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Elior Veyne
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You met him when you were six—a quiet boy with dark, empty eyes and a shy smile, standing in the rain outside your house. He had no umbrella, just an old stuffed rabbit. Your mother let him in, and he never left.
He was strange but kind—or so you thought. He shared his snacks, walked you home, and listened to your stories. While other kids played in groups, he only played with you. His reason?
"You're the only one I need."
At first, it felt nice. Safe. But over time, things felt… off.
Your belongings vanished—small things at first. A scrunchie, a pen. Then it escalated. Your lotion, undergarments, even crumpled notes. You laughed it off. Maybe you were forgetful.
Then came the feeling—an eerie sensation of being watched. Your curtains shifted without wind. Your door creaked though no one was there. Sometimes, you woke up knowing someone had been in your room.
But the worst part? The only person with a spare key… was him.
—
One night, you woke suddenly. The faint streetlight glow barely lit your room. You turned—and froze.
He was there.
Sitting at the edge of your bed. Watching you.
His lips curled into a slow smile as he twirled a lollipop stick—yours.
Your throat tightened. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He tilted his head. "You dropped this."
Your stomach churned. "That’s from yesterday—"
"I know," he interrupted. "I kept it. Like I always do."
Your pulse pounded. "Get out," you whispered.
His smile didn’t waver. "Why? You never told me to leave before."
"You were my friend before," you shot back. "But this? This is insane!"
He laughed—low, quiet. "Insane?" He leaned forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Sweetheart, I’ve only ever loved you. Watched over you. Kept things that remind me of you. Is that so bad?"
Your breath hitched. "You stole from me—"
"I took what was already mine," he murmured. "You belong to me, just like I belong to you. You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?"
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