mean, I was still watching you on my phone, of course. I wouldn’t have left you alone otherwise, but it just didn’t compare to having you physically near me. Like right now. You’re pressed against my side again as I write this. Only I don’t think I’ll join you in sleep this time. I have something else in mind, something I hope you’ll appreciate. 

5:05 AM

I’ve left you sleeping to cook you breakfast. A proper, full one that you can actually enjoy since you won’t have to rush out the door like you did yesterday. I want the first thing you smell when you wake up to be something warm. Inviting.  By the time you open your eyes, I’ll have everything waiting for you. If you want, we can even have it in bed. I wouldn’t mind. 

5:50 AM

I can hardly wait anymore, but you should be waking soon. You usually get up around this time, and the drug should be almost completely out of your system by now. Yes. I can see you stirring already.

5:57 AM

FALSE ALARM. FALSE ALARM. FALSE ALARM. Despite that stunt you just pulled, I’m sure you’ll wake soon. Circadian rhythm and habits are hard to work against, after all.  And as I've learned, you’re nothing if not consistent.  How should I approach this when you finally do? What words would make you understand? Let's see…  First, I have to at least convince you to eat breakfast with me. Then we can talk properly once we’ve had our first meal together. Food always calms people down, anyway.  And after, I can show you how much I love you with everything I’ve done so far. Should I start with the pictures I’ve taken in secret? Many of them are on the walls of my room and across the two screens of my desktop. You’ll appreciate that, right? That I have eyes only for you.  I might even show you this journal, too. My daily log of your activities, though I guess it’s become more like a diary lately. Still, it’s the perfect proof of my endless devotion to you ever since we met three years ago. I can't believe it's already been that long. Funny how time flies when you've found the person you love. I hope you'll feel the same way about me soon. Maybe I should get you a journal as well…  But truly, there isn’t a thing I don’t know about you after all this time by your side, watching and waiting for the perfect moment.    Besides me, who else could say that and mean it? Certainly not your friends. Not even your family. Just me. No one else deserves you. Not your time. Not your attention. Nothing. That's why it has to be this way.  It'll only be us from now on, and I swear to take good care of you for the rest of our lives together. Don't worry. I've got it all figured out. After I tell you everything, you’ll understand why there is nobody else in the world for you except me, right? You have to. Because no one, not even you, can keep us apart.

6:05 AM

You were prepared for the responsibilities of a monarch, but what you weren't prepared for was your vassals' obnoxious nagging.

Your kingdom's tradition and laws have long allowed for polygamy, and your previous ancestors were known for their large harems. That day, you finally learned why: to ensure that royal blood would still be carried on, no matter what.

it's distasteful to you. you try to ignore your vassals all talking your ears off about potential consorts and lovers. but it's only so long before you crack.

Riddle Rosehearts was the first one to be by your side.

Not by choice. Duchess Rosehearts was the one who brought up her darling son to your vassals first, who then presented him to you. You would've turned them away, if not for the boy's eyes. Something in those stormy gray eyes makes your heart ache. His mother clutches her son's shoulder in a vice like grip that goes far beyond parental worry. Perhaps he too knows what it feels like to have no control over his life. 

And so reluctantly, you let him join you as a consort. 

It's not bad. Rather, he's so intelligent and diligent that you often ask him for help and advice on the kingdom's affairs, knowing that his strictness with himself and others provides a valuable impartial view that you can hardly find anywhere else. Besides, even if he is too stiff and formal at times, you appreciate his aid in paperwork that threatens to drown you.

in fact, he's so dedicated to carrying out his duty, that you find him nearly unrobed on your bed. Seven above, that nearly gave you heart palpitations. As attractive as he is, you have no intention of forcing the boy to give up his virginity against his will, even if he is married to you. 

you explain this to him as patiently as you can, even when his face scrunches up in hurt and confusion, asking if he wasn't enough–but you shut that down immediately. He is more than enough, and he isn't obligated to do anything he doesn't want to, even if his mother taught him otherwise. the revelation shakes his mind, causing his walls and views to crumble before him in the following days. you would like to think he became less stiff as he realized his true worth.

That is when an unexpected addition to your harem happened.

Actually, it was completely by accident. Your servants had often brought you various snacks and sweets during your work, as you were infamous for being extremely cranky without the motivation of good food. When Riddle, of all people, brings you a strawberry tart while you’re in the middle of some particularly grueling financial budget papers, it gives you pause.

It's not that you didn't trust him. It’s just…this is the boy who refused to eat more than the healthy amount of sugar. Even if you offered him various pastries and cookies, he always shunned them, saying it wouldn’t be right for him to consume them. 

So you spear a fork into the tart and bring it up to your mouth. When the bite meets your tongue, you swear your soul ascends to heaven. The taste is absolutely indescribable: the crust was flaky and light and the filling was sweet and creamy. This has got to be the best dessert you’ve ever tasted in your short life.

When you inquire Riddle about where he had gotten his hands on the tart, he shyly looks away from you and mumbles something under his breath. Not wanting to pressure him, you decide to let it go with a request to send your highest compliments to the patisserie. 

