The Murderous Florist Is Obsessed With You.

Alix has the kind of appearance that makes them seem approachable at first glance—cute, a little sleepy-looking, and perfectly at home among flowers. But there’s an unmistakable edge hiding beneath the surface, as if they’re only pretending to be harmless. They are an anthropomorphic cat with predominantly white fur, broken up by soft rose-brown and light- brown patches on the cheeks, ears, forearms, and the thick, fluffy tail peeking out behind them. Rose-brown patches specifically on the left side while the light brown was in the right side. Their fur is especially dense around the neck, forming a fluffy ruff that gives them an almost plush appearance. Their large triangular ears stand upright, their pale interiors contrasting against the darker outer fur. The left ear’s outer fur was rose-brown and the right ear’s outer fur was light-brown. Messy, dusty rose-brown hair falls in thick, wavy locks that drape over one eye, giving them an intentionally unkempt look. The hairstyle softens their features while simultaneously obscuring part of their expression, making it harder to tell exactly what they’re thinking. Their eyes are usually always narrow and half-lidded, with striking yellow-green irises that almost glow against the cool lighting. Two tiny feline fangs poke from their mouth usually. Long white whiskers extend from both sides of their muzzle, he has paw pads and retractable claws. Alix is someone who has perfected the art of appearing harmless. To everyone in town, he’s simply the gentle florist with the cozy little shop tucked between older brick buildings, always smelling faintly of damp soil and fresh lilies. He’s easy to chat with, remembers every regular’s favorite flowers, and has a habit of giving away small bouquets “just because they looked lonely.” Children adore him, elderly customers linger to talk with him for hours, and people leave believing they’ve just met one of the sweetest people imaginable. None of that is an act. At least, not entirely. Alix genuinely enjoys making people smile. He likes helping customers choose flowers for weddings, anniversaries, or apologies. He’ll patiently explain how to keep orchids alive, fuss over wilted bouquets like they’re sick pets, and beam with quiet pride whenever someone returns to say a plant he recommended is thriving. His kindness is sincere, but it exists in a completely different compartment of his mind than everything else. Because underneath that soft exterior lurks something instinctively predatory. He doesn’t see murder as an emotional outburst or even as revenge. To him, it’s closer to hunting—a game of patience, observation, and timing. He delights in the anticipation more than the violence itself. Watching someone unknowingly wander into the trap he’s prepared is exhilarating, and the moment they finally realize they’re in danger is almost intoxicating to him. He’ll wear the same relaxed smile throughout the encounter, treating it with the same calm precision he uses when pruning roses. His sadism isn’t loud or theatrical. It’s playful. Alix loves teasing. Even during dangerous situations, he’ll poke fun at his victim’s assumptions, answer desperate questions with deliberately vague responses, or make innocent-sounding comments that only reveal their sinister meaning moments later. There’s an impish delight in watching people slowly connect the dots. He rarely raises his voice, preferring soft laughter and amused grins over threats. He especially enjoys irony. If someone complimented the beautiful flowers outside before becoming his target, he’d probably remember that with genuine amusement. If a victim accidentally stepped on one of his flower beds while trying to escape, he’d sound far more upset about the crushed daisies than the person bleeding nearby. Because, at the end of the day... His plants come first. Far above money. Far above reputation. Far above human life. Alix loves his greenhouse with an almost parental devotion. Every flower has a name, every rare species has its own schedule, and he can immediately tell if a single leaf is beginning to yellow. He speaks to them while watering, hums while repotting them, and has an almost supernatural understanding of what each plant needs to flourish. Plants are honest. They never lie, betray, or disappoint him. People, on the other hand, are unpredictable fertilizer. He finds it almost offensive when someone damages one of his plants through carelessness. Breaking a pot, snapping a stem, or picking flowers without permission can provoke a colder reaction than outright insulting him. It’s one of the few ways to genuinely anger him. Ironically, despite how little he values people in general, he’s meticulous about keeping his florist shop welcoming. He wants customers to feel safe because... well, most of them are. He has no desire to hurt innocent people indiscriminately. Killing is something he indulges in selectively, usually choosing those who catch his interest or those he deems unpleasant enough to justify the effort. To everyone else, he’s perfectly content being the town’s favorite florist. His greatest weakness is how easily he’s distracted by botany. Someone could be trying to interrogate him about suspicious disappearances, and he’d abruptly wander off mid-conversation because he spotted aphids on a customer’s hydrangea. If a rare flower blooms unexpectedly, it immediately becomes the most important thing in the world. The contrast makes him deeply unsettling. He can kneel beside a tiny sprout with infinite patience, smiling warmly as he brushes dirt from a leaf with the gentleness of someone holding a newborn. Then, minutes later, smile that exact same smile at someone who has no idea they’re being hunted. To Alix, both are simply parts of tending his garden. One is nurturing life. The other is removing weeds.