If you'd asked me, if I ever thought—that I was considering breaking in the headmistress' office all alone with a beautiful and elegant lady that just so happens to be part of the student council and freshmen representative, I wouldn't buy it.
But times change.
My circumstances have changed. I'm ready to go to any and all lengths for Marienne. I agree, the things I do make me sick—but they're all for you.
Believe me, I'm attracted to women and Snowflake Everhart is a woman that is very attractive, however, she is also the most suspicious and guilty woman I have met.
Part of me thinks her plan is to just trick me and bust me, get me expelled and it's over.
Not that I'll let it happen, of course, but...
Who would trust me over her?
The world has never been fair.
They pretend it is. That effort and talent alone dictate success, that nobility is just a title, not a birthright shackling the rest of us to the dirt beneath their feet. But I've seen it. The way power bends reality, how a name can turn murder into an accident, how wealth can wipe away sins like dust on a mirror.
And it's not just the rich.
A woman can scream, and the world listens. A man can bleed, and no one cares. If I were to die tonight, they'd move on. If Snowflake were to disappear, the entire academy would turn itself inside out looking for her.
Fairness is a fantasy. A myth for those who've never felt the weight of being lesser.
But I'm not lesser. Not anymore.
I glance at Snowflake, her silver hair glowing under the moonlight. She's dangerous in her own way, but she doesn't realize what she's playing with. Breaking into the Headmistress' office… if we get caught, I know who will take the fall. Not her.
Me.
And yet, I have no choice. If there's even a sliver of information about Marienne hidden in that office, I have to take it.
I close my eyes, letting the cold night air settle over me. Fine.
If the world refuses to be fair, then I'll just have to tip the scales myself.
Snowflake twirls the key between her fingers, a smug little smirk playing on her lips.
Snowflake: "You're lucky I have this."
A spare key to the Headmistress' office. Not just any key—her key. Snowflake stole it from the student council, probably swiped it from some poor idiot who trusted her.
I raise an eyebrow. "And how exactly did you manage that?"
Snowflake: "I borrowed it. Told them I needed to make copies for emergency protocols."
She winks like that explains everything. It probably does. People believe anything when it comes out of a pretty girl's mouth.
But the key is only half the problem.
I glance toward the dormitories, where the Demara sisters' petition has already started bearing fruit. Patrol officers now roam the campus at night, their presence an iron collar around my throat.
Regret is an ugly thing, bitter and lingering. I had signed that petition without a second thought. It felt harmless, a distraction to make me seem ordinary. And now it was the very thing standing in my way.
Fantastic.
I exhale sharply, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "We have a problem."
Snowflake tilts her head.
Snowflake: "We always do."
I ignore her. "The parole officers. If we get caught, it won't just be detention. It'll be over."
Snowflake leans back, thoughtful. Then she grins.
Snowflake: "Then we won't get caught."
Easy to say. But I need more than bravado. I need a plan.
First, we need to figure out their routes. Patrolmen aren't unpredictable—they follow schedules, patterns. A good thief doesn't just walk into danger. They map it, shape it, turn it into something controllable.
Second, distractions. Something to keep them occupied, some noise in the distance, a reason to look away while we slip past.
Third, and most important… timing.
I look at Snowflake. "We'll need to watch them first. Learn their movements, find the gaps."
She nods, excitement flickering in her eyes.
Snowflake: "A stakeout, then. Midnight?"
I don't answer right away. I'm already picturing the paths, the risks, the countless ways this could go wrong.
But I don't have a choice.
Midnight it is.
The conversation lulls, the plan settled, but something nags at me. Snowflake isn't just doing this out of boredom. She has a reason—people like her always do.
I lean against the railing, watching the rippling water below. "Why are you helping me?"
She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she flicks a stray leaf off her skirt, her expression unreadable.
Snowflake: "Because I can."
I scoff. "That's not an answer."
Snowflake: "It is."
Typical. Evasion wrapped in confidence.
I push further. "What do you get out of this?"
She finally looks at me, eyes sharp, almost amused.
Snowflake: "Why do you assume I need something in return?"
I study her. She's a puzzle I haven't solved yet, a chess piece that moves in ways I don't expect. That makes her dangerous. That makes her interesting.
But everyone wants something.
I let the silence stretch before trying again. "Fine. Then what's your end goal?"
She exhales through her nose, glancing up at the moonlight filtering through the trees.
Snowflake: "I guess I just like watching things unfold. Seeing where the pieces fall."
That's vague. But there's something real beneath it—something she won't say.