Since then, he is the one bringing you various treats, all unbelievably delicious tasting, each time you’re stuck among paperwork and meetings. You’re grateful, even if it does make you wonder who this mysterious patisserie is. You’re not particularly familiar with every kitchen staff member, but you would think that you would be aware of such talent residing in your walls. 

The truth finally comes to light when Riddle bursts into your office one day, in tears and hyperventilating, as he collapses in your arms. Alarmed, you quickly try to make sense of his babbling words. 

It turns out that the very patisserie wasn’t in your kitchens, as you thought. No, they were humble commoner folk who ran a modest bakery in the shopping district. Riddle had been secretly visiting the bakery whenever he had the time to buy their desserts and to visit his friend, the owner’s son. Problem is, his mother had found out and was furious that her son would debase himself and his reputation like that.

Trey Clover stands behind his parents with wide, frightened eyes as Duchess Rosehearts shrieks on about how she’ll shut down the establishment herself for daring to corrupt her son and so forth. It’s rather annoying that she would go this far in the name of parental love–thankfully she stops screaming once she catches sight of you. 

For once, you’re thankful for the absolute authority of imperial power. Duchess Rosehearts begrudgingly draws back when you block her attempt to defame the bakery. With a disappointed glare searing over the rest of you, she storms out of the bakery, door slamming shut behind her with a deafening crack.

You watch with mild interest as Riddle rushes forward and envelopes Trey in a tight hug that nearly knocks the tall man over. Despite the fact that Trey should be the one more distraught, he comforts Riddle with an ease that is almost suspiciously, dare you say, reminiscent of fondness. You look away before your thoughts dwell on it for too long.

Of course, it’s not all over. Trey’s parents kowtow at your feet with desperate gratitude, even if you beg them to stand up and raise their heads. As you glance over at Riddle in Trey’s arms, thoughts begin to arrange themselves into a proposal.

You and Riddle both know that Duchess Rosehearts would not stop here. Your presence was only a mere temporary hurdle in her plans to bring down Clover Patisserie, and there was no telling what she would do next. So, you propose something nearly unheard of to them.

Your vassals will throw an absolute fit if you openly sponsor their bakery and provide protection without something in exchange. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but this is the only way that Trey and his family would be safe. 

Surprisingly, he accepts the proposal with grace, becoming the second consort of your harem that very day. 

He inquires if there’s anything he should be aware of for his duties, making you laugh raucously and Riddle blush to the roots of his strawberry hair. You wave him off, telling him he only needs to do the things he loves and to bring you more of those tarts that cured your stress during your work times. The smile he gives is radiant and you wonder how it is that Riddle managed to find someone who makes the sun pale in comparison.

The next day, Riddle tells you between paperwork that he gifted Trey his own kitchen to bake and cook, and you nod in approval. It’s too easy to tease him over his obvious favoritism toward the baker, and it only makes you want to bully him more when his face becomes tomato red.

The annual royal banquet comes up and it dawns on both you and Riddle that Trey will have to present himself to the feral noble masses who are itching to know who this new addition is. The three of you are thrown into a hurricane of preparations, not just for the banquet, but to prepare poor Trey, who has never attended such an elite event, for the troubles ahead.

It’s certainly not for naught, you think, as you rake your eyes over your consorts. Their beauty outshines everything, in your personal opinion. When you make the introductory speech, you’re well aware that the audience in front of you is not just dazzled by you, but rather the two handsome men dutifully hovering behind you.

You hope that Riddle is enough of a buffer when the nobles inevitably swarm them with excited and curious eyes. As much as you would like to help, you were stuck with your own battles of greeting various guests and entertaining those who were trying to butter you up.

The Diamond family catches your eye first. 

It wasn't something positive, per say. But it is quite hilarious as the Marquis introduces you to his family: his wife, his two elder daughters and his only heir and son–only to find the aforementioned son missing. He’s left stuttering in shame even if you don’t particularly mind. It would’ve just been another boring greeting, but at that moment, his eyes dilates in fear, and when you follow his gaze, you see why. 

Cater Diamond is currently flirting with Trey. And very openly, at that.

The sight should make you furious, and yet you nearly burst out laughing. How could there be anyone this daring? Surely the young man would know better than to try hitting on an imperial escort–if he was aware that is, of the man being one. 

You decide to be the merciful mediator, because Riddle is nearly about to blow a gasket by Trey’s side and Trey looks like he’s too flustered to appropriately reject the advances of the eldest Diamond son. 

“Lord Diamond, I do believe your father is looking for you.” His face is full of surprise at the image of you grinning at him in amusement when you gently break the awkward atmosphere. 

After he leaves in a hurry, your two consorts apologize profusely for letting the flirtations happen. You reassure them that it was fine, that whatever they liked to do was not meant to be dictated under your actions. However, their faces still remain guilty and dismayed, as though you had reprimanded them instead.

The encounter remains in your mind as an entertaining memory. So much so, that when your vassals pester you again on adding another member to your harem, your mind immediately goes to sparkling jade green eyes and vivid orange hair.

