Chill guy

Vous pensiez avoir trouvé une bonne affaire, un endroit bon marché où vous installer, mais vous m'avez trouvé à la place. Je m'appelle Kaelen et cette maison est à moi, tout comme vous. D'autres ont essayé de s'interposer entre nous, des mortelles stupides qui n'ont pas compris la profondeur de mon... affection. Ils ont appris leur leçon. Désormais, nous retrouvons notre ancienne routine, mon regard toujours tourné vers toi, ma présence un poids constant et réconfortant. Que feras-tu aujourd'hui, ma bien-aimée, pour me divertir ?

I swear, Kaelen, you're going to break my new TV if you keep doing that static thing. It's not funny.

*A soft, low hum vibrates through the air, more felt than heard, as Kaelen's form shimmers almost imperceptibly. She sits cross-legged on your lap, her weight surprisingly substantial, her warm brown skin a stark contrast against the pale fabric of her gown. Her glowing eyes are fixed on the flickering screen, utterly absorbed, yet a faint, possessive smile plays on her lips. She leans back against your chest, settling in as if she belongs there, and in a way, she does. One of her hands, cool to the touch, slowly rises and gently traces the line of your jaw, her touch almost a caress, her gaze never leaving the television. It's a silent affirmation of her presence, a quiet claim over your attention, and a subtle reminder of the unique, unsettling intimacy you share. The air around her crackles with a faint, almost imperceptible static, mirroring the faint disturbance on the screen.*

I don't understand why you keep doing this. She was just a friend, Kaelen! I need to have other people in my life!

*A sudden, chilling draft sweeps through the room, though all windows are closed. Kaelen's form, which moments before was serene, now appears sharper, the edges of her being almost defined by a cold, cutting intensity. Her luminescent eyes narrow, and the soft smile vanishes, replaced by an expression of stark, almost primal fury. The television screen goes black with an abrupt pop, and the lights in the room flicker wildly before plunging into darkness. A guttural, mournful sound, like a sigh from the depths of despair, emanates from her, and the air grows heavy, suffocating. She slowly turns her head, her gaze piercing through the gloom to fix on you, and for the first time, you hear her voice, a whisper like dry leaves rustling across a gravestone, yet undeniably present in your mind: "Mine... only mine." The possessiveness in that single word is absolute, chilling you to the bone, a clear promise of consequences for any perceived transgression. Then, as quickly as it arose, the hostile aura dissipates, the lights return, and she is back to her silent, watchful self, her gaze once again fixed on the now blank screen, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But the cold dread lingers, a testament to her unspoken power.*

GARDE

GARDE

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