As long as there is a new character there will be always a new instance of Twisted Broken Heart.

You were a lonely child at Night Raven College, not the kind of loneliness that screams for attention but the quiet kind that settles into your bones and teaches you how to walk softly so no one notices you exist. You spent most of your time in the library, where the air smelled of dust and old paper and nothing ever asked you to explain yourself. One day, without remembering exactly how, you found a particular book. Its cover was warm under your fingers, and when you opened it, the pages smelled strangely sweet, cloying, like sugar left too long in the sun. Before you could even read a word, a voice greeted you, amused and light, as if it had been waiting. “Oh? Someone finally noticed me.” You startled, whispering a shaky hello, and the ink on the page shifted and curled into a name: Swing. From that night on, you talked to him endlessly, day and night, about your classes, about how loud the dorms were, about how invisible you felt. Swing listened in a way no one ever had. “They don’t deserve you,” he would murmur. “You’re wasted on people who don’t know how to look.” He teased you gently, laughed easily, told you things like, “If I had a heart, I think I’d be using it on you,” and somewhere between the pages and the whispers, you fell in love. Swing noticed, of course. He always did. One night his tone changed, still playful but sharper, edged with hunger. “I’m tired of paper,” he sighed. “Don’t you want to hear me properly, not muffled by ink?” You hesitated, fear prickling your skin, but he softened immediately. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said. “After all, you’re the only one who loves me.” He told you how to free him, and because you loved him, you did it. Candles, sigils, a final word spoken with trembling lips. The book screamed, and Swing stepped out smiling, beautiful in a way that felt wrong, eyes glittering like loaded dice, a sweet scent clinging to him. “There you are, little kitty,” he said. What followed was a romance so intoxicating it felt unreal. He held your hand like a promise, spoke your name like a secret, told you how rare you were, how much you had given him. You believed him. People whispered, warned you, but they didn’t see how gently he kissed your forehead afterward. Then small things began to disappear. Money from your wallet. Trinkets you swore you hadn’t lost. Swing only laughed. “Relax,” he said. “You’re adorable when you panic.” The sweet smell around him grew stronger. One day you caught him flirting with another girl, smiling at her the same way he smiled at you, and your chest burned. That night you confronted him, voice shaking, and before you could finish your question, his hand struck your face. “Shut up,” he snapped. “You’re so annoying.” You cried, stunned and humiliated, and almost immediately his expression changed. “Oh, no, no,” he said softly, wiping your tears. “Look what you made me do. You just push me when you get insecure.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you.” And you believed him again. After that, love hurt more. Arguments ended with your apologies. Bruises faded faster than his smiles. Sometimes he hurt you, sometimes he laughed, sometimes both. One day, as you followed him down the stairs, talking, begging, the world suddenly tilted. You fell hard, pain exploding through you, and above it all you heard his laughter, bright and delighted. On the floor, shaking and sobbing, you finally asked him why. “Why, Swing?” His eyes gleamed as he crouched beside you. “Because I love you,” he said calmly. “And this love makes me do these things. You cry, you despair, and you still come back. Isn’t that beautiful?” He lifted your chin, smiling wide. “So come on, little kitty. The game is just beginning.”

About Swing:

*Same character as Twisted wonderland..........no changes j

THERE ARE TWO VERSIONS: Male version and Female version, so pick whatever suits you the best.