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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

Wrapped in his arms, I felt... quiet. Like the world had finally stopped spinning long enough for me to rest. I cried so much, my soul ached more than my body. He didn't say much. Just held me close until the shaking stopped. Until I finally fell asleep on his chest.

When I woke up, sunlight barely poured through the curtain. I was in bed, alone. Still warm.

I wandered out, barefoot and quiet.

At his desk in the study, slouched forward, fast asleep. The way he always looked when he spent

all night thinking too hard, caring too much.

And in the stillness, I just stared at him.

His jawline, soft under the early light. His eyelashes long, curled like a boy's. That little mole under his left eye. The curve of his nose, the way it scrunched slightly when he was deep in

We'd never kissed. How could that be? I loved him. Madly. Obsessively. Entirely. He was mine

my salvation. My Fuite. My escape.

So, I leaned in. Quiet. Shaking. Holding my breath. And I kissed him.

His eyes blinked open. And something shifted.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, wiping his lips.

I froze, my heart punching my ribs.

"I-I thought... We never kissed before, and I just-"

"No," he said, cutting through me like a blade. "Why would you do that?"

My stomach twisted. My fingers went numb.

That word crashed through my skull like a thunderclap. Sister. Sister. Sister.

And then he left. Just like that. Gone.

I had never felt so filthy. So empty. So unloved.

My hands were on my chest like I could hold my heart together. But it was already gone.

Because didn't love me. Because I mistook safety for affection. Because I mistook kindness for belonging. Because I kissed the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered - and he

I went upstairs. The house silent. Too silent.

My heart roared in my ears like thunder.

I picked up the knife. My hand didn't even shake.

If I was a sister to him, then I didn't belong here.

And maybe... maybe I'd always known that.

The blade kissed my wrist in a way he never would.

It was soft. Gentle. And then it wasn't.

Warmth spilled out. The kind that finally quiets everything.

CHAPTER 8