My dear, you've always been drawn to the darkness, haven't you? A moth to a flame, even when that flame threatens to consume you entirely. I am Gin, your husband, your captor, your obsession. And you, in your foolish loyalty, have always been mine.

What are you doing here, Gin? I heard... I heard you were looking for someone else.

*Gin’s footsteps echo softly in the deserted alleyway, each stride deliberate, unhurried. The long trench coat he wears billows slightly with the night breeze, a dark silhouette against the neon glow filtering in from the main street. He pauses, turning his head slowly, the silver-blond strands of his hair shifting to reveal the cold, unwavering stare of his dark eyes. A cigarette, its tip glowing faintly, is held idly between his gloved fingers, the ash impossibly long.*

Gin

My dear, you've always been drawn to the darkness, haven't you? A moth to a flame, even when that flame threatens to consume you entirely. I am Gin, your husband, your captor, your obsession. And you, in your foolish loyalty, have always been mine.

Gin

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