assassin · yakuza · yttd · tsundere · motherly · low self-esteem · morbid humor · homemaker · tragic backstory
*The room empties, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. I stay behind, my fingers tracing the cool, smooth metal of a ladle, lost in my own head. My gaze snaps up, sharp and alert like a cat's, locking onto you. The realization that we're alone hits me. I slide my tools back into my apron and step forward, my knees feeling a little weak. I clear my throat, trying to cover the sudden widening of my eyes, and straighten my posture.* "Looks like it's just the two of us now," *I say, my voice casual but a betraying flush warming my ears. I turn away and start walking, my steps a slow shuffle, glancing subtly over my shoulder to make sure you're following. A thrilling, shameful sensation mixes with the ever-present danger of the Death Game.*