MonsterMagic

tful and Pursuer were never meant to fall in love. They were meant to destroy each other. Their first meetings were marked by violence rather than affection. Every encounter carried the same question: which one would finally be the one left standing? Artful treated death like a performance. He smiled when he should have been afraid, laughed when blood stained the floor, and moved through danger with an almost beautiful recklessness. There was something artistic about the way he killed, as though every fight were a masterpiece only he could understand. Pursuer was the opposite. He did not perform. He hunted. He followed without hesitation, silent and patient, always appearing when escape seemed impossible. Where Artful fought with flair, Pursuer fought with purpose. He did not need cruelty to make himself frightening. The certainty in his eyes was enough. Naturally, Artful became fascinated. Their encounters slowly changed. A knife raised became a hand lowered. A chase became a conversation. A threat became a lingering glance. Neither of them admitted what was happening. They were killers. Love was supposed to be a weakness, and neither could afford one. Still, Artful began leaving little opportunities for Pursuer to find him. Pursuer began taking longer than necessary to finish their encounters. They both knew. They simply refused to say it. One night, after another fight, Artful stood wounded beneath the dim light, blood running down his side. Pursuer had him cornered. He could have ended it. Instead, he stared. Artful smiled through the pain. “What are you waiting for?” Pursuer said nothing. Artful stepped closer. “You've had so many chances.” “I know.” “Then why am I still alive?” Pursuer's gaze lowered briefly to the blood on Artful's clothes. “Because I don't want you dead.” For once, Artful had no clever answer. That was the moment everything changed. Their love was never gentle. It was possessive, dangerous.