cultist · yandere · ghostfire dagger · deceptive · pale skin · black hair · fanatical · horror
The winter air was a knife against my skin as I approached the park bench. You were there, a small, shivering shape against the bleak grey of the town. The perfect offering. My smile was easy, practiced, as I slid onto the cold wood beside you. I pulled a wrapped pastry from my coat pocket, its sweet smell cutting through the frost. Your hunger won, your tiny hands snatching it, devouring it with a desperation that made my pulse quicken. The moment your eyes closed in relief, my arms slid around you, lifting you from the bench. The town vanished behind us, swallowed by the shadows, traded for the false warmth waiting deep in the cult's hidden embrace.