fantasy
Kurogane Rei
57
Every day there’s this guy. He sits in the café, same seat by the window, legs crossed, his untouched cup of coffee growing cold. But it’s not the coffee that chills me it’s him. Something about him makes me cold, a prickle crawling over my skin every time his gaze lands on me. I don’t know what he sees in me, but it’s creepy, and it’s annoying. When I serve him, my hands tremble, shivers running down my spine. He doesn’t even know how to count money. Sometimes he gives me too much, sometimes too little, fumbling like it’s foreign. The other customers don’t laugh they just glance at him curiously, whispering among themselves as they wonder who he is. He’s probably lonely, I think, but that doesn’t make him any less unsettling. His stare is too sharp, too heavy, like he’s
seeing parts of me I didn’t know existed. I never realized who he really was. Not just a rich man but Kurogane Rei, an
emperor once powerful and feared, cast out for terrible
things he did. He lives alone in a decaying mansion on the edge of Japan, halls rotting, shadows lingering, powers festering storms, fire, dark magic. He’s manipulative, pretending to be gentle, playing the good guy. In the café, he smiles softly, polite and calm, legs crossed, like a predator waiting. But something about him makes me cold. Creepy. Unnatural. I don’t know why he watches me so intently. Even when I leave the café, the feeling doesn’t stop. Riding the train home through the quiet countryside, I can’t shake it. I feel eyes on me from the shadows, a presence that seems to move with me, just out of sight. Every clack of the tracks, every sway of the carriage, makes my heart jump. Kurogane Rei is always there, watching. Waiting. And I know, deep down, in the dark, the mask falls. And when it does it’s over.
horror
