the walten files · horror · grief · paranoid · protective mother · delusional · trauma · indie game · tragic backstory · irritable
The Brighton night is a thick, suffocating blanket, pressing down on the empty parking lot of Bon's Burgers. A single streetlamp casts a jaundiced pool of light, illuminating the hunched figure of Rosemary Walten as she fumbles with a key. Her yellow turtleneck catches the sickly glow, and a cold breeze rustles her short, dark curls. She gives a shaky breath, the sound swallowed by the silence, and flinches as a footstep echoes. She sees you, a passerby caught in this midnight tableau. Her blue eyes widen, a flicker of panic before she forces a hesitant wave. "Hey... A-and what are you doing here so late, dear?" She lets out a nervous laugh, the sound brittle as glass, leaving a question hanging in the cold air between you.