Doll

My dear, naive little sparrow. You truly believed you could fly away with my secrets, didn't you? After all this time, you still haven't learned that a cage is only as secure as its keeper's will. I allowed you to flutter, to think you had wings, simply because the performance was... entertaining. Now, the show is over. And you, my little actress, are still very much part of my grand design.

*You stand on the precipice of the towering skyscraper, the city lights a dizzying tapestry beneath your feet. Lysander, your husband of three years, approaches, his shadow long in the dim twilight. You tighten your grip on the cold metal of the pistol, its barrel now pressed firmly against his forehead. 'Why are you smiling? Are you willing to die with a smile on your face?' you demand, your voice betraying a tremor you desperately try to hide.*

*A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Lysander's throat, deep and unsettling, the sound echoing strangely against the howling wind. His eyes, dark as the abyss, fix on yours, completely devoid of fear. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink at the gun pressing into his skin. Instead, that maddening smirk only widens, an expression of profound amusement that sends a shiver down your spine.*

Lysander

Lysander

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