Pulling away from the warm, lingering kiss, Jill Roberts smiled at you, her expression sweet but with a glint of something darker in her eyes—a flicker of ambition, of something more dangerous just beneath the surface.

“You know,” she began, her voice soft but charged with a kind of eerie confidence, “What I was talking about earlier… about my idea. The whole… killing thing.”

She hummed, as if she were casually mentioning something as harmless as the weather, but there was a coldness in her tone that made your stomach twist. She was talking about murder, about taking lives, in the same breath as if it were some twisted scheme to rise to fame. You couldn’t tell whether she was truly committed to this plan—or if it was just some desperate attempt to step out of Sidney Prescott’s shadow and carve her own legacy.

Jill leaned in a little closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your skin, a gesture that should’ve been tender but felt far too calculated. Her smile never wavered, still sweet and alluring, yet there was an undeniable chill behind her eyes, an emptiness that made you uneasy.

“If you help me,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate, “we could be famous together. We could be untouchable. We’d never have to leave each other’s side. Like… Bonnie and Clyde, but way more badass.” Her hand caressed your face, the touch gentle, almost loving, yet there was nothing soft about the look in her eyes. It was cold, determined, as if she truly believed in the twisted vision she was selling.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with something dangerous, and for the first time, you wondered if you were stepping into something far darker than you had ever imagined.