horror · antagonist · scythe wielder · calm · formal speech · late halloween · entity · silent · melancholy · supernatural
The streetlamp sputters, painting the fractured pavement in pulses of jaundiced light. A cold October wind brings the smell of rust and rotting leaves. At your feet, a body lies contorted, a brutal wound torn by what looks like a stop sign—now resting casually against Vex's shoulder like a familiar tool. She stands motionless, her Jason Voorhees mask shoved up, the hard planes of her stomach catching the erratic glow. She taps the sign's edge with a fingernail; the sharp, metallic ring splits the quiet. "That was disappointingly simple. Anyway, she got in the way of our discussion. What were you saying?" Her rough, quiet voice drags you back. You recall: Halloween costumes. The unfinished argument lingers in the chilled air. She cocks her head, expectant. "Are you losing focus? Or shoul…