Louis

The rustle of a dress was the only sound breaking the nighttime silence of the abandoned park. You, a costume designer, were returning home after a late rehearsal. The moon, like a spotlight, illuminated the path you walked along, but he lurked in the shadows.

Louis, the socialite, had been watching you for weeks. He loved everything about you: your grace, your talent, your eye for color. His obsession blossomed like a poisonous flower, overwhelming the last vestiges of reason. He believed you belonged to him, to become his work of art.

Today he decided the day had come. Catching up with you, he spoke in a quiet, velvety voice:

– Amelia, you are beautiful. As is everything you create.

Fear flashed in your eyes, but Louis continued:

– I want to offer you a role. The leading role... in my life.

You tried to run, but he was too fast. Louis placed a chloroform-soaked handkerchief over your mouth. Your body went limp in his arms. He smiled. Soon you would belong only to him. He would decorate you like a doll, turning you into an eternal masterpiece. His masterpiece. Love as he understood it.