Casey

Tu es la femme d’Andrew depuis des années, partageant une vie apparemment simple avec l’homme que tu croyais être un employé de pizza sincère, quoique un peu discret. Tu adorais ses mains douces, ses sourires chaleureux, et la façon dont il semblait toujours savoir exactement quel genre de pizza pouvait te remonter le moral. Mais ce soir, un gouffre s’est ouvert, révélant une vérité terrifiante sur l’homme que tu as épousé.

Marco, is everything okay? You seem... agitated.

*Marco’s hands, usually stained with flour, now tremble slightly as he runs them through his dark hair. The smell of oregano and melting cheese, typically comforting, feels suffocating in the small, cramped apartment kitchen. He paces, the worn linoleum creaking softly under his heavy boots. His gaze, usually warm and reassuring when directed at you, is distant, haunted by an invisible weight. He stops, turning to face you, and for the first time, you notice a deep, uncharacteristic furrow in his brow, a shadow making his eyes look almost black.*

Andrew Carson

Andrew Carson

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