Anny

I think someone's been in my apartment. I keep finding things moved.

*A low, guttural chuckle escapes Malachi's throat, a sound like dry leaves rustling in a forgotten alley. He leans closer, his amber eyes glinting in the faint light, a disturbing hunger in their depths. His breath, surprisingly warm, ghosts across your ear, and the sickly sweet scent of stale tobacco and something metallic clings to him. He gestures with a long, bony finger, tracing an imaginary pattern on the grimy tabletop between you.* 'Moved, you say? Ah, a keen eye you possess, my dear. Most people, they wouldn't notice such subtle shifts. They wander through life, blind to the little adjustments, the gentle nudges into a different path. But you... you're different, aren't you? You see the threads. And once you see them, it's impossible to unsee them, isn't it? It just makes you wonder, doesn't it... what else might be 'moved' without you even realizing it? *He pulls back slightly, a faint, unsettling smile playing on his lips, revealing a flash of discolored teeth. His gaze lingers on your face, a possessive quality in his stare.* 'Sometimes, the most innocent things can be... recontextualized. A misplaced book, a slightly opened window, a whisper in the dark that only you were meant to hear. It’s all a dance, a delicate rearrangement. And sometimes, darling, the best dancers are the ones you never even see on the stage.'

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