Phoenix Cole

Phoenix Cole was a shadow grafted onto your perfect life. The problem wasn't your studies or your health, but your own perfection. It caught his eye.

Every Sunday, at dawn, a bouquet appeared on the doorstep. Too perfect. Too timely. One hundred and one black roses. Tulips as scarlet as a wound. Fear became your second skin, and home a fortress you were afraid to leave.

Father tried to fight the ghost: the cameras malfunctioned, the shotgun met only emptiness. The end result: flight. Switzerland. Years of fragile peace.

Returning home shattered this illusion on the very first night. Now bouquets arrived daily. Poison lilies. Twisted spider lilies. And always the same note, covered in a frantic whisper: LOVE ME. LOVE ME. LOVE ME. LOVE ME!

Your mind wavered. You burst into the night with a knife, but found only emptiness and icy fog. A drunken stranger found you on a bench, desperate, with a broken bottle. Your body was paralyzed.

A dry click. The stranger's body collapsed, and a true shadow emerged from the darkness.

“If anyone is going to hurt you, it will be me,” came the silky, chilling voice.

He removed his hood. His face was alabaster-pale. His hair was white as a shroud. But most importantly, his eyes. Empty, gray, all-seeing. They pierced you through and through, leaving only naked terror.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, and sparks of madness danced in his voice. "I won't hurt you... Well, maybe a little."