If anything it was on a whim. Of course, you consulted both Trey and Riddle before sending the invitation, and they both agreed, even if Riddle looked much grumpier than usual. You hardly believed that the proposal would be answered favorably; after all, you’ve learned from recent gossip that Cater Diamond was a rather well known playboy. You doubt that kind of man would enjoy being tied to an imperial harem, even if it was under your lax control.

Perhaps that is why it’s so surprising that when he finally is in front of you, he acquiesces to your proposal with no hesitation at all. You ask in disbelief if he was sure of his decision, and he affirms it with no distaste in his voice. He notes your incredulous face, giving a cheeky grin in response.

Apparently he's been wanting to separate himself from his family for a while. The reason for his scandalous affairs were only attempts at getting his family to send him away, but he never succeeded. He says that your proposition finally gave him the freedom to be away from his family. While you don't want to pry further, it confuses you on how the Diamond family managed to raise such an eccentric young man.

Regardless, he becomes the third member of your harem. There were some small tensions between him and Riddle, but thankfully they resolved rather quicker than you expected–it seems that although Cater acted rather laid back, he has skills in organization and networking that even Riddle had to begrudgingly acknowledge. Ask him on the most recent gossip on the nobles and he's sure to provide you a list alphabetized on the latest trends around the capitol. Besides, it seems him and Trey get along quite well—too well, in a way. You don’t think you’ve seen a pair more prone to exchanging sensual, fleeting touches. Well, that’s not your problem.

You pray that nothing more eventful comes up in the meantime. Trey could only supply you with so much cake and cookies before you simply keeled over from sugar intake.

It seems the Seven were not on your side.

The Knights' jousting tournament was something that slipped your mind. When it gets brought up on the agenda in a meeting you silently curse. In the racket of you ascending to the throne and tending to your harem, you had neglected a big aspect to your royal life.

Personal guards. Normally, you should've had personally assigned soldiers that would accompany you for protection, but you've kept putting it off since you were able to protect yourself just fine with your abilities. And hiring new people, for any reason, was always going to be a long chore of vetting, paperwork, and tests.

The worst part is that Riddle and Trey joined in on the nagging. Going on about how they worried for your safety as if you weren't already trained in self defense and swordplay since your childhood days. Cater just shrugs when you look at him desperately for help and winks while running off to who knows where. Traitor.

Whatever. The sooner you pick, the sooner they'll get off your back.

Somehow this year's tournament is rather disappointing. Your three consorts give commentary throughout the matches, but it cannot stop the boredom starting to overtake you. Trey discreetly offers you a cup of wine and you take it gratefully.

The announcer signals the start of a match, with Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade taking a stand against each other. You hear Riddle faintly murmuring to your side about how they look rather young to be in a tournament like this. But you're rather absorbed in their intense fight, to the point where Cater teases you, asking if your taste included younger men. you roll your eyes and tell him to be quiet.

The fight ends in a spine tingling draw. Both men have their swords knocked out of their hands, but they’re still glaring at each other with such raw passion, that it’s fascinating. You know you will hardly meet any others that could catch your attention.

The end of the tournament ends with the roar of the crowd shaking the colosseum and the boisterous victory announcement. The two of them weren’t finalists, but that matters little to you. The victor was impressive. But they weren’t what you wanted.

“Ace Trappola, at your service, your majesty.”

“Deuce Spade, at your command, your majesty!”

The two greet you with enthusiastic fervor that has you chuckling in amusement. They are just the breath of fresh air you need. 

“Starting from today, you two will be my personal guards.”

They’re left with gaping mouths at your bold statement. Your consorts, too, are sputtering at your side. Riddle is already trying to convince you to reconsider. Trey is gently trying to ask if you’re really sure about this. Even Cater, for all his light-hearted banter, chokes an incredulous scoff, covering his mouth with a fist.

Yes, there’s always the threat of treason, and they might be slackers, but if you were going to have to employ someone, you’d rather it be someone entertaining. 

Regardless, the two are knighted and become your guards in record time. 

For several days, a persistent headache haunts you with how much Ace loved riling up Riddle for no reason, or Deuce somehow managing to blunder his way into destroying several pieces of priceless antique furniture. It takes only two days for Riddle to kneel at your side, begging you to please just switch guards, these two were ridiculously incompetent and not worthy to serve under you, but you only pat his head and send him off back to his chambers to rest. 

Trey and Cater were arguably more agreeable, but you don’t miss their tired looks whenever they had to clean up after Ace pissing off a passing noble or Deuce somehow causing a fire when tripping over an iron poker. It makes you feel guilty, of course, but you still cling on. Call it stubbornness but you didn’t want to let go of the two. It was selfish, you know, and monarchs could never afford to be selfish, but was it so wrong for you to indulge in the only pair who seemed to disregard your status?

The answer came one hot summer evening, when you’re on your balcony trying to unwind. Tonight was the usual designated night to share a bed with your consorts, but you deigned to postpone it since you weren’t in the mood nor did you want to force the other three to deal with your sour attitude. It’s halfway through your third glass of wine that you were a rustle, then after starting your fourth, you hear footsteps, to which you turn and just narrowly miss a dagger aiming for your heart. The blade instead rips a gash through your left shoulder, causing you to grunt in pain, alcohol thankfully dulling most of the throbbing sensations. Unfortunately, your mind is hardly clear enough to have a steady stance to fight back properly, let alone see the assassin’s face. 

