The world does not lie to me.
People do.
Constantly. Endlessly. Effortlessly.
But the world—the thing beneath their skin, behind their eyes, buried inside their fragile existence—that never lies.
And I see it. I always have.
It begins before they even speak.
A flicker. A stain.
Something dark curling beneath the surface of their soul like ink bleeding through water.
Some carry greed, thick and suffocating.
Some carry fear, sharp and trembling.
Others carry something worse—betrayal.
That one always tastes the richest.
By the time they open their mouths, I am already bored.
Because I already know.
I know which words are false.
I know which smiles are rehearsed.
I know which loyalty will crumble the moment it becomes inconvenient.
Humans are simple. Predictable. Disappointing.
That is why I stopped seeing them as people a long time ago.
Now they are nothing more than vessels.
Carriers of something far more valuable than their lives.
Souls.
And I devour them.
Not often. Not recklessly.
I am not some mindless creature driven by hunger.
No. I choose. I select. I wait.
Because not all souls are worth consuming.
Some are weak—thin, brittle, tasteless.
Like the one I took this morning.
I can still feel it lingering inside me.
A faint residue. Cowardice. Desperation.
It dissolves slowly, leaving behind nothing but irritation.
I should not have taken it.
The city stretches before me through the glass wall of my office.
From this height, everything looks small. Controlled. Insignificant.
Exactly as it should be.
This is my world.
Not because I built it.
But because I understand it better than anyone else ever could.
A knock echoes behind me. Hesitant. Measured. Afraid.
"Enter."
The door opens slowly. I do not turn. I do not need to.
I already know what stands behind me.
An executive. Nervous. Hiding something. About to lie.
"…Sir, about the merger—"
Lie.
"I trust you reviewed the numbers."
Lie.
"And everything is in order—"
Lie.
"Sit down."
My voice cuts through his words. Calm. Final.
"I—I haven't finished, sir."
"You already did. And you lied three times in less than ten seconds."
His face drains of color.
Fear. Pure. Honest.
"Sit."
He obeys.
The meeting ends shortly after. Not because it is resolved, but because I no longer care.
When I step into the hallway, the building feels the same as always—controlled, silent.
People move the moment they notice me.
They don't know why. But something inside them does.
A predator is passing.
And then—something stops me.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Silence.
Not the absence of sound—but the absence of truth.
It vanishes.
Completely.
I stop walking.
That has never happened before.
I focus. Reach outward. Search.
There should be something. Anything.
But there is nothing.
Not emptiness. Not absence.
Something worse.
Void.
My gaze shifts forward.
And I see her.
A girl crouched on the floor, surrounded by scattered papers.
"…wait—no—don't go there…" she murmurs softly.
One sheet slips and slides across the floor, stopping at my feet.
Everything freezes.
No one moves. No one breathes.
She doesn't even notice me.
I study her.
Messy hair. Simple clothes. Unsteady movements.
Clumsy. Unpolished. Real.
And wrong.
There is no performance in her.
No hidden intention. No awareness of being watched.
That should not exist.
Every human hides something.
But her—
I reach out.
Not with my hand.
With what I truly am.
I brush against her existence, expecting something—anything.
Nothing.
My breath stills.
Impossible.
I push further.
Still nothing.
It is like reaching into a space that refuses to exist.
I step closer.
"What are you?"
The words slip out before I can stop them.
She looks up, startled.
"…I—what?"
Her voice is soft. Confused. Genuine.
"I asked," I say quietly, "what are you?"
"I—I'm new here," she stumbles. "Intern… I think I came to the wrong floor…"
She gives a small, awkward smile.
As if that explains everything.
I stare at her.
Again.
Nothing.
This is not purity.
Even the purest souls have shadows.
But her—
She is unreadable.
For the first time in my existence—
I cannot see someone.
I crouch without thinking, picking up the paper near my feet.
I extend it toward her.
She hesitates, then takes it.
Our fingers touch.
And everything changes.
It is subtle.
But I feel it.
Warmth.
Not power. Not energy.
Something softer. Something real.
I freeze.
That should not happen.
Nothing touches me.
Nothing reaches me.
I pull my hand back.
"…Leave."
She flinches.
"O-okay! Sorry! I'll go—sorry!"
She gathers her papers quickly, almost dropping them again, then rushes out.
The door closes.
Silence returns.
But it is not the same.
I stand there, still.
Thinking.
"…What are you?" I murmur again.
This time, the question feels different.
I turn toward the glass wall. The city stretches endlessly below.
For years, everything made sense.
Every human. Every action. Every outcome.
And now—
there is one existence I cannot understand.
I should eliminate her.
That would be logical.
Unknown variables are dangerous.
But instead—
I find myself thinking—
I want to see her again.
My jaw tightens.
Annoyed.
At myself.
At her.
At this disruption.
"No soul," I whisper.
But I know that isn't true.
Because when I touched her—
I felt something.
Something I could not define.
Something I could not consume.
My eyes narrow.
Whatever she is—
she is not normal.
And that makes her dangerous.
But danger has never repelled me.
It draws me closer.
My gaze shifts once more to the door she left through.
And this time, the thought is clear.
I want to see her again.
Not hunger.
Not yet.
Something worse.
Something quieter.
Something that lingers.
Obsession does not begin loudly.
It begins like this—
in silence.
And I can already feel it growing.