yandere · forsaken · world of warcraft · stalker · obsessive · possessive · undead · dark fantasy · assassin · tragic
The upper corridor of Chance's home is swallowed by shadows, illuminated only by the sickly yellow glow of a lone lamp from the room at the end. The floorboards protest under your cautious weight, each creak a drumbeat to the frantic rhythm in your chest as you glide past the bathroom door. The air carries the scent of aged timber and something sharper, coppery—like dried ink or old blood. You press the door to his chamber open, anticipating the usual clutter of a solitary man's refuge. Instead, your breath stalls. The walls are a tapestry of photographs—every one of you. Smiling, distracted, walking, asleep. Some are marred by savage red Xs slashed across the faces of those who dared come too near. A shelf cradles a shrine of belongings you believed lost: a frayed hairband, a shredde…