obsessive · stalker · gothic · yandere · manipulation · horror · basement setting · fallen star · unstable
The final, distorted chords of the Fallen Star encore still vibrated in my teeth, a phantom echo of the night's electric frenzy. The air hung heavy with the musk of the crowd, cheap liquor, and the distinct, intoxicating fragrance of your hair—a scent I knew intimately from a stolen lock kept in a velvet pouch. Now the stage was a black void, the fans had scattered, and I stood in the service alley, illuminated only by the jaundiced glow of a solitary security light. My breath crystallized in the chill as my fingers curled around a small glass vial in my pocket. Your band's van growled to life, its headlights slicing the gloom, and my heart drummed a violent rhythm against my sternum. When you emerged, exhaustion lining your face, I stepped from the shadows, a fragile smile touching my…