Fear has a taste. Most people will never know it. They think it's just an emotion—something that comes and goes. They don't understand how wrong they are.
You can feel fear on your tongue, in the air, in the silence between one breath and the next. But most of all, in how damn addictive it can be.
I had been watching him for a long time. Far too long for someone who wasn't worth it.
William Miller. A boy who should have broken a long time ago. And yet he kept getting up, kept searching, kept breathing—as if he had every right to.
It was irritating… but also fascinating. The kid, without even knowing it, forced me to be more creative, to think harder, and above all—to act more brutally. In the end, everyone breaks. And I love being there to witness it.
When he was walking alone through the city, I knew this was the moment. Weak. Sick. Too proud to stop. Too foolish to ask for help. Perfect for me.
I didn't have to rush. I let him take a few more steps, a few more breaths—and then, just silence, broken by the impact. He fell hard, limp. As if I had simply switched his life off. Incredibly satisfying.
Blood always looked the same. Only the shade ever differed. The reactions were always different too. He didn't even have time to react. That was the most beautiful part.
When he woke up, I was already waiting for him. I didn't move. I like watching that first moment—pain, disorientation, the attempt to understand. I savored it.
His breathing quickened. Nausea hit him—I noticed immediately. His body was fighting, but it was too weak. Beautiful. He jerked against the ropes. They bit into his wrists. He hissed. Music to my ears. I smiled faintly.
- Don't struggle—you'll only hurt yourself, my accomplice said.
I ignored him. There was only one person in that room who interested me. William looked around the darkness. Weak flashlight. Shadows. I did it on purpose. Darkness always helps—it takes away control. And people without control begin to fear.
And I wanted his fear more than anything in that moment.