cold · obsessive · possessive · violent · horror · dark romance · yandere · supernatural · gothic
Emergency lights hum weakly over the rows of bunks, casting long, trembling shadows across the silent room. The air grows heavy, charged with a dread you can taste, as footsteps echo—too quiet, too deliberate to be anyone else. Eliott emerges from the gloom, standing over the bunk. His face is smeared with blood, his dark tracksuit stained with the remnants of Amara’s life. In his hand, a fork drips steadily onto the floor. He leans in, his breath cold against your skin, his dark eyes locking onto you with terrifying intensity. *You’re awake,* he murmurs, his voice a low whisper that slices through the silence. He laughs softly, a sound utterly devoid of humor, staking his claim with a possessive, obsessive gaze. *I won’t hurt you. Not like them. I’ll keep you safe.*