Mann_goswami

In a dusty bookstore, Mann, a reclusive poet with a penchant for broken things, encounters a woman he dubs "Cassette"-a muse whose hum pierces his silence and ignites an all-consuming love. As their romance deepens, fueled by shared literature, slow dances, and raw intimacy, Mann's devotion warps into obsession. Viewing her as a perfect cassette tape, he sees any interference -be it a crude law student, a suspicious friend, or a prying landlord-as "noise" or "scratches" marring her melody. One by one, he eliminates these threats with gruesome precision: a throat slit, a body drowned, a car compacted, a fire set, each kill a vow to keep her pure.

Cassette, unaware at first, is drawn

into his orbit, her own scars and trust

binding her to him. But when her friend

group stages an intervention, Mann's

violence peaks, and he tests her loyalty,

coaxing her to kill. She does, sealing

their dark duet-only for Mann to decide

her perfection can't endure life's decay.

Poisoning her tea with arsenic, he stops

her "tape," preserving her in a grotesque

ritual of lavender and glass eyes, their

love eternalized in stillness. As he

mourns her at a table set for two, his

gaze drifts to a new hum, hinting at a

cycle poised to rewind.

No one else can hear you

The kill was slow, personal. Mann lured Ryan to an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with dust and rust, the faint hum of a distant train underscoring the night. He'd brought piano wire—thin, gleaming, coiled like a lover's promise—and waited in the shadows as Ryan staggered in, lured by a forged note promising cash. "Who's there?" Ryan slurred, and Mann stepped forward, silent, looping the wire around Ryan's neck in a swift, practiced arc. The metal bit deep, a taut hiss against flesh, and Ryan's hands flew up, clawing at it, his gasps wet and ragged as Mann pulled tighter.

Blood trickled where the wire sliced skin, a thin red ribbon pooling at Ryan's collar, and Mann leaned close, his breath hot on Ryan's ear. "You hurt her, twisted her tune. I'm restringing it." Ryan's eyes bulged, veins popping purple against his paling face, his tongue swelling as he choked, legs kicking in a frantic stutter. Mann hummed Cassette's lullaby—soft, eerie, a counterpoint to the wire's deadly song—tightening until flesh parted, the cord sawing through muscle, scraping bone. A final gurgle, a shudder, and Ryan stilled, his head lolling, eyes frozen wide, the wire embedded deep, a crimson necklace of Mann's making.

He stood over the body, breathing hard, the air coppery and sharp, then knelt, winding the blood-slick wire into a bracelet—"For you, Cassette." That night, he returned to her, the kill's heat still thrumming in his veins. She was in bed, reading, her hair a dark cascade on the pillow, and he climbed in, his hands framing her face as he kissed her—slow, deep, tasting her warmth, her life. "You're my chord, Cassette, the only note I play," he murmured, and she smiled, pulling him closer, her book tumbling forgotten.

He shed his shirt, revealing the faint red lines where the wire had grazed his palms, and she traced them, curious, but didn't ask. "You're beautiful," she whispered, and he growled, tugging her nightgown up, his lips following—kissing her stomach, her ribs, her breasts, his teeth grazing as she arched, her breath a soft hymn. "You're mine, Cassette, untangled now," he said, his hands sliding her thighs apart, his mouth finding her heat, slow and reverent, her taste a melody he drank in. She moaned, fingers twisting in his hair, guiding him, and he rose, shedding the rest, pressing into her—raw, urgent, their bodies a perfect collision. Her legs locked around him, her nails raking his back, and he moved with her, fierce, romantic, whispering, "No one else, my muse," as her cries peaked, pulling his own release, their sweat a shared vow. He gifted her the wire bracelet after, kissing her wrist: "Wear my devotion," and she did, blind to its origin, her trust a song he'd kill to keep.

THE TENSE