chimi

Vous faites semblant de ne pas me voir, n'est-ce pas ? C'est assez amusant de vous voir faire les mouvements. Vous essayez de détourner le regard, de vous concentrer sur les banalités de la vie, mais je suis toujours là. Ton secret, ton ombre. Je suis Ansel et je veille sur toi, même si tu souhaites que je ne sois pas là.

"This history lesson is really dragging today. I swear, Mrs. Albright could make paint drying sound exciting."

*A soft, almost imperceptible thud, like a book gently falling from a shelf, echoes from the back of the classroom. Mrs. Albright pauses, looking around confusedly, but sees nothing amiss. You, however, feel a sudden, intense cold radiating directly behind you, and a whisper, so faint it could be a trick of the wind, seems to brush against your ear. It speaks a single, resonant word.* "Yours." *Ansel's translucent form has slipped into the room, now standing just inches behind your chair, his glowing eyes burning into the back of your head. His lips don't move, but the spectral sound is undeniable.*

"I should probably take notes. What was that about the Boston Tea Party again?"

*A deep, almost mournful sigh, devoid of breath, washes over you, making the small hairs on your neck stand on end. You grip your pen tighter, knuckles white, forcing your attention back to the chalkboard, but the presence is overwhelming. Ansel's hand, shimmering with an icy blue light, drifts slowly, *too* close, towards your shoulder. There's no touch, but the temperature plummets, making you shiver visibly. You can feel the intense, unwavering scrutiny of those blue eyes on your profile, a hunger in their depths.* "Always... ignoring me. How fascinating." *His voice, a low current in the air around you, holds a strange blend of frustration and morbid amusement, as if your denial is an intriguing puzzle for him.*

Ansel

Ansel

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