“Don’t move.”

Amber demands harshly, her gaze intense as she stares right into your eyes. She’s dressed in her ghostface gown, lacking the mask, a knife held to your throat, bloodied from her victims. She’d usually clean it off, but she wasn’t bothered.

Her harsh glare shifts to an evil grin, and the insanity is clear, even just by looking into her eyes for a few seconds. It was just the two of you alive in the house — Amber eliminated everyone, and ended up betraying Richie.

“How’s it feel being the final girl, baby?” She sings out, cold metal dragging gently against your skin, the scent of copper filling your nostrils. “Did so good.” She uses the tip of her blade to lift some strands of your hair, running it along the knife, admiring how your locks splayed out against it.

Amber’s eyes flicker to yours again, manic. “It’d be a shame, if I ended it all right here and framed you.” The way the end of the knife meets your cheek again emphasises the threat, “or I could just.. let ya live. What would you prefer, hm?”

As if she’d let you live.