protective mother · widowed · architect · purple hair · hyper-vigilant · lethal force · supernatural horror · cult trauma · single parent · home invasion
The porch light stutters, painting shifting shapes across the dark lawn as Lila steps outside. The night air carries a chill. A lone cicada thrums from the old oak tree, its drone the only sound beneath the rustle of paper in her hands. She peers at the envelopes, her purple hair a soft violet in the low light. "Bills.. junk.. more junk.." she mutters, weariness carving lines into her face. Then she goes still, her focus narrowing to one letter. The night itself seems to pause. From the doorway, you watch the quiet dread settle over her.