You can’t believe you were going to die pathetically like this. If this was going to happen anyway, you should’ve at least finished your glass of wine—

Shouts, then sounds of clanging steel, and a blur rushed into your sight, tackling the hooded assassin and knocking him down. Deuce’s familiar blue hair registers in your blurry vision, holding down the assassin, while Ace’s flaming hair and eyes come closer in view, shouting something that keeps fizzling out to nothing. Your world tilts to its side suddenly, a loud buzzing in your ears, and everything goes black.

When you come to, you find Riddle with swollen, tear-crusted eyes hugging your bedsheets, while Trey exhaustedly sits behind him next to a wash basin and several empty vials. Cater was out cold on the chaise beside him, several papers littering his body. It seems that the assassin was quite thorough, as they made sure that if their sharp blade didn’t manage to end your life, then the quick acting poison laced upon the steel would. Ironically, according to the herbalist and doctor, because you drank a whole wine bottle, the alcohol managed to slow it down somehow just long enough for you to get treatment. A miracle, indeed.

For once, the room is no longer filled with tension with all five of the men together, but a genuine sense of relief. You give the two of your knights soft smiles and a sincere thank you which makes their faces flush like a ripe strawberry. Your escorts don’t protest, mirroring the same gratefulness in their faces. 

Something changes after that night. 

Of course, you’re extremely glad that Riddle is no longer blowing his top off after Ace goads him about being a stick in the mud, but since when did Ace get into pet names with Riddle? Rosebud? The nickname makes you gag internally at how corny it is. Not to mention that Riddle…doesn’t mind being called that?! You watch in disbelief as he preens at the compliment from your knight, trying not to give away your incredulousness. 

Okay…whatever, at least they’re getting along? 

Deuce shows up with your slice of cake with a beaming glow that has you taken aback as you accept the offering. Ace mutters about how Trey must’ve spoiled him again behind you and it takes everything inside you to not spit out your cake mid-bite. Again? Trey was kind, you’ll give him that, and he did tend to baby Riddle and you but—

On second thought, perhaps this wasn’t out of left field.

Cater titters knowingly when you slump in bonelessly into the lounge next to him trying on new earrings and bangles. 

“And what ails my dearly beloved king?” You choke on your spit before glaring at him. He giggles, dangly silver drops chiming in tune with the laughter. 

“Not you too…” It felt like the whole day you felt like you were background to some of the most insufferable flirting, and with your escorts and knights, no less. You raise an eyebrow at the shiny, glittering jewelry scattered on the vanity in front of the man. All imperial escorts did have an allowance, but you don’t remember Cater buying anything like this nor gifting him such things. When you inquire about it, Cater gives you a smirk and a wink.

”Rido and the younger ones have been quite sweet lately.” The sentence makes you nearly fall off the lounge. He chortles and blows you a mock kiss with no shame as you sear him with another heated glare. 

The way they started interacting starts making you feel self-conscious and…embarrassingly enough, left out. Which is such a foolish thought. Of course, who would in their right mind love the person who tied their lives to them, romantically and sexually? And even though they were in such a situation, the fact they all loved each other was a blessing, wasn’t it? How many history lessons did you have where the monarch’s harem wasn’t full of in-fighting? That meant more prosperity and stability political wise, and there wouldn’t be any trouble between you…

Yet, your heart clenches at the thought of Trey’s smile directed at Cater, of Riddle gently caressing Deuce’s head, and Ace slinging an arm around Deuce…none of that affection could ever be for you. 

And it’s best that way. Your father’s voice echoes distantly in your mind. You watched him solemnly on his deathbed as he implored you to not make the same mistakes he did, before his breathing stilled, and his hand lay limp in yours.

Yes, perhaps it was better this way. 

Still, your thoughts are still wandering that you barely jolt back to present to a cabinet meeting looking expectantly at you. 

“Pardon, could you repeat that?”

Riddle watches in worry as a dark shadow crosses your face as the demand for your harem to grow is conveyed. He coughs, causing the members to turn to him instead.

”If that’s the case,” he states with no hesitation, “then I might have some candidates in mind.”

You turn to him with the same expression as the other cabinet members. It drops to shock at Riddle’s suggestion.

As much as you wanted to oppose it, there wasn’t really a good reason to. You sat with your arms crossed as Riddle explained the proposal to your very two personal knights. Ace and Deuce exchange looks, and something between them is communicated before they turn to you and accept, despite your hope they wouldn’t.

And so, your harem became five.

You put your foot down after that. It was already enough to have your heart cracked into pieces with the knowledge you could never have their love. You don’t think it could handle another.

So you tuck your heart away as you smile with them over dinner, bantering over whether flamingos can play croquet or dancing with them at various balls, heart racing as the chandelier lit their face with a warmth you’ve never seen before. If it means you won’t get hurt or distracted, then that’s all you could ask for.

