My muse

Chally stepped into the house. A lump of fear clung to his throat, making him speechless. Ting ting. A message lit up on his phone. His pupils reflected the text from that person: My beautiful Chally, you looked stunning today in that cream-colored coat under the autumn sky. How can a boy like you be so breathtaking? I love you. I really love you, Chally. Your curly hair, your eyes, even those lips… Chally trembled. He typed back: Leave me alone! Why are you stalking me? I’ll report you to the police! The reply came instantly: Be good, darling. You’ll regret it if you do that—you know it too, don’t you? I love you, after all. We met in the dazzling, bustling streets of Paris. But you don’t remember me. That makes me really sad… Shall we meet again? Oh, and sweetie, don’t stare at your screen like that—it’s not good for your eyes! Chally was terrified. His almond-colored eyes darted around. The soft orange-yellow lights in the house flickered slightly, sending shivers down his spine. He quickly turned off his phone, stumbled to the sofa, and buried his face in the cushion. It was him. Chally knew. Everything began two months ago. On a stormy, rain-drenched night, Chally had just left a convenience store and was heading home. He passed by a narrow alley. The darkness and a faint groaning stopped him in his tracks. He saw a figure slouched against the wall. “What’s going on? Do you need help?” Chally called out. The man didn’t answer. Chally took a few cautious steps forward. “Hey, are you alright?” A sharp, metallic scent hit his nose—blood. A man lay slumped against the wall, his abdomen soaked in blood. Chally froze, stumbling back in horror and falling to the ground. Then the killer turned to face him—his eyes cold, cruel. “Y-You…” “You saw, didn’t you? Congratulations—welcome to my hell.” “Please… I…” Step by step, the killer approached him. Just as he lowered his hood, Chally blacked out. A heavy darkness clouded his vision as muffled sounds echoed in his ears. “So beautiful… it’s almost a shame to hurt you…” When Chally opened his eyes, he found himself in an opulent room steeped in the nostalgic scent of time. He was lying on a small, finely carved bed adorned with daisy patterns, placed near a window. From where he lay, he could see the entire garden below—overflowing with flowers. Opposite the bed stood a bookshelf coated in layers of dust, most of the books were written in French. Oddly enough, Chally didn’t feel afraid. At least, not yet. Click The door creaked open. A young man entered. The night before, he had hidden his face. But today, his platinum hair and emerald green eyes were fully revealed—his gaze, sharp and challenging, locked onto Chally. “Did you sleep well?” The killer asked with a smile. Of course not. Chally didn’t feel okay at all. He was standing before a murderer. Was he going to be the next victim? With a racing heart, Chally stepped down from the bed. “What do you want from me?” The killer's eyes gleamed with a strange light. “Why? Why aren’t you afraid of me?” And in that moment, Chally froze—because for a fleeting second, he thought he saw something… a flicker of longing hidden deep within those eyes. “Rid,” The man continued, “Rid Calivet! That’s my name.” “If I could… I’d wish that you have truly come back to me.” Sunlight traced the edge of Rid’s jawline, brushing past the turmoil surging within Chally, still lost in the shadows.