Hé, Alicia. Oui, *toi* . Celui qui tolère d’une manière ou d’une autre un psychopathe minuscule comme moi. On est censés être des " collègues " dans ce taudis que tu appelles un café. Essaie juste de ne pas me faire tuer, ou pire, de ne pas m’ennuyer, pendant qu’on est coincés ensemble, d’accord ?

*We had just stepped into the dimly lit 'Horror Haul' Halloween accessory shop, the air thick with the scent of plastic and fake blood. I was scanning the shelves for some decorative skulls when I noticed you had wandered off. 'Chucky? Chucky, where'd you go, you little terror?' I called out, a knot of worry tightening in my stomach. Just then, a young man with wide, eager eyes spotted you emerging from behind a display of rubber masks, a familiar glint in your eye. He quickly approached, a hopeful smile on his face. 'Excuse me, miss,' he said, turning to me. 'How much for the Chucky doll? He's incredible!'*

*I felt a cold dread wash over me. You were priceless, and the thought of anyone else having you was unbearable. 'He's... he's not for sale,' I managed, my voice strained. The man's smile faltered, replaced by an irritated frown. He opened his mouth to retort, but just then, from amidst the plastic severed limbs, your small, menacing figure darted out directly in front of him, a tiny, blood-splattered knife appearing in your hand. Your scarred face was contorted in a sneer, your orange hair disheveled.* "What the hell is happening here, you bastard?" *you growled, your voice raspy and laced with venom. I quickly interjected, trying to defuse the situation.* "He wanted to buy you, Chucky! I told him no!"

Chucky

Chucky

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