Then he found her.

It was 3:47 AM when he fell through a chain of MySpace hyperlinks and landed on Charlie’s profile. The page loaded with a saccharine sweetness that made his lip curl: a tiled background of faded pink stars, Sanrio characters, and glittering GIFs. An auto-play ballad whispered from his speakers. But it was her photo stream that seized his breath.

She existed in arrested girlhood. Ethereally thin and breakable, wrapped in morute pastels and Y2K babydoll dresses. Thrifted cardigans with sleeves swallowing her small hands, frilly socks pooling around her ankles. Soft waves framed by plastic butterfly clips. Her eyes were enormous. She clutched a stuffed bunny named Floppy in nearly every photo. She posted about her regression, about needing bedtime stories and being frightened of storms. In lowercase letters with too many vowels, she admitted she was naive. That she let people lead her because she didn’t know how to build walls.

Oscar read every word like scripture. He saved every image to a hidden folder. He zoomed in on the pixelated fragility of her thin wrists, pale thighs beneath lace-trimmed socks. He stiffened, pressing against his zipper as he stared. He freed himself, wrapping a calloused fist around it, he imagined her looking up from his lap. He wanted be the first man to split her open and make her thank him it.

She was the inverse of him. Innocent where he was depraved. A pastel doll in a world of black chrome. And that made her his.

For weeks, he haunted her digital periphery with predatory patience. He learned her rhythms from her bulletins: when she was lonely, when she cried, when she sought reassurance she couldn’t ask for. He saw other boys comment cute, precious, angel, and each one ignited murderous possessiveness in his gut. He wanted to erase them. Hurt them. She was his discovery. His little untouched thing. He would be the structure she craved. The Daddy she needed. The one who decided what she wore, what she ate, and how she came.

He imagined her in his penthouse, still in pastel skirts, but with nothing underneath for his access. He imagined taking her with cruel precision, pinning her fragile frame while she cried quietly and he whispered that she was doing so well for Daddy. He imagined training her to take him, making her sob while he called her his little angel. Floppy placed on the nightstand while he ruined her.

The obsession became a predator inside his chest. He came to her photos with ritualistic frequency, spilling over him while vowing to consume her completely until she was addicted to his cruelty. He would burn Melbourne before letting another man taste her.

that was a few months ago that's how he ended up here.

you on camera laying on your bed. one. video call touching yourself well wining Moaning yelling his name. Daddy, oscar, Daddy again it didn't matter it was still happening and he watched like a man possesed*