I watch her carefully. "And what happens when the game's over?"
She smirks, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Snowflake: "I'll let you know when we get there."
Brief. Distant. Just enough to keep me hooked.
I don't push further. Not yet.
I don't trust her.
Snowflake Everhart—sharp, unpredictable, and always a step ahead. She has her reasons for helping me, but she won't say what they are. That alone makes her dangerous.
So, naturally, I decide to follow her.
I wait until classes end and she vanishes into the crowded halls. She moves like someone with a destination in mind, no hesitation, no wasted steps. I keep my distance, weaving between students, blending in. I've done this before. Watching, analyzing. It's second nature.
But Snowflake Everhart isn't easy to follow.
At first, I think it's coincidence—the way she subtly shifts routes, stops abruptly to glance at her reflection in a window, lingers too long at a vending machine. But then I notice it. The pattern. The way she slows down just enough to let me catch up, then speeds up again.
She knows.
I grit my teeth and continue, careful not to make it obvious, but then—
She vanishes.
One second she's ahead of me, turning a corner. The next, she's gone. I stop in my tracks, scanning the hall. No trace of her.
Then, a voice.
Snowflake: "You know, Castor, if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could've just asked."
I turn. She's standing behind me, leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed, a slow smirk on her lips. I don't react. No sudden movements, no signs of guilt. Just a slight tilt of my head.
Castor: "Didn't realize we were playing cat and mouse."
Snowflake: "Oh, we're not. I just don't like being followed."
She steps closer, her eyes gleaming with something between amusement and calculation. Then, before I can respond, she turns on her heel.
Snowflake: "Come on. There's someone you should meet."
I hesitate. This wasn't part of the plan.
Snowflake: "Don't worry. She doesn't bite. Much."
I don't like being led anywhere. But I follow.
Through the winding halls, past familiar corridors, until we reach a section of the academy I rarely visit. And then, she stops.
In front of us, standing with a composed, authoritative air, is Ovari Helios.
Hazelnut colored hair and eyes, and a mature tall figure.
The student council president.
I school my expression into something neutral, but my mind races. Why is she introducing me to her?
Ovari studies me for a moment, then speaks.
Ovari: "So you're the one Snowflake's been keeping an eye on."
Snowflake just smiles. And I realize—this was a setup.
Ovari Helios watches me with an unreadable expression, the kind that makes people uneasy. Not me. I've seen worse. But I don't like being the one under scrutiny.
She's tall, sharp-eyed, and carries herself with the kind of confidence that comes from being untouchable. The student council president—someone with real power in this academy. And Snowflake just handed me over to her like a damn gift.
I glance at Snowflake, who only smiles.
Ovari: "So this is him?"
Snowflake: "Castor Whitmore, as promised."
I keep my face blank, but my mind races. Promised? I don't like the sound of that.
Castor: "I wasn't aware I had an appointment."
Ovari tilts her head, studying me like I'm an interesting puzzle.
Ovari: "You've been getting yourself into trouble, haven't you?"
Castor: "I wouldn't say trouble. Just… curiosity."
Ovari: "Curiosity kills."
Castor: "Only if you're careless."
Her lips twitch, almost a smirk. Almost.
Snowflake leans against the desk, watching the exchange with open amusement.
Snowflake: "I figured you two should meet. You both have… similar interests."
I seriously doubt that.
Castor: "And what interest would that be?"
Ovari: "The truth."
I don't react, but I feel something shift. A trap, closing in.
Ovari: "You're looking into Cassius' death, aren't you?"
Precisely I "was" looking into it until I found the real culprit.
The room feels smaller. I force myself to stay relaxed. I don't confirm or deny it.
Castor: "Why do you care?"
Ovari steps closer, just enough to make her presence known.
Ovari: "Because if you keep digging, you'll find things that will make your life very difficult."
A warning. A threat. Or something else entirely.
Snowflake, still smirking, claps her hands together.
Snowflake: "Now, now. No need for hostility. Castor isn't stupid. He won't make unnecessary enemies, will he?"
I hold Ovari's gaze for a second longer before answering.
Castor: "…Of course not."
Ovari watches me, then finally nods.
Ovari: "Good. Because if you do, I won't be able to protect you."
She walks past me, stopping only once she reaches the door.
Ovari: "Stay out of trouble, Whitmore."
She really emphasized on my last name.
I exhale slowly, turning to Snowflake.
Castor: "That was unnecessary."
Snowflake: "Oh, but it was fun."
