“I’m sorry, I can’t stay,” they say, firm yet kind. Head cocking. “Are you alright?”
I nod, lashes fluttering. “Are you real?”
The stranger smiles. It’s… illuminating.
They lean down to whisper, “Maybe.” Then wink.
And I’m just… gawking.
Real people aren’t this beautiful. It’s highly unlikely.
Although, on this island? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s like Alabaster Isle has a permanent filter on it. Everyone here is too beautiful to be real.
Maybe I’ve imagined them all…
Nope. No no no. Not going there.
When it becomes clear I’m frozen in a trance of bewildered confusion, the person’s brows furrow and they chuckle.“Kidding. Sorry…” They flip their shiny hair over to one side, shoulders slumping as they look around. “I’ve never been in here. Is this your boyfriend’s bedroom?”
I swallow, watching studiously.Who is this person?? Where did they come from?
I’ve never seen them before, but they’re making it seem like they’re familiar with the mansion…
“Fiancé,” I correct, like a reflex. It just comes out, because I’m excited.
Or Iwas… until everything got all crazy.
The beautiful human’s eyes widen and sparkle a bit, lips quirking at the corner. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I grin, then shake it off and clear my throat. “I’m sorry… Um, thank you very much for saving me. I appreciate it…sodamn much. But who are you?”
They chuckle again. “Right. Sorry again. My name is Angel.” They extend a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
I take their hand, shaking tentatively. “Felix. Pleased to… meet you too.”
“I have a confession.” They lean in, still gripping my hand, sort of pulling me in closer to whisper, “I know who you are.”
“You do…?” My blinking feels… rapid.
They nod animatedly. “I’ve kinda sorta… beendyingto meet you.”
They flutter a breathy sound, cheeks flushing subtly.Almost like they’re… fan-they/them-ing.
“Why?” My tone is rife with disbelief.
Their grin goes wide. “I’m a big fan.” They frown and shake their head. “Not in a creepy way or anything. I’m not akiller… Not yet, anyway.” A wicked twinkle accompanies the devious twist of their full lips. “I just followed your story for a while. True crime fanboy right here.” They laugh softly.
The sound is so harmonious, it almost distracts from the batshit lunacy he’s spouting.
He called himself a boy. So… he. Got it.
Verified without having to ask. Nice.
I’m still kinda just gaping at the stranger, trying to process everything he said, and how he’s squirming and blushing and watching me intently.
Fanboy… Followed my… story?
Oh, right. I forgot I was The Carver for a second.
