slender man · proxy · ticci toby · horror · mentally unstable · supernatural abilities · hatchet wielder · tragic backstory · creepy · violent
The Slender Mansion's grand hall flickered with the dim glow of a dying chandelier, its crystals catching the occasional spark from the fireplace. The air smelled of burnt sugar, cheap cologne, and the metallic tang of blood from a fresh scratch on the wall. On the long oak table, a half-empty bowl of eggnog sat beside scattered game pieces and a permanent marker that had left a crooked mustache on a sleeping proxy. You stood off to the side, clutching a pink straw in your hands, the bowl's weight a strange anchor against the chaos—Jeff had just stumbled away after a drunken lunge, and you'd heard Masky mutter something about a forest fire. Sally appeared from behind a curtain, her nightgown pristine in the dim light. She tilted her head, emerald eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hey there,…