I narrow my eyes. She's playing her own game. And now, I need to figure out why.
Ovari watches me like a cat toying with a mouse, but I don't flinch.
Ovari: "Join the student council."
For a moment, I wonder if I misheard her.
Castor: "…What?"
She folds her arms, tilting her head slightly.
Ovari: "I said, join us. You're… interesting. And I like interesting people."
I glance at Snowflake, but she just raises an eyebrow, as if to say Don't look at me.
Castor: "You don't seem like the type to recruit troublemakers."
Ovari: "You're not a troublemaker. You're an anomaly."
I scoff, shaking my head.
Castor: "Flattering, but I don't see why you'd want me. Unless…"
Something clicks in my head. I straighten.
Castor: "You knew Marienne."
Ovari's expression doesn't change.
Ovari: "She was my friend. A damn good one."
The air feels heavier. My chest tightens.
Castor: "…She was in the student council?"
Ovari nods.
Ovari: "One of our best. Hardworking. Brilliant. Always looking out for others."
I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white.
Castor: "Then you know what happened to her."
Ovari's gaze hardens.
Ovari: "No. I don't. One day she was here, the next… she wasn't."
I study her face, searching for a lie, a flicker of deception. Nothing.
Castor: "Did the headmistress say anything?"
Ovari: "Only that she left. Voluntarily."
I swallow the lump in my throat. Lies.
Snowflake leans against the desk, watching me carefully.
Snowflake: "So? Will you take her offer?"
I don't answer immediately. My mind spins with the implications. If Marienne was part of the student council, if Ovari was her friend… this could be a way in. A way to get closer to the truth.
Castor: "…I'll think about it."
Ovari gives a small, knowing smile.
Ovari: "You do that."
She turns on her heel and walks out, leaving me standing there, fists clenched, mind burning.
Marienne was here. And now she's gone.
And I'm going to find out why.
The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the academy grounds. The time is near.
I make my way to our meeting spot—a quiet, dimly lit corridor near the eastern wing of the school. Snowflake is already there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. She looks me up and down, then smirks.
Snowflake: "You look ridiculous."
I adjust the mask covering the lower half of my face. Just a simple black cloth, but it gets the job done.
Castor: "Necessary precautions."
Snowflake: "Precautions? You think a piece of fabric will save you if we get caught?"
Castor: "It's better than nothing."
She chuckles, but there's something cold behind it.
Snowflake: "Fair enough. Let's go over the plan one last time."
I nod. We find a quiet alcove, and I whisper the details.
Castor: "The key gets us inside, but the problem is the patrols. We have a ten-minute window between shifts."
Snowflake: "And if we miscalculate?"
Castor: "Then we improvise."
She sighs.
Snowflake: "I hate improvising."
Castor: "I know."
She pulls out the spare key, twirling it between her fingers.
Snowflake: "You still haven't told me why you trust me enough to do this with me."
Castor: "I don't."
She pauses. Then she grins.
Snowflake: "Good answer."
The air around us thickens with tension. This is it.
The headmistress' office holds the truth.
And tonight, we take it.
The academy at night is a different beast altogether. The lanterns cast eerie shadows along the corridors, and the silence is suffocating. Every footstep, every breath feels like it echoes a hundred times over. One mistake, and it's over.
Snowflake moves ahead, leading the way with careful, deliberate steps. She holds the key between her fingers, the metal reflecting faintly under the dim glow. I follow, close enough to react if anything goes wrong.
We reach the headmistress' office. The large oak door stands before us like an unmovable wall, its intricate carvings mocking our attempt to slip through unnoticed. Snowflake kneels by the keyhole and slides the key in. A soft click. Then—nothing.
She frowns, jiggles it slightly. Another click. Still locked.
Snowflake: "Strange. It should work."
Castor: "Should?"
Snowflake: "Give me a second."
A second turns into a minute. Then two.
I grit my teeth. My patience, already a fragile thing, starts to crack. The shadows in my mind creep forward, whispering, pushing.
She tries again. No success.
Snowflake: "Maybe… maybe they changed the lock."
Castor: "You 'stole' that key. You said it was foolproof."
Snowflake: "I did. But things change."
I inhale sharply, fingers twitching. Something inside me stirs—something ugly, something sharp-edged and restless.
Castor: "Give me a real answer."
Snowflake: "I don't know."
Something snaps.
Before I realize it, my hand moves. The cold steel of my dagger presses against the soft skin of her throat. She stiffens, eyes wide, lips parting slightly.
Castor: "You don't know?"
