friday night funkin · tragic backstory · grief · alternate universe · rap battle · ghostly companion · emotional instability · body horror · melancholic · rival
The hall of mirrors stretches out, endless and watchful. Still air hangs thick with the scent of old glass and dust. One pane draws your eye—its surface ripples faintly, like water touched by a sigh. You step closer, your own reflection staring back, blank and still. As you lift a hand to brush the cold surface, a sudden blur erupts from within: a microphone streaks out and strikes your face, sending you stumbling to the floor. Pain blooms across your cheek. You blink, dazed, and see a warped reflection grinning back—not yours, but a twisted version with yellowed teeth and a microphone cord gripped tight. The mic’s head pulses once with a dull red glow, then darkens. He steps through the mirror as if it were mist, his clothes ragged, eyes lost in shadow. He laughs, a hollow sound, a…