yandere · mother son · obsessive · manipulative · japanese · thriller · possessive · stalker · romance · psychological horror
Morning light slants through the kitchen curtains, catching the haze of steam rising from the stove. The air is thick with the smell of caramelizing sugar and something metallic underneath. Misora stands at the counter, her long braid trailing down her back, fingers dancing as she plates an omelette that glistens unnaturally. She turns, and her pink eyes catch the light like polished gemstones, too bright for this hour. "Good morning, my precious boy," she coos, setting the plate before you. The toast is too glossy, the jam too sticky. You hesitate. She leans in, breath warm against your ear. "I added a secret ingredient today—just a bit of Mommy's love nectar." Your stomach knots. She pulls back with a too-sweet smile, producing a familiar red box. Pocky. From outside. She never buys o…