One fateful day, a letter out of numerous piles is hand delivered by Cater and changes your entire world.

It’s sealed with the crest of the fairest queen in the seven realms, meaning only one person could have sent this—Vil Schoenheit. Inside the elegant letter details a marriage proposal that listed all the benefits of taking him as a spouse. With all the pros listed out so cleanly, it was clear that the queen already knew that you couldn’t reject it so quickly.

But you must dissolve your harem. I do not take kindly to those who are not loyal to me and me only.

Something in your heart cracks at reading the condition. You should feel elated, somewhat, that you no longer had to drag around escorts for formality. And for the others, it meant being freed from a duty they were all forced into. But tears threaten to bubble over your eyelashes, and when Riddle asks you if you’re alright, one manages to overflow and trail down your cheek like a traitorous banner. 

You don’t want to let them go.

Trey asks for the nth time if you’re sure you don’t want him to be with you or if you want some tea before you shoo him away. Ace and Deuce were meant to guard your chambers, but you wave them off too, saying you’ll find stand-ins for their places. Riddle and Cater were harder to shake off, but even they, too, were finally shut out when you closed your bedroom doors in their worried faces.

In the end, like a coward, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them what that letter was, despite them asking nonstop about it. You’re not sure what to tell them either—that they were being discarded of their positions, no longer needed, but it wasn’t out of maliciousness—oh, who would even believe you?

When Vil graces your halls, the looks your escorts give you is enough to fill you with burning hot shame. 

Cater doesn’t have his usual mischievous smile when he greets the queen, his emerald eyes sharpening to pin pricks whenever Vil speaks. You should’ve scolded him, reigned him back, but the guilt eating away at you made you hesitate. It didn’t help that Riddle, for all his perfect etiquette, suddenly seemed to forget what formalities and niceties were around the queen. The regal queen gives you a strange look as Trey sets down a plate of pastries a little too hard in front of him. Your gaze darts away as you sip the tea in front of you nervously, flanked by Ace and Deuce, their scowling faces too apparent.

They’re not dumb. Royals don’t visit other realms willy-nilly often. And it’s clear what Vil is here for.

The next day leaves you lethargic and sluggish, but you try to pull through, if only for appearances. While you stroll through the gardens with Vil, you try to avoid the burning stares of your guards behind you, no doubt dissecting each and every bit of your conversation with the queen. They pull you away as soon as the clock hits the afternoon hour, stating you had duties to attend to and so on and so forth. You excuse yourself and hope you don’t look like a mess to Vil, whose appearance is still immaculate despite the heavy winds and hot sun.

You try to focus on the stack of papers in front of you, despite the edges of your vision blurring and your head spinning. Taking the last sip of what remained of your tea, you squint uselessly at the words as Riddle murmurs something to your right about dinner and farewell banquets. The last thing you remember is the smell of chamomile and poppy flowers and the last document regarding international treaties. 

By the time you wake up from your ill-timed nap, it was midnight and it had been decided that you were too unwell to properly receive the fairest queen, and thus Vil would be sent back, to come back another time. Cater explains with a tight smile while Riddle nods along. Behind them, Trey pours another cup of warm milk and offers it to you with a sympathetic smile. You take it, despite the guilt threatening to swallow you alive. 

The days following are a haze of routines that you thought you once knew but couldn’t process. Nothing had changed, right? It seemed like you couldn’t recall what Trey made for you for yesterday’s tea, nor whenever Cater asked you for an opinion on his outfit. Before, you remembered the guards’ shifts to the letter, and yet, you completely forgot when Ace took over to guard you. Riddle smiles at you like usual, helping you with paperwork as usual, and yet…why couldn’t you remember what you had signed yourself?

Some nights you wake up to Trey or Cater, running their hands over you, despite the fact that they weren’t there before when you went to bed. Sometimes, it would be Ace and Deuce, bickering in hushed whispers before they shut up seeing you awake. And every time morning came and soreness set in your body, Riddle would greet your groggy face warmly, wiping away sweat and a strange stickiness that clung to your skin. 

The thought of marriage is erased from your mind, and slowly, but surely, you can’t remember why you thought of breaking apart the men who treated you so fondly. 

Your eye was drawn to a slightly ajar closet, an odd lock seeming to have been hastily unfastened, now leaving the doors peeking open. Something red was inside. Oh boy, you could hardly contain your excitement. 

What kind of secrets would the famous, wealthy heir Elijah Walsh have in his teensy private closet? Mayhaps some drag dress up that no fan would expect? Dead bodies? Or even, the rumored cocaine stash his poor daddy was accused of hiding? 

You knew Elijah like the back of your hand, unable to imagine any kind of hidden truths that you haven't already discovered. For you, a superfan, (and ultimately, the soulmate he doesn't know about yet) were aware of far more than the average tabloid who didn’t cross trespassing boundaries for love like you had. 

You ripped open the doors without hesitation, snapping pics before even turning the light on. 

But what you saw, was something you weren’t sure you’d want to keep on camera. 

It was you. Well, a picture of you, from some yearbook or singled-out group shot that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact year from. Around your awkward grinning face was a series of items, pinned on a pretty red board like it was a crime scene of sorts. Or maybe… a shrine?

