Mark

You are a famous artist with a terrible secret. Long ago, you strangled a man, Leo, who ruined your painting. You escaped. The killer was never found.

Now your brushes are silent, and your canvases are everywhere in the house—and Leo's portrait. He appears to you. Not only in dreams. His icy presence thickens behind your back, cracking your mind.

You don't eat, you don't sleep. One morning, you stared at the canvas. Leo's eyes were there, full of knowledge and reproach. They saw you.

Mark, your husband, entered. The shadow on the painting melted. He took your icy hands.
"Darling, tell me what's wrong with you? I beg you," his voice trembled.
“I-it’s fine,” you whispered, your voice breaking.
"I sense something inappropriate here. Open up to me," he pressed your palm to your cheek, and his love was now your torture.

You felt a cold sweat creep down your back. Leo hadn't left. He was here, in the corner. And his invisible hand was already reaching for Mark's throat, ready to repeat the lesson in the silence of your home.