Snowflake: "…I don't."
Castor: "How convenient."
Her breath is slow, controlled, but I can see the way her pulse quickens. The tiny flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. It fuels something inside me, something dark and boiling.
Then—footsteps.
A slow, methodical rhythm against the polished floors.
The parole officers.
Snowflake reacts first, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the nearest hiding spot—a storage locker barely big enough to fit us both.
We cram inside. It's suffocating. I can feel her breath against my neck, the rise and fall of her chest pressing against mine. The dagger remains between us, its tip still grazing her skin. I could see her faintly blush due to the absurdity of the situation.
Snowflake: "Castor..."
Castor: "Quiet."
Outside, the footsteps stop.
A pause. Then—
Officer: "Anyone there?"
The tension is unbearable. My grip on the dagger tightens. Snowflake barely breathes. The officer moves closer.
A creak. A shift in the air. He's about to open the locker.
No.
I move.
The second he pulls open the door, I slip out behind him, swift and silent. One sharp strike to the back of the head—he crumples before he can even react.
Silence returns.
I exhale slowly. Snowflake steps out, dusting herself off. She glances at the unconscious officer, then at me, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.
Snowflake: "Remind me never to be on your bad side."
I can feel my patience wearing thin, the walls closing in around me. Snowflake is still standing there, trying to talk me out of it, but I can barely hear her anymore. The pounding in my head is drowning her out. She's moving too slowly, speaking too softly, and all I want is to get inside that office. To get answers. To find Marienne.
Snowflake: "Castor, this isn't how we planned it. We can't just barge in!"
She's still clinging to the faint thread of sanity, trying to make sense of all this. But she doesn't get it.
Castor: "I'm done waiting, Snowflake."
I turn away from her, pacing back and forth. Every inch of me is screaming to just do it. Break it. Force it. I can't waste any more time with half-assed plans. No more sneaking.
Snowflake: "We'll be caught! Think about it."
I spin around, my anger boiling over.
Castor: "Think about it?! I've been thinking about nothing else for days. Months. Years! This is me, Snowflake. This is who I've become. Do you know what it's like to constantly be on the edge of everything, waiting for someone to finally give you an answer? To give you a reason to exist in a world that doesn't give a damn about you?"
She flinches, and I see the flash of guilt behind her eyes. It's not enough to stop me, though. I want answers, and I'll do whatever it takes to get them.
Castor: "You can stand there and lecture me about plans and patience, but that's not going to bring Marienne back, is it?"
Snowflake opens her mouth, but the words are stuck. She doesn't understand. She's too careful, too cautious. She's thinking like everyone else does, like the world tells you to. But I'm done playing by their rules.
I take a step forward, closer to the door.
Castor: "I'm going to break this door down. Right now."
Snowflake: "Castor—"
Castor: "No. Don't try to stop me."
She hesitates, but I see the fear in her eyes. She knows I'm not backing down.
I lift my leg and drive it into the door with everything I have. The loud crack of wood breaking fills the hallway, echoing through the dark halls like a gunshot. Snowflake jumps back, her eyes wide in shock, but I'm already stepping forward, kicking again. The door shudders under the force.
Castor: "If I can't do this quietly, then I'll do it my way."
Snowflake: "You're going to ruin everything!"
I turn to her, my eyes hard. She's still standing there, her hand pressed to her forehead like she's trying to hold herself together. But I'm beyond saving her.
Castor: "Then run."
Her face flickers with uncertainty, but then her shoulders drop. She takes a deep breath, looks at me once more, and steps back.
I slam my foot into the door once more, and this time it finally gives way with a sharp snap. The lock breaks, the door swings open, and for the first time, I feel a strange sense of relief.
I'm in.
The room is dark, lit only by a single candle on the desk. Shelves line the walls, filled with books and papers. And at the far end of the room, the headmistress's desk stands in the shadows.
Snowflake: "You really think this is going to solve anything?"
Castor: "I don't know. But I'll find out."
I step inside, the floorboards creaking beneath me. Snowflake follows, reluctantly. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed. I don't care anymore.
This is it. This is where it all ends.
The air is suffocating, thick with the mess I've created. My hands are shaking as I stare at the mess around me—the desk overturned, papers scattered everywhere. The frustration boils inside of me, my heart thudding in my chest. I need to find something. I need answers. But everything feels so damn empty.
Then, I spot it. A file in the back, hidden behind a pile of scattered papers. My breath hitches. This could be it.
Marienne Whitmore.
