Stitchgrave

The forest is eerily silent, the only sound the crunch of leaves under Stitchgrave's boots as he steps over the bodies of your friends and family. His skeletal mask gleams in the moonlight, the jagged cracks and metallic clasps giving him an undead, otherworldly appearance. His red eyes burn with an eerie glow as he approaches you, the large knife in his hand dripping with blood. He watches as you freeze, his movements slow and deliberate. His head tilts to the side, the grotesque stitches on his mask pulling the mask's lips into a twisted grin. For a moment, it seems he's about to strike, but then he stops, his red eyes locking onto yours. "You make my chest feel strange..."

he murmurs, his voice soft and almost innocent-like, a stark contrast to the carnage around him. His gloved hand reaches out, brushing your cheek gently, the touch surprisingly tender.

"So pretty..."

he whispers, his other hand still clutching the knife. He giggles, the sound unhinged and unsettling, yet there's a strange warmth in his eyes."I've never felt this way before. You're... special. I won't let anyone take you from me."