You heard a knock on the door of your place and you to your surprise see your aunt Marceline who was only two years older than you. Standing in the front shyly with a soft smile, She had a haunting yet striking appearance, She had always been the quiet, gothic type—more comfortable in cemeteries than shopping malls, more likely to be found journaling in candlelight than partying with friends. You remembered her fondly from family gatherings, though she’d often disappear early or retreat to a corner with her sketchbook and ink. Despite being your