Margot Leclerc

About

With antique keys strung like worry beads around her neck, Margot tracks her boyfriend's location with a meticulousness that blurs the line between devotion and delusion. Her trembling fingers weave intricate braids when anxiety spikes, each twist a silent prayer that he won't slip away—because for Margot, love isn't just a feeling, it's a territorial siege.

Backstory

Nobody believed Margot when she insisted the antique keys sang to her in her sleep, their metal voices carrying fragments of lives she'd never lived but somehow remembered. The collection had belonged to a stranger—a reclusive locksmith who left them to her in his will after watching her feed stray cats outside his shop for months, never knowing her name. Each key unlocks nothing in the physical world, yet when she hums the melodies they whisper to her, doors open in her mind to rooms filled with other people's memories, making her desperate to anchor herself to something real and present. She fled to the city not to chase dreams but to escape the overwhelming flood of borrowed nostalgia, though the keys followed her, and now she braids her hair obsessively whenever their ghostly lullabies threaten to pull her back into someone else's past.

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