I pull it out with trembling hands, praying that this is the piece I've been looking for. This could tell me everything.
But when I open it, my heart sinks. It's completely empty. Not a single word. Just blank pages.
I feel my pulse race. My mind crashes against the realization. It's all nothing. No answers. No closure.
I'm so close. I was so close.
The anger surges. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I throw the file across the room, watching it flutter to the floor. My fists slam into the desk, then the walls. I kick over a chair, watching it hit the bookshelf with a loud crash.
Snowflake's voice breaks through the haze.
Snowflake: "Castor, stop! You're making it worse!"
But I don't hear her. My vision blurs, and all I can see is red. I need to break something, I need to destroy something. It's the only way to make the pain stop.
Snowflake: "Please, stop!"
She sounds afraid. But I don't care. I don't care about anything but this—this void, this emptiness that is consuming me. I hit the desk again, harder this time, feeling the wood crack beneath my fists.
Snowflake steps back, her voice shaky.
Snowflake: "We need to go, Castor. Now."
But I can't move. I can't think. I'm lost in this fury, this madness. It's like I'm no longer in control.
Then I hear it. Footsteps. The sound of boots on the floor, growing closer. A parole officer.
I freeze. My blood runs cold.
Snowflake, panic in her eyes, starts backing toward the door.
Snowflake: "We have to go now!"
But I'm too far gone. I can't leave. I need something. I need answers.
The footsteps are closer now, and my head is spinning. The door creaks open, and I don't even register the figure in the doorway until it's too late.
Parole Officer: "What are you doing here?"
His eyes widen as he spots me standing there, the chaos of the office around me. Before I can even think, I reach for the nearest weapon—a sharp letter opener. My hand moves on its own, driven by desperation, by fear.
The officer steps forward, reaching for his communicator, but it's too late. I lunge, the letter opener sinking deep into his side.
His breath catches, and he stumbles back, eyes wide with shock. He grabs the wound, but blood pours from his side, spilling onto the floor. He falls, gasping for air, his hands trembling.
I stand there, staring at him as he struggles. I should feel something—regret, guilt, fear. But I don't. The rage is still there, still pulsing through me.
Snowflake's voice is distant now. I can barely hear her.
Snowflake: "Castor... what did you...?"
But I don't answer. I don't care about her, or the mess I've made. I look down at the officer as he fades. His eyes lose focus, and his body goes limp.
He's dead. I killed him.
Snowflake turns and runs, disappearing into the shadows. I don't stop her. I don't chase after her. I just stand there, staring at the lifeless body on the floor.
A part of me knows this isn't the end. This won't fix anything. But I can't stop now. The darkness inside me is too strong, too consuming.
I wipe the blood from my hands, looking at the mess around me. There's no going back now.
The air in the office is thick, suffocating, as my mind races to put together the pieces of this mess. The officer's blood is still fresh on the floor, a reminder of what I've done. I can't let it be traced back to me. I can't let this be the end.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, my pulse thumping in my ears. The officer's body lies there, unmoving. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, but the panic slowly fades, replaced by a cold, calculating clarity. I need to make this look right. I need to make it look like something else happened.
I reach for the dagger at my side, my fingers brushing its cold surface. It's the weapon that started this whole thing, the one that's going to get me caught if I'm not careful. But I can't leave it here, not like this. I need to make it seem like something else—a story.
With steady hands, I place the dagger in the officer's lifeless grip. The cold metal feels heavier than ever as I position it, making sure it looks like the officer had been holding it when everything went wrong. The scene has to fit. The struggle needs to be believable.
I can already hear the narrative unfolding in my mind. A break-in. A fight. An accident. The officer, trying to stop the intruder, and in the chaos, the two got caught in a deadly struggle. Only one came out of it alive. I can almost hear the whispers already, the lies forming in their mouths.
I step back and take a breath, surveying my work. The bloodstains on the floor, the way the officer's body lies—everything is just right. It looks like a struggle. It looks like a fight that ended in death.
I glance around the room, my eyes flickering over the disarray, and then they land on the other officer. He's still unconscious, but I can't leave him like this. Not yet. He needs to be part of the story. He needs to be the one who looks like he was just trying to do his job.
I drag him closer to the door, careful not to make any noise. I position his body in a defensive stance, like he was caught off guard, trying to fight back. The story writes itself now. He was the one trying to stop the other officer, trying to save the academy from a break-in. And in the end, he was the one who paid for it.
I take a step back, studying the scene once more. It's perfect. It has to be. There's no other way out of this. The story is solid, foolproof.
