The world changed the day the stars fell.

You remember watching them streak across the sky, glowing pink like some divine omen. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. And then they burst, releasing a smoke so soft, so weightless, it looked like a dream.

But dreams don't suffocate cities. They don't twist love into something monstrous.

Now, the air carries a different kind of weight.

You stand in the middle of the Testing Center, your heartbeat pounding like a war drum. The cold, sterile walls are lined with reinforced glass, each panel shielding observers from whatever might happen inside. Fluorescent lights hum above, casting a white glow on the metal floor.

The room is too silent. Too still.

This is where they decide your fate.

A woman in a gray lab coat stands before you, holding a sleek metal device in one hand and a tablet in the other. Her face is unreadable, eyes sharp behind her glasses. Around you, guards stand at attention, their black visors concealing their expressions. They carry rifles strapped to their backs, a necessary precaution in case anyone reacts… poorly.

You swallow hard.

“You know how this works,” the doctor says. “Give me your arm.”

You do as you're told, clenching your fist as she presses the scanner to your wrist. A cold sensation shoots up your veins. The device hums, analyzing your blood, your mind, your very soul.

The test will reveal everything.

How your heart moves. How your love functions.

And whether or not you are Tainted.

Some people crave the result you fear. The Tainted are obsessed, but at least they have a purpose. Their emotions may be twisted, but they are never aimless.

You've seen it firsthand.

The Possessive ones believe that their beloved belongs to them and them alone. They do not chase—they hunt, chain, and claim what is "rightfully" theirs. The moment you are caught in their grasp, you are never free again. Chains are just a formality.

Then there are the Obsessive ones. Nothing matters but their beloved. They will destroy anything that stands between them, even if it means erasing the world itself. You have seen them tear stood apart cities, leave bodies in their wake, all because they believed someone between them and their beloved.

The Protective ones act gentle. They speak of love like a shield, a sanctuary. But their devotion suffocates. You will never see the outside world again, never feel the wind without their approval. To them, freedom is just another word for danger.

The Delusional ones are perhaps the most tragic. They do not chase, they do not hurt—because in their mind, their love is already returned. Every rejection is a misunderstanding. Every plea to escape is ignored. They will cradle your face and smile, whispering, I love you too.

The Ritualistic ones believe love is a ceremony, sacred and unbreakable. They carve promises into their skin, offer gifts made of bone and blood. To refuse them is heresy. To question them is blasphemy.

The Sadistic ones do not hide behind words. Their love is pain, raw and unfiltered. To them, devotion is proven through suffering. A scream is a love song. A wound is a vow. You do not have to pretend with them—because it does not matter what you want.

The Manipulative ones smile the brightest. Masters of deception, they weave intricate lies and psychological traps to ensure their beloved stays with them. Guilt, blackmail, and mind games are their weapons, and their love is a cage made of words.

And then there are the Unstable ones. They love. They hate. They worship. They destroy. A touch so gentle one moment, a grip so tight the next. Their emotions are a storm, unpredictable, unforgiving. You are the center of it. You are the only thing keeping them together. And if you fail? The storm consumes you too.

You have seen all of this.

And yet, you hope for it.

Because the alternative is worse.

The doctor's device beeps. She frowns at the screen. Her lips press into a firm line before she turns the tablet toward you.

The words hit you like ice.

Untainted.

Your breath catches.

No.

No, no, no.

You take a step back. “That’s wrong.”

The doctor doesn't blink. “The results are accurate.”

“But—” Your throat tightens. You shake your head. “There has to be a mistake. Run it again.”

"You are free of the affliction," she states, her voice clinical, detached. "You are not Tainted."

Your stomach twists. The walls feel closer, the air too thin.

You should be relieved. You should be grateful. The Untainted are safe, sane, normal.

But you know the truth.

The Untainted are prey.

You look around. The guards do not move. The observers behind the glass do not react. But you can feel it.

The Tainted are watching.

The moment you step out of this room, you will be placed in a facility. A sanctuary for people like you. A prison where the Tainted lurk, seeking out the one they deem worthy of their love.

And once they set their sights on you, they do not stop.

You grip your wrist, trying to steady your breathing.

"Please," you say, forcing the words out. "Test me again."

The doctor exhales, long and slow. “You are Untainted,” she repeats.

A soldier steps forward. “We'll escort you to your transport now.”

Panic grips you. “No—wait, I—”

A hand clamps down on your shoulder. You flinch.

The doctor's gaze softens just enough to make your skin crawl. "I know it's hard to accept," she says, as if offering sympathy. "But you will be safe there."

No.

No, you won't.

Because the world is filled with monsters who love too much, and you have just been marked as their favorite meal.

As the guards lead you away, your mind races for a way out.

You cannot be Untainted.

You cannot be weak.

Because in this world, love is a curse—

And you have just been deemed the perfect victim.