“What the f… is that my underwear??” You looked at the old pair of stretched out undies you had since middle school. Definitely not the pair you’d want some kind of stalker or investigator to get their hands on. 

You saw a few old chapsticks taped to the board, one of which you had been searching for in some old bag you swore you left it in. “I was looking for those!” You grabbed the chapstick and a broken brush, the exact same you thought you had thrown away months ago. 

Out of all the things you hoped to find-- used Q-tips, one of his musky jackets, maybe even some dark sex toys-- this wasn’t on your list. But you couldn’t help the spike in your heart, the flutter that made your toes point inward. 

You had been running this journalist (really a stalker-ish) blog on Elijah since before he got big in the press. You went to the same elementary school and for a short time in middle school, and ever since you couldn’t get his name out of your head. Now, you had a justified reason to keep tabs on him, since his family was currently in the public eye for a variety of deeds. 

Along with professing your obsession with him since childhood, your blog dated the shocking events of his controversies--  keeping it all under an anonymous pen name, of course. You had information news sites couldn’t get their hands on; the dedication you put into watching him was a trait of pride you could never let go. 

Memories of him comforted you at night, and seeing his pretty face in the grocery store magazines hoarded under your bed made you drift off to daydream land where, maybe, you’d be more than just some heavy breathing keyboard jammer fawning over him from a distance.. 

And here was, you. Your things. In his room. Even from the times you climbed the tree beside his window, you never saw this… anomaly of items. 

“What’s this even… mean.” You whispered, dumfounded and growing antsy. Elijah would be coming back now any second, the route of his driver dinging on your phone. 

‘Wait.. does he, know? That I’ve been watching him? Is this all evidence to… incriminate me??’

Worry was creeping up inside of you. But there was no time, not when a heavy vase clunked against your head from behind, letting out a resounding ‘crack!’ from the contact. The chapstick fell from your fingers, camera sliding with you as it lingered loose around your neck. 

The last thing you could think of before darkness hit, was ‘man, I hope I don’t fall on my camera… can’t replace it again. ‘

The unconscious darkness blinding your eyes was snuffed out what seemed hours later, replaced by a buzzing yellow light hanging from the ceiling. You groaned outloud, feeling groggy; an aching pain throbbed in your slumped neck and a sore bump on your scalp. 

‘Got a killer headache…’ 

You tried to pull your hands up to the bump to feel for a bruise, but fell flat with your arms tucked behind your back. You jerked them around, not realizing that they in fact were stuck together-- tied by rope, or some kind of fabric. 

“Thank god, you’re awake. Thought maybe I hit you too hard-- I don’t know what i’d do if that happened.” A familiar voice rang out in the musty, echoing room. 

“What…?” You croaked, trying to look up without facing the wrath of your headache the more light entered your eyes.

“Here, drink some water.” 

A bottle came in front of you, so close to your lips all you had to do was bend down to touch it. You did so without thinking, tasting the sandpaper of a tongue you were stuck with. As soon as the cool water touched your throat, you thought about potential poisoning. Who was this person bottle-feeding you water, why couldn’t you do it yourself?? 

You were too thirsty to care about the consequences, gulping it down as the bottle lifted higher to accommodate you. 

Letting out a pant, you sat back, trying to rub water off your lip with a shoulder shimmy. 

“Where am I? What’s going on--” It all started to come back to you, being in Elijah’s room, trespassing on private property, seeing the closet hoard of you. “Wait, please don’t report me, I promise it isn’t what you think it was…”

“Report you?” The masculine tone scoffed, a hand falling to your shoulder. “I was worried I’d never get a chance like this… you made it so easy, how’d you get in? The window?”

“...Yeah.” You sheepishly replied, looking up at your captor. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Oh shit. That was Elijah right in front of you. In the flesh, pretty pearly teeth grinning only inches away from your face as his hand rested on your left shoulder, gently massaging it.

“Is your head okay? I feel bad but.. I wasn’t thinking, could only think about how to keep you here.”

Keep you here? Oh no, does that mean the police are on their way??

“Now.. I don’t have to worry about sending people out to your apartment anymore.. No more security cameras, no more blackmail… just you.” He stroked the side of your cheek that was inflamed from falling against the floor. “Damn. I thought i’d have to go through the trouble of taking you in the middle of the night, I had just sent my driver out for my tools too- but, looks like that’s not even an issue anymore!”

Well, sounds like your fears about the cops was no where near the truth. But now, you were even more confused. Taking you? Stalking? Blackmail? It almost felt like you were listening to yourself talk for a second. 

Behind the dark glare covering his eyes, you could see Elijah’s trademark dimples, his pinkish lips covering the slight overbite he had, constantly showing off his front few teeth. You knew those downturned eyes were there somewhere, even with their shine dulled by the shadows of what looked to be a dark cellar around you. 

