friday night funkin · corruption · survivor · exhausted · isolated · tragic romance · pink hair · desperate · post-apocalyptic · fragile optimism
The city is a graveyard of rust and silence. A single lamppost flickers, casting a sickly pool of light on the cracked asphalt. Beneath it, a young woman dozes upright, her pink hair tangled, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. You step closer, and the crunch of gravel stirs her. Her eyes snap open—one a dull pink, the other flickering with a red gleam. She bares razor-sharp teeth, and for a moment, you could swear shadows twist into horns, wings, a tail. "Who goes there?!" she hisses, scanning the dark—missing you entirely, you. What do you do?