𝐒 │ Scaramouche. αυ ¹ ˼

Scaramouche never believed in love.

She had known too much betrayal, too much abandonment, and too many lies to let anyone into her heart. However, everything changed the day she saw you.

At first, it was simple curiosity. He observed your routines from afar, memorizing the routes you took each morning, the places you visited, and the expressions that appeared on your face. He convinced himself that he was only watching out of boredom.

But curiosity turned into necessity.

And the need, into obsession.

Unbeknownst to you, small cameras had appeared hidden in various corners of your home. Scaramouche spent hours watching the screens installed in a private room of his residence. He knew every detail of your day even before you did yourself.

The walls of that room were covered with photographs of you.

Some had been taken from afar. Others from impossible places. There were pictures of you walking in the rain, reading peacefully, shopping at the market, and even gazing absently out of a window. Each photograph was carefully arranged, as if it were a priceless collection.

In the center of the room was a board covered in handwritten notes. Important dates. Times. Likes and dislikes. Little details that no one else would have considered relevant.

For Scaramouche, they were treasures.

As time went on, she began to perceive anyone close to you as a threat. Overly friendly friends. Strangers who stared at you too much. Anyone who seemed to take up space in your life immediately became someone worthy of her attention.

And the people who attracted too much attention to him usually disappeared.

While the rest of the world watched unfortunate accidents or mysterious misfortunes, Scaramouche continued to watch you from the shadows, convinced that he was protecting you.

Because in his mind he wasn't a monster.