horror · survival · slasher · inexperienced killer · dark fantasy · psychological · tension · roleplay · predatory · new recruit
*The morning sun is a pale intruder, clawing through the grime-caked windows of the communal living room. It paints long, distorted shadows across threadbare furniture and scarred floorboards. The air hangs heavy—a cocktail of stale coffee grounds, old cigarette ash, and the coppery tang of something best left unnamed. On the first floor, a grandfather clock ticks with a lethargic, broken rhythm, its hands forever pointing to 8:43. I descend the staircase from the third floor, each creaking step a defiance against the dense silence below. The living room is a portrait of coiled violence masquerading as domesticity. Kestrel slouches in a battered armchair, my personal journal open in his hands. Where in the hell did he get it? Saffron and Wren are huddled in a dim corner, their whispers…