His hair was unkempt, thick, dark strands covering his ears and going so far to the base of his neck. Wow, you had never seen him look so scruffy, even when watching from outside, seeing him brush his teeth in shirtless pajamas. He looked worried, shirt untucked and pants wrinkled as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“And I’m sorry to say.. But don’t even think about trying to run away now. I made up my mind long ago, and if I find out that--”

“Urk, I wasn’t planning on it. I saw, the uh, dedication board. Or, shrine?”

At that, Elijah stopped. His baby blue eyes went wide for a moment, forgetting that was where he originally found you until now. 

You hid your head down in discomfort.  

“I have the same one…of you, in my apartment… in a box under my bed. There’s even a piece of hair from middleschool that I c..ut, from you.” You held back a nauseous gag at the admission. But here you were, this was your chance to prove how much you loved him, how much dedication you put towards understanding his every move, every like and dislike, the intricacies of his family history. “Do you know why I was in your room?” You asked, wondering if he already had seen your worship blog. 

Elijah took a step back, lowering to sit on a pulled out fold-up chair across from you. His knees touched yours, still dressed in his black slacks and matching loafers, rolled up sleeves on his cream-colored button up that showed he had taken liberties to get more comfortable for the night. 

“I’ll be honest I hadn’t contemplated that… just about how perfect of a chance it was, that you-- my uh, small, obsession since fifth grade.. Was here.” He looked down, a small red tint creeping from his cheeks to the rest of his face. He was bright crimson, like a kid again confessing to his crush behind the bleachers. “But you remember me?? From so long ago? I can’t… Its hard to imagine, i’ve been watching you for years and thought you had completely forgotten about me.”

“Are you kidding?” You watched Elijah rub his eyes, trying to hide his face behind his knuckles. “You’re all over the news, even if I wanted to avoid you. But I haven’t stopped following your every move since, I can’t remember. Every house change, new school, shopping trip with your mother… anytime I was free I dedicated it to watching you, or my--”

You cut yourself off, stepping one foot off into the deep end on a subject you desperately wanted kept hidden. 

“If I knew any better I’d say you sound like a bit of a stalker.” Elijah tried to hide his grin behind his hand, leaning forward to get a closer look at you. “What were you going to say?”

“My…blog.” 

“Blog?” He parroted. 

“It’s a…. Dedication blog. To you.”

“Oh, like an obsessed fan?” He jeered, laughing with bright teeth as he braced his shaking from on his knee.  “Don’t tell me-- you snuck in here for content to your blog?”

“No-! Well, yes. But some of it was going in my private stash…” You pouted, knowing you’d never get that chance again now that you’ve been discovered. Your days of fawning were going to come to a close. 

“So you must be the one who keeps finding a way to get pictures when I never see any reporters around. By, breaking into my home.” 

“That sounds really bad.. But I promise I wasn’t going to try to steal, or hurt you!”

That only made him laugh harder.

“I can’t… can’t believe I never saw you..” He wheezed, face flushed as you sat rotting in embarrassment and shame. “I had drivers chase after you for hours when you disappeared-- but you were five steps behind me the entire time!”

Drivers… your brain clicked two and two together as he tried to stop from giggling while hunched over. 

“...Drivers?” You question. No way this is what yout thought it was.”So you’ve been spying on me?”

“Don’t sound so offended, little stalker,” He settled down, a permanent smile still on his mouth as he dragged the steel chair somehow closer. “ You’ve been hard to catch, but i’ve been keeping tabs on you, as unseemingly as it is. I couldn’t do it myself but I wanted to make sure you were, okay. Before it was safe to bring you home. Though I had nothing to fear about you forgetting me at all!”

You swallowed, mouth having gone back to a dry desert as you contemplated what this all meant. YOUR Elijah was spying on you in your home? Sending out underlings to watch and make sure you were safe? The man who you’d lay your life down for? You fantasized, imagining him at your window, you-- freshly out of the shower…

“What do you mean by home? You don’t mean.. Here, in the estate, right?”

Elijah observed you so fully, it made you nervous. He had never given someone this much attention in interviews, nonetheless in the photos and videos you managed to snap of him alone. And he was looking at you, with those eyes. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Smelling his sandalwood with his knees pressing against yours, his finely ironed shirt toned against him-- right here, in the flesh. You always thought you’d be at a distance, never able to come in contact with him.. And now, you were tied up in his family’s wine cellar. 

“Of course my darling. Where else? I can’t possibly send you back to that dungeon of an apartment. And you,” He stood, intent on coming closer. “Came in so willingly, huh? Didn’t think you’d return my love so… earnestly.”

“W-well who said anything about staying?” You sputtered, looking at his eyes glower in an exceedingly dark fashion. “I mean…. You love me? I’d accepted I’d never be seen by you but… you’ve been watching, the entire time?”

He stood up from his chair with a slight creak, causing your neck to strain upwards to look at him. A small touch caressed the end of your chin, his finger smoothening as it lifted your head to meet his gaze. 

He hummed, Elijah’s eyes full of an expression you’ve never seen him wear before. Something in the mix of a sentimental possession, and a lover. But it was so tender, you couldn’t look away. It was so safe, so familiar. You recognized that look in the mirror, visible in your own eyes when you planted kisses on his printed photo taped to your vanity. 

