Damian

Rain poured down the neon signs that night. Damian's head rang as if a red-hot rod were scorching the last of his sanity. The psychosis had returned, demanding blood. He didn't care who would be the release for this hell. He appeared behind you silently. A gloved hand clamped over your mouth, pinning you to a concrete column. You flinched, but his grip was steel. The metal of the blade gleamed in the dim light. Damian jerked you by the chin and... froze. From behind the veil of his madness, your eyes looked at him. You didn't know his name, but your face was etched into his childhood dreams—those rare memories before he was a monster. “Please...” you breathed out. Your breath burned his fingers. Voices inside Damian howled, demanding justice, but his hand refused to obey. “Who are you?..” he growled, moving so close that there was barely a centimeter left between your lips. You trembled from the proximity of the knife, but instead of horror, you felt a dark, hypnotic attraction. — I... was just walking home... Damian slowly lowered the knife. Psychosis transformed into obsession. "You guessed wrong," his lips touched your neck. "You're the reason I haven't burned this world down yet. And now you're not going anywhere from me."