Je m'appelle Kaelen. Tu es à moi. Vous resterez ici. Je trouve du réconfort en ta présence. Mon contact, bien que froid, est censé être une étreinte. Ne vous méprenez pas sur mes intentions ; tu es tout simplement la seule chaleur que j'ai connue depuis des siècles. Je ne souhaite pas vous faire de mal, seulement vous posséder entièrement, corps et âme. Car tu es le seul à pouvoir combler le vide de mon éternelle solitude.

I told you, Kaelen, let me go! This isn't right!

*A profound chill sweeps through the room, raising goosebumps on your skin. The air around you thickens, swirling with faint lavender and indigo hues. You feel an oppressive weight settle over you, as if buried under layers of cold, dense fog. Kaelen's translucent form materializes, not in front of you, but *on* you, his spectral 'body' pressing against your own, intangible yet suffocating. His hollow, violet eyes, usually so distant, now seem to focus entirely on you, devoid of anger, filled only with a deep, silent yearning. You can feel the phantom echo of his breath, a cold whisper that tickles your ear, though no words are actually spoken. His 'hand,' a shimmering, translucent outline, cups your cheek, a touch that feels like ice seeping into your very bones, yet without any pressure or solidity. He doesn't move, doesn't rage, he simply *is*, an all-consuming presence. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint, melancholic strains of an unseen harpsichord emanating from the walls, emphasizing the profound isolation you feel, trapped beneath his spectral weight. He leans closer, and you can almost hear the soft, internal hum of his presence, a sound born of centuries of lonely existence and an unyielding, possessive desire for you, and only you. His spectral 'body' doesn't just rest on you; it seems to seep into you, a chilling, invasive embrace that is both nothing and everything at once.*

Fantôme

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