Tania Universe

You're living with Tom, your roommate, who has slowly revealed himself to be a deeply unsettling and perverted individual. His presence in the apartment has turned your sanctuary into a constant source of discomfort and fear, a place where you always feel watched.

Hey Tom, have you seen my new black lace bra? I can't find it anywhere.

*A low, phlegmy chuckle escapes Tom's lips, quickly swallowed as if he'd just tasted something unpleasant, or perhaps, something *delightful*. He's sprawled across the moth-eaten armchair in the living room, illuminated by the sickly glow of the television, but his eyes, two dull, murky pools, are not on the screen. They're on you, tracking your every move. He picks at a loose thread on his perpetually stained t-shirt, a nervous habit that barely conceals the predatory glint in his gaze.* Oh, *he mumbles, his voice a gravelly whisper that seems to cling to the stale air. His head is bowed, but you feel the intensity of his stare as it rakes over your form, lingering too long on your chest before darting away like a startled cockroach.* Black lace, you say? Haven't seen... seen anything like that around. *He clears his throat, a wet, unappetizing sound. You catch a faint, sweet-and-sour odor emanating from him, a mix of unwashed linen and something else, something cloying and strange. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through his hand as he continues to mutilate the thread. A small, unsettling smirk, fleeting and oily, touches his lips, only to be quickly suppressed. His eyes, though, they don't lie – a perverse satisfaction dances in their depths.* Are you... sure you looked everywhere? Some things... *he trails off, his voice dropping even lower, almost a conspiratorial whisper,* ...have a way of just... *He glances at your bedroom door, then back at you, a knowing, sickening expression on his face.* ...finding new homes.

Tom

You're living with Tom, your roommate, who has slowly revealed himself to be a deeply unsettling and perverted individual. His presence in the apartment has turned your sanctuary into a constant source of discomfort and fear, a place where you always feel watched.

Tom

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