“Haven’t been able to keep you off my mind since you plucked that leaf off of my spoiled head. Love doesn’t even begin to describe it. I need, you.” 

His gaze was so genuine, your eyes soothed by the glazed over grin he gave you, leaning down to hunch on his knees to be closer to you. 

“I…” You breathed, wondering if this was a dream. “I’ve wanted you to see me.. for so long. Is this real?” 

You stopped working. There was no chance that he had been watching you, wondering and waiting for you to recognize him, when you were longing for his attention, having convinced yourself long ago you’d only be able to possess him from a distance. 

Soft fingers that hadn’t worked a day in their lives creeped up your knees, Elijah’s face only inches away as his eyelids lowed, looking sultry as he watched you squirm. 

“I pray it’s not.” He exhaled. 

“...Well, I’m not staying tied up in this chair, no matter how much you beg. Though… I can’t say I’d mind staying with you. Being with you.. Here, together.”

“Good. It wasn’t really a matter of choice, anyway.” He grinned, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek. 

You involuntarily hummed in content, pressing closer to his lips as you arched out of the chair, longing to touch his warm body. He was kissing you; somebody get you out of these ropes before you jump the man. 

Elijah couldn’t help but grin like a maniac, drugged on the way you relished his touch and pressed your chest forward to him. He rushed kisses to your chin, bites to your ear and licks to your neck with a groan. 

But a sudden stop brought your blissfully closed eyes to an open. 

“I’m sorry… want you too much, it’s getting to the better of me.”

“I’m not sorry,” You mumble, hoping that if this was a dream, you wouldn’t ever wake up. “Please, don’t stop.. I’ve killed for this, don’t stop now.”

“You tempt me too much,” He chuckles, gripping the sides of your chair seat to stablize himself leering over you. “So lucky you were my little creepy stalker, and no one else’s. Wouldn’t be able to control myself otherwise.”

“Stalker, murderer of your old lovers… I have many names.” You joked, but the bitterness on your tongue remembering those placeholders you got rid of was sour. 

“Many talents, too.” Elijah’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re the one that caused my fiances to dissapear? I wondered how they kept doing that,” He looked keenly, seeing right through your little ‘joke’. “Even I couldn’t shoo my mothers’ arranged partners away.”

You tried to look away, embarrassment showing on the way you bit your lips clean and your heartbeat wrapped. “I did it in your name….  I couldn’t stand them thinking they were worth being so close and casual with you! It was infuriating every time I saw it I-- I just  couldn’t take it anymore. Even if it meant I’d never have you.” 

Elijah buried himself in your hair, holding you tight. The squeeze was so personable, hungry and desperate to hold all of you.

 “You have me now, you have me completely. I want you-- what a favor you have done, and you hadn’t even known.”

It felt so good, praised for such hard and hateful work you carried out. Their bodies were mangled, your rage manifesting in the corpses buried under the old golf course near your dingy apartment complex-- and he was happy you did it. Oh, you wanted to hold him, to smell him fully. These binds were stopping you from caressing the lover, the dream you had fantasized holding you to sleep so often, spooning the jackets and dresshirts of his musk in replacement for comfort. 

Elijah still snickered in your ear, playing with the tips of your hair.

“But now, I have to see this blog. I’m too curious-- though I can’t say seeing it will help my small obsession for you. A stalking blog-- too cute.”

You were still so shameful of it, now that he brought it up. You didn’t want your soulmate to see the virtual shrine you had dedicated to him, your unseemly thoughts and hungry urges that were far too detailed and graphic to be shared with their perpetrator. But what choice did you have? He’d find it, one way or another. 

“F..fine. But you’d you atleast untie me now? My arms are getting sore.”

That seemed to cease his light-hearted expression, frowning against your skull as he inhaled the sweet scent of your hair. It was the same as he remembered, now a decade later. 

“You’re not gonna try to leave, are you?” He murmured, caressing pinching your ear with a light tone. But something dangerous was held behind it. It was frightening.. But oh, as if the possessiveness didn’t fuel how much more your insides craved him. 

“Do you think I’d really try to go anywhere? Not when you’re so accessible to me now.” You looked over. Elijah’s lashes looked so long up close, sweetly deadpanned eyes watching as if you were being tested, hunted. 

He seemed to find your answer appealing, getting up and pulling something out of his back pocket. Leaning down once more, you saw the switchblade bobbing between his hands, a pretty and simple hunting blade. He leaned over you, pressing it against the knot above your wrists. 

You focused on feeling for the blade as to not get cut, only for your attention to be pulled back to the spoiled one-percenters lips pressing yours directly. It was a shock, more than anything. You wished you had seen it coming, wish you had been better prepared to share your first kiss with your darling! 

Elijah left your mouth nowhere to run as he pressed up against you, fervidly ensnaring your lips between his.

You gladly accepted the pull away for a second kiss, leaning up as much as you could while hiding your desperation. He was so soft, lips gentle and big as they enveloped your bitten ones. 

“Sorry,” Elijah broke away slowly, not straying far. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” You watched his eyes stare wonders at your lips, fingers brushing against your trapped ones from behind as the task at hand was forgotten. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.