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FOLIE À DEUX
When love becomes madness, and madness becomes the only escape.

Sixteen-year-old Lucienna runs not just from her home in Lille, but from the shadows of her past — from bruised skin and broken silences, from the suffocating weight of being unseen. What she doesn’t expect to find is him — Fuite — a boy as strange and haunted as she is, living a life of disappearance.

As the two begin to orbit each other in the silence of library aisles and hidden corners, a fragile routine forms — delicate, dangerous, and intoxicating. But what starts as a flicker of understanding quickly spirals into something obsessive, all-consuming, and irreversible. In each other, they find solace. In each other, they find reflection. And in each other, they find madness.

Folie à Deux — a shared psychosis. A shared love. A shared destruction.

This is not a love story. This is the story of a girl who fell in love with her ghost. And the price she paid for it.

FOLIE À DEUX

The tension had been building like a storm for years, but that day-my parents were arrested. Caught trying to sell a rental car in another city, their careless greed finally caught up to them.

The police took them away, handcuffed and defeated.

For once, silence fell over 17 Rue des Lias, an eerie quiet that whispered this is my chance.

I moved fast. Took my mother's jewelry, the last remnants of value she cared about, and snatched what money I could find. My heart hammered with every breath-this was it. My only chance to escape.

I stood in the dim hallway, hand on the door, ready to step into freedom. But then my eyes drifted to the neighbor's house Fuite's house.

The one person who understood the fractured chaos inside me. The only light in a world drowning in darkness.

And suddenly the weight crushed me all over again.

If I leave, I'll lose him. The only person who sees me. The only person who holds the pieces of

Tears welled up, blurring the path ahead.

If I stay, I die a slow death in that house... If I go, I might lose the only thing keeping me alive.

I sat down in the backyard, my mind a war zone. I loved him. I hated the thought of leaving. Yet the fear of staying was a razor slicing through my lungs.

Finally, the desperate truth broke through:

If I don't leave, one of us will die. Probably me.

With a shaking breath, I rose, wiped my tears, and stepped out into the night.

The train rattled beneath me, the rhythm pounding like my own erratic heartbeat. Each mile away from Lille pulled me further from the nightmare I'd lived but also further from the one person who might save me.

Biarritz. A city full of strangers and cold streets. I had just enough money for the ticket, but not enough to find a room. No motel, no shelter.

Darkness wrapped around me as I stepped off the train, swallowed by the chill of an unfamiliar night.

The streets were empty, hostile a world that didn't care if I lived or died.

I wandered, desperate and exhausted, until I found it: an abandoned house, silent and broken like me.

The door creaked as I pushed it open. The stale air greeted me like an old wound.

I climbed the stairs, every step a stab of fear.

And there, in the attic's corner, a dead body. Half-rotten, reeking of decay proof that death didn't care where you hid. the final, terrifying

Panic surged through my veins, but nowhere to run. The city wasn't safe for a girl alone at night.

I sat in the dark, frozen between terror and exhaustion, the corpse's hollow eyes accusing me of

Days passed, or maybe hours time lost meaning. Hunger gnawed, sleep refused.

I talked to the dead. It whispered secrets, poured out it's pain.

"Enfin libre, par la fuite." (Finally free, through escape.)

I sat still, but in the stillness, I realized I was losing my mind.

The nights blurred into endless black, and the silence of the dead house pressed against my sanity. I couldn't tell where my own thoughts ended and the shadows began.

Loneliness carved hollows in my chest, sharp and endless. "WAIT!! What did the dead say??? Fuite? Yes... Fuite."

I called him. Told him my address.

He arrived after 17 hours, to be exact. We were counting... me and my 'friend' this counting.

He arrived and came up, and wasn't very pleased to see my new friend.

Perhaps he wasn't very frank with strangers.

He kept on insisting I go with him. And I did.

CHAPTER 6