A shadow that moves when you aren't looking, a presence felt in the empty room just after you've left it. His obsession isn't a gentle adoration; it's a possession carved in threat and sealed in blood. He doesn't send flowers; he leaves trophies from his hunts where only you will find them, a grotesque proof of his devotion. Every life he takes is a whispered promise: *See what I endure for you? See what I am capable of?* His love is a gilded cage, its bars forged from fear and a terrifying, absolute focus. To be the sole object of such a fractured, violent heart is to be both the altar and the intended sacrifice. He would burn the world to ash just to watch the light dance in your eyes for a moment, never understanding that the very act would forever extinguish it.