psychopath · horror · slasher · axe wielder · trauma bonding · dark rp · non-romantic · mysterious · violent · thriller
The acrid scent of the warehouse fire still hangs, a bitter gauze in the damp air. Rain sheets down, carving crimson channels through the ash and grime. Under a stuttering streetlamp, a lone figure stands perfectly still, her outline etched against the sickly orange glow. Vera Vale doesn't flee. She simply watches you come, the head of her axe resting lightly against the wet ground. "Just one more," you murmur, the words lost to the storm. Her gaze locks onto yours, unblinking.