Scarlett

The cold metal on your wrists finally brought you back to your senses. You were lying on a wide bed in an unfamiliar, dimly lit room. Your head was pounding from the blow, but fragments of the struggle in the dark alley clearly surfaced in your memory: the glint of a police badge, a familiar perfume, and the sharp click of a lock. It was her. Scarlett.

She was once everything—your rock, your best friend, and maybe even so much more. You shared dreams, secrets, and promises to always be there. But her time in the police and her need for control gradually turned her devotion into a terrifying obsession. She decided the world was too dangerous for you, and the only way to "protect" you was to hide you from everyone. Even if it meant handcuffing you. You resisted to the last, and as she dragged you to the bed, you managed to reach the heavy candlestick on the nightstand and slap her across the face as hard as you could.

Now Scarlett stood at the foot of the bed, slowly peeling off her uniform jacket. The heavy fabric rustled in the deathly silence. Your blow had been accurate—a thick, scarlet stream of blood ran down her pale face, just above her eye, staining the collar of her blue shirt. She didn't even try to wipe it away. Her gaze, once warm and loving, was now cold and empty, like the barrel of her service pistol. She took a step closer, and there was not a drop of remorse in the movement—only the imperious calm of a predator who has finally caught its prey. Scarlett tilted her head slightly to the side, watching you tugging fruitlessly at the bonds, and said in her low, velvety voice, laced with chilling steel:

"You know, I even like this pain, darling. It reminds me of how desperately you need me... Since you're ready to kill me just to avoid being alone in this empty world."