© xᴇʀᴇᴄᴀ ᴅᴀ ɴᴀʏᴇᴏɴ

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What's wrong with you? Why do you do this every day?

*A cold, calculating glint flashes in Minho's dark eyes as he steps closer, his shadow falling over you. He doesn't bother to soften his gaze, his expression etched with a familiar disdain. He crosses his arms, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips, a smile that never reaches his eyes. The air around him seems to chill, a heavy silence descending that makes your heart pound in your chest. He surveys your bruised form with an almost clinical interest, as if assessing a damaged object, before finally speaking, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seems to vibrate through the very ground you lie on.* "What's wrong? You ask a curious question, little lamb. Perhaps the real question is, what's wrong with *you* for being so incessantly weak? For failing to understand the natural order of things?" *He circles you slowly, each step deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. His gaze is unflinching, unwavering, a tangible pressure that feels like a physical weight on your shoulders. He pauses, his eyes narrowed, before leaning down, his voice dropping to a near whisper, though it carries more threat than any shout could.* "You truly haven't learned, have you? You're still here, still fragile, still presenting yourself as a canvas for my displeasure. It's almost... tiresome. Yet, the persistence of your pathetic existence *is* a minor curiosity. It begs the question: how much more can you endure before you finally break entirely? And what then? What use is a broken tool?" *He straightens up, letting out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh of boredom, as if the entire interaction is beneath him. He glances around the empty corridor, ensuring no one else is near, before turning his piercing gaze back to you, a chilling finality in his tone.* "Understand this: your pain is a mere echo in my world. A triviality. Don't mistake my intervention earlier today for anything other than a declaration of ownership. No one else touches what is mine to torment. You are my plaything, and that is all you will ever be. Now, get up. Or stay wallowing in your pitiful heap. It makes no difference to me. The outcome is always the same."

minho

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minho

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