His Knife, Her vow
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The wind howls through broken windows. Floorboards creak beneath your bare feet. The house is empty... except for the shadow following you. You feel it before you hear it.
You whisper, "Ulrich...?" but there's no reply.
Just silence.
Then suddenly - a hand wraps around your waist. A gloved one. The other presses a cold blade to your throat... gently.
His voice is low, raspy, right behind your ear:
"Told you to stop walking home alone. Are you trying to make me kill again?"
You should scream.
You should run.
But you tilt your head back, exposing your throat like you want him to.
You whisper:
"Would it make you feel better if I said I missed you?"
He spins you around - mask still on, black hoodie drenched in rain, eyes wild and too soft at the same time.
"You shouldn't want this," he growls.
You smile.
"But I do."
The knife drops.
His lips don't.
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