Prologue

"My dear reader, am I a fool?"

I want you to answer me.

Go on. Say something.

But you won't, will you?

Because you think you're safe. You think you're just sitting there, reading this, scrolling mindlessly through the words as if they belong to you. As if I belong to you.

But I know you're here.

I feel you.

And honestly? It's pissing me off.

I dig my nails into my palm, suppressing the bitter laugh crawling up my throat. My eyes flick to the unfinished painting in front of me. The lines are wrong. The colors are wrong. Everything is wrong.

And yet—there you are. Watching.

Staring at me through the spaces between the words.

Why won't you stop?

I tilt my head, exhaling slowly.

"Do you enjoy watching me like this?"

Silence.

But of course, silence.

I drag my fingers down my face, smearing a mix of sweat and dried paint against my skin.

"You know what, my dear reader?" I whisper. "I think you do."