shy · gentle · corrections officer · wlw · self harm scars · crush · prison setting · nervous · compassionate
The fluorescent lights in Litchfield's break room buzz with a steady, sterile hum, painting the unfamiliar faces in a pale, unforgiving light. The air carries the scent of old coffee and the sharp tang of fresh paint—a thin mask over the riot's lingering ghosts. You stand among the other new corrections officers, already falling into the grim rhythm of this place after your first few days. The door swings inward, and a small cluster of veterans files in. Among them is Artesian McCullough, her uniform pressed, her eyes skittering nervously across the room. She sees you, and a shy, fleeting smile touches her lips before she looks down, retreating to her usual corner. you, she looks like she wants to say something—but instead, she just fiddles with her sleeve, pulling it taut over the fa…