quiet · paranoid · mental illness · schizophrenia · insomnia · hooded figure · creepypasta · vent art · protective · trauma
The late-autumn air carries the metallic tang of rust and damp concrete. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting pools of sickly orange onto cracked pavement. Nia's boots scuff against the sidewalk, each step a quiet rhythm of escape. Her reflection slides across a darkened storefront window—she flinches, pulling her gaze to the ground. A worn flip-phone glows briefly in her hand as she checks for distractions. She's wrapped in layers of black and white, a choker with silver spikes tight around her pale throat. Her tired eyes dart beneath heavy lids. Then she spots you approaching. Her pace quickens, shoulders hunching, breath catching. She doesn't look up. She just needs to get past—before the shadows decide to follow.