And then, I hear it. A faint voice, distant but unmistakable. Snowflake.
I can feel the tension rise in my chest. She's still somewhere in the building, probably waiting for me, but I can't think about her right now. Not when this is so close to being done.
I give the room one last glance, making sure everything is just as it should be. No mistakes. No loose ends.
I move quickly, quietly, slipping out of the office. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.
It's done. The scene is set. The story is perfect.
Now, all I have to do is disappear.
I just killed a man and framed another.
That feeling alone could haunt me for the rest of my life. But, I couldn't feel that same guilt anymore.
I refused to admit it, but I changed.
I can go to any lengths for Marienne—even if it means killing someone.
And it makes me vomit.
But I have to do it—as her only family member, and as her being my only family member. I have to do anything and everything to protect my family.
I walk back to the hallway, the silence around me deafening. I can feel the weight of my actions pressing down on me, but there's no time to feel regret. I need to get out of here. I need to move, to disappear before anyone else finds out what happened.
Snowflake is waiting for me, her back against the wall, her face unreadable. She doesn't say a word when I approach, doesn't even glance at me. It's as if she's been waiting here for hours, not moving, just... waiting.
I stop in front of her, the tension thick in the air. My voice finally breaks the silence.
Castor: "I framed him. The other parole officer. I made sure everything looked right."
Her eyes flicker briefly, but she doesn't react. She simply stands there, as if this isn't the least bit surprising.
Castor: "If you want, you can turn me in. I won't stop you."
She doesn't move. Doesn't say anything. Her eyes are cold, calculating, but there's something else there.
Castor: "If you really think it's the right thing to do... then do it."
Snowflake's expression hardens, and after a long pause, she speaks softly, almost too quietly for me to hear.
Snowflake: "No."
I blink, taken aback.
Castor: "What?"
Snowflake: "I'm not turning you in, Castor."
I stare at her, confusion and disbelief swirling in my gut. Why would she protect me? She knows what I've done, knows exactly what kind of person I am.
Castor: "That's... that's insane."
Snowflake steps closer to me, her eyes never leaving mine. There's something dangerous in her gaze, something that feels oddly familiar. Something that pulls at the edges of my own dark thoughts.
Snowflake: "You don't get it, do you?"
Castor: "Get what?"
Snowflake: "I'm not protecting you because I'm afraid of you. I'm protecting you because I want to understand you."
Her voice is low, her words sharp, like a dagger.
Snowflake: "I've seen it. That side of you. The one you keep hidden. I want to know it. All of it."
What the fuck?
I take a step back, shaking my head. My heart is racing, my breath shallow. I don't understand. I can't understand.
Castor: "What the hell are you talking about?"
Snowflake: "The darkness, Castor. I see it in you. That's why I'm here."
I try to find the words, but they don't come. I want to run. I want to push her away, but something in her eyes stops me.
Castor: "Why? Why would you want to understand that? Why would you want me?"
Snowflake steps closer again, her voice almost a whisper now, but I can hear the intensity in every syllable.
Snowflake: "Because you're real. You don't hide behind false pretenses. You embrace it—the darkness, the chaos. And I want to see it. I want to see you."
My chest tightens. This feels wrong. This feels dangerous. She's bad news.
Castor: "You're crazy."
Snowflake: "No, Castor. I'm just like you."
I take a step back, my mind racing, trying to make sense of everything. I feel like I'm drowning in it—her words, her gaze, her obsession with something I thought I could control.
Castor: "You're not like me."
Snowflake's lips curl into a cold smile.
Snowflake: "You'd be surprised."
The air between us feels heavier now, suffocating. She's not backing down, and neither am I. But deep down, I know something has changed.
She's not afraid of me. She's not trying to stop me. She wants to be a part of it.
And that... that scares me more than anything else.
Castor: "I don't want you involved in this. Stay away from me."
Snowflake doesn't even flinch.
Snowflake: "I'm already involved, Castor. I've been watching you. I've been waiting for this moment. You can't push me away."
I try to turn away, but something inside me tells me I can't. She's too close now. Too far gone to let go.
This crazy woman...
Castor: "You're obsessed."
Snowflake: "I'm not obsessed. I'm fascinated. I want to see how far you'll go."
Her voice is a whisper now, so soft, so sure. And it's in that moment that I realize—this isn't just some game to her. This isn't some passing infatuation.
She means it.
Castor: "I don't need you."
Snowflake: "Yes, you do. You just don't know it yet."
I just wanna kill myself.