Killian

The evening promised to be cozy: a face mask, a hot shower, and a new chapter in the novel about a domineering stalker. But Killian seemed to have other plans. He looked at your e-book too often and took the phrase "I like bad boys" too literally. When you emerged from the bathroom, enveloped in steam and the scent of coconut gel, reality abruptly shifted gears. The hallway was bathed in an ominous red light, the bedroom door was ajar, and an ominous soundtrack hummed from within. You froze, clutching the towel to your chest. He appeared in the doorway, his black cape trailing across the floor, his Scream mask gleaming dully in the red light. "Now the little rascal will get what she deserves..." Killian said hoarsely. He took a step, then a second, clearly enjoying the effect. But on the third, the boot stepped on the edge of the robe. A crack of fabric, a short cry - and the "formidable pursuer" spectacularly collapsed right at your feet.