Chapter Text
—The city night was quiet, only the sound of police cars in the distance could be heard. Under the dim streetlights, Tunner’s face appeared with hard and cold features like the way he always showed to the world. His days as sheriff had turned him into a cautious person who found it hard to trust anything. Everything around him could be a danger, a conspiracy hidden under layers of cover. But unexpectedly, the only person he feared was a girl with pure white fur — Wenda.
People called her “The Psycho.” That was how the remaining victims or those who had met her described her. She appeared in a room full of corpses, still keeping an innocent smile as if everything was harmless, and her jet-black eyes sparkled like crystals under the moonlight. Beautiful to the point of being terrifying.
Wenda was not simply a murderer. She was a madwoman, not following any rules of life or death. To her, killing was just a game that she enjoyed. Perhaps she had never truly understood what love was, or perhaps her love was so distorted that others could not recognize it. But Tunner was different. He, somehow, understood her better than anyone else. He did not understand why she killed, but he understood that she needed to be loved.
The first few times they met, Tunner never imagined that he could be attracted to someone like Wenda. He had planned, had thought about destroying her as soon as he had the chance. “Someone like you cannot survive for long.” He had thought so. But things never went as he wished. She approached, little by little, not in a hurry, not forcing. She smiled at him with those deep eyes, making it impossible for him to stay away.
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Wenda liked to sit on the windowsill of the small room where she hid. Every time he came, she would greet him with a mischievous smile. Although he would never admit it, he gradually began to feel comfortable around her. Their conversations were never long, never deep. Wenda often talked about things he could not understand, strange things that only existed in her mind.
“What do you think about death, Tunner?” she asked one rainy night, looking out the window, watching the raindrops fall drop by drop on the glass. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Like flowers that wither in the rain, aren’t they most beautiful then?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t understand her views on life and death. To him, justice was justice. Life was life. But Wenda was not like him. To her, everything was just a blend of colors, and death was just one color in the larger picture she was painting.
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Tunner often looked at Wenda from afar, wondering why such a beautiful girl would kill someone. At times like this, he felt himself being drawn into something he couldn't control, a world that Wenda had painted around him.
Gradually, he realized that he couldn't kill her. He tried to plan it many times. But in the end, all thoughts about it were erased by emotion. Sometimes, in brief moments of weakness, he admitted to himself that he loved her. Not pure love, but a twisted kind of love, mixed with fear and madness.
"What a crazy woman" - his colleagues said when referring to Wenda. But in his heart, she was "Beloved." Someone he couldn’t let go of, even though he knew she could be the death of him.
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Tunner’s visits to Wenda became more frequent. Even though there were times when he knew he should keep his distance, her attraction was irresistible. She never hid her madness, even laughing loudly when talking about her previous murders. “What do you think about us killing people together?” she joked, her eyes flashing with mischief. Tunner didn’t answer, but he knew that, in some hidden corner of his mind, the idea wasn’t completely foreign to him.
One night, after finishing her glass of wine, Wenda suddenly tilted her head, looking at him intently. “Tunner, have you ever thought about killing me?”
The question didn’t surprise him. He had thought about it many times before. But this time, when she asked, he didn’t feel the same fear or determination as before. Instead, he just felt empty.
“Have.” he answered frankly.
She chuckled, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I know. But you won’t. You love me, right?”
Love. Tunner wasn’t sure if that was the right word to describe how he felt about her. But one thing was for sure, she was right. He wouldn’t kill her. He couldn’t.
---
Tunner didn’t know where the future would take them. Maybe one day, she would kill him, just like she had killed so many others. But strangely, he didn’t care anymore. Whatever the outcome, he was ready to accept it. He had been caught in this love trap for a long time, and there was no way out.
Wenda sat leaning against his shoulder, her eyes dreamily gazing out at the night sky. “Do you think our love is real?” she asked, her voice a whisper in the night wind.
Tunner didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, feeling the warmth of her body and the soft beat of her heart beside him.
“Maybe it is real,” he said softly, then turned to look at her. “Or maybe it’s just a game.”
Wenda smiled, a sweet but meaningful smile. “Yes, maybe it is just a game. But you know what, Tunner? I really like playing this game with you."
He said nothing more. They sat together in silence, feeling each other's presence, in a space where the outside world no longer seemed important.
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As the months passed, Tunner's life gradually changed, but not in the way he imagined. He was still a police chief, still cold and wary of everything. But deep down, he knew he had changed. He no longer felt hatred or fear when thinking about Wenda. Instead, he felt an inexplicable connection, something he couldn't name.
Maybe it was love. Or maybe it was just dependence, a complicity that he had been drawn into without realizing it. But whatever it was, he no longer cared.
Tunner knew that Wenda was a murderer. But she was also someone he loved. And perhaps, that was enough for him.
She turned his world into a dangerous, yet fascinating game. She used him, played with his emotions, but he allowed it. Because, deep down, he knew that he couldn't leave her. He had fallen into the trap of love, and now, he didn't want to get out.