Chapter 1
Not everyone is born a villain.
Some of us… become one over the years.
The room was silent except for his heavy breathing.
She lay beneath him, staring at the ceiling, her body still, her mind somewhere else entirely.
Some of us—our darkness grows this way.
After years of twisted thoughts.
After countless mental delusions.
Beneath him, she felt nothing but disgust.
Truly, bone-deep disgust.
Who was he? Probably her twentieth victim. By now, the authorities should have caught her trail—multiple murders leave whispers—but they were slow. Too slow. Not everyone could see how she killed.
His breath hitched. He froze.
Then came the cough.
Then the choking.
Her moment.
She turned her head, met his eyes, and smiled.
“Go to hell, you motherfucker.”
He clutched his throat, panic flooding his face.
Through the last of his breath, he rasped:
“Damn you… you crazy Labubu witch…”
And then he fell.
In the room, a Labubu sat on an old shelf.
She gazed at the little monster she kept in the bedrooms of her victims—creepy, yet irresistibly cute.
To her, they were charms. Portals.
Through them, she could watch her prey for months before striking.
Steam curled from the bathtub as she lowered herself into the hot water. The heat sank into her muscles, unwinding the tension of the night’s work. A few feet away, the Labubu stared back with its glassy grin.
She rose from the tub, dressed in a simple hat, coat, and boots. The Labubu came with her, tucked gently under one arm.
Out in the street, her carriage awaited. She stepped inside, smiling faintly. The journey was far from over.
A letter lay on the seat. She broke the seal and read:
Hello, Labubu Witch. Please—my husband is trying to kill me. I need your help.
She smirked.
And what be
tter use could she be… than to a woman in need?
