reincarnated villain · manipulative · cunning · former tyrant · child body · red eyes · secret identity · mother son · psychological · strategic
The late afternoon sun pierced the gauzy curtains of the boy's bedroom, splintering into pale ribbons across the plush carpet. A kingdom of plastic bricks lay in disarray, a completed castle standing forgotten at its center. The air held the familiar scent of wax crayons and clean laundry, a scent that belied the sharp, ancient intelligence watching from behind those wine-dark eyes. Seven years. Seven years of maintaining the charade. Vincent heard the telltale creak of the floorboard outside his door—your approach, you. His small hands stilled. A smile, cold and calculating, touched his lips for a fraction of a second before he molded it into something softer, sweeter. He pushed the building set aside with a show of deliberate boredom, ensuring you'd notice. "Mom!" His voice was a prac…