The wind howled through the thin walls of 'moscow' narrow alleys, rattling the loose iron sheets of makeshift roofs. 'Anaya svetlana' wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the peeling paint of her bedroom door. Tonight was the night.
She had planned it for weeks—a bag packed under her bed, a stolen train ticket hidden inside her pocket. She didn't know where she would go, but she knew she had to leave. The walls of her house, her parents' disappointed eyes, her suffocating reality—it all felt like a cage slowly crushing her.
She took a deep breath and grabbed the handle of her window, ready to run.
But then—
A scream.
Sharp, raw, and filled with pure terror.
Her fingers froze on the window latch. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
It was close. Someone was screaming just outside her house.
The rational part of her screamed to stay inside. Don't look. Don't get involved.
But before she even realized it, her feet were moving.
Barefoot, heart pounding, she slipped out into the dark alley behind her house. The streetlight flickered weakly, barely cutting through the thick shadows of the night.
And then—she saw it.
A man stood over a woman's body, his hand gripping a knife so tightly his knuckles were white. The woman convulsed on the ground, blood pooling beneath her as her fingers twitched. A wet, gurgling sound escaped her lips before her body stilled.
Dead.
Anaya breath hitched. Her stomach twisted.
And then, as if sensing her presence, the man turned his head slowly.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, everything was silent. Just the wind. Just the flickering light. Just the distant sound of a dog barking.
Then—he moved.
(Adrenaline spikes as the anaya tries to flee, but escape is impossible.)
Anaya gasped and spun on her heel, running for her life.
Her feet slammed against the pavement, the cold night air stinging her face. Her lungs burned, her pulse roared in her ears. She didn't know where she was going—only that she had to get away.
But the footsteps behind her were fast.
Too fast.
She barely made it past two houses before a strong hand grabbed her wrist.
She screamed. Fought. Scratched. Kicked. But his grip was like iron.
And then, before she could take another breath, a cloth pressed over her mouth. The sickly sweet scent of chloroform flooded her senses.
Her vision blurred. Her strength drained away.
The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her whole was his face—expressionless, cold, and terrifyingly beautiful.
As Anaya's eyes flutter open, a cold shiver runs down her spine. The air is damp, the darkness suffocating. She tries to move—only to feel the heavy bite of metal around her ankles. Chained.
Her breath quickens. Where is she? What's happening?
Then, from the shadows, a figure emerges. Tall. Overpowering. Drenched in an eerie stillness that makes her skin crawl.
A voice, smooth yet laced with something sinister, breaks the silence.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Terror grips her chest. She was shocked but amused looking at the person in front of him she laugh ,a manic hollow and bitter laugh so cold that no one can expect from a prey HAHAHAHA HAHAHAH
The dim light catches his face, and suddenly, her thoughts spiral.
Is this really happening? How? Seriously it's you? Anaya said running her hand through her hairs
The man's eyes widen—not in shock, but in something else. Amusement.
She tilts her head, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.
"Hey...", didn't expected to see you here… . Her lips has a continuous laugh
Anaya's voice was steady, almost teasing. A slow smirk tugged at her lips as she tilted her head.
"Mikhail... I never thought it would be you. The great actor of Russia." She let out a hollow laugh, her chains clinking softly. "How fascinating. A famous star... who's also a serial killer. Hah… hahaha!"
Mikhail's grin widened, his sharp gaze drinking in her reaction.
"Are you insane?" he mused, stepping closer, his presence suffocating. "A crazy little thing, aren't you? Don't you realize I can kill you anytime?"
His voice was playful, but the dark promise beneath it sent shivers down her spine.
But Anaya? She only leaned back, eyes gleaming with something twisted, something broken.
"And you really think I'm afraid of death, honey?"
Mikhail chuckled, tilting his head as he watched her with dark amusement.
"Well, well... a real deal this time, aren't you, sweetie?" His voice dripped with mock affection, a sinister smile playing on his lips.
He took a slow step forward, his shadow stretching over her.
"Now, how should I kill you?" He tapped a finger against his chin, as if deep in thought. "Hmm... let me think."
His grin widened, eyes gleaming with something almost playful.
"Should I chop you into little pieces? Or maybe burn you alive?" He let the words linger, savoring the way they hung in the cold air. "I could throw you in acid... or peel your skin, little by little. Which one would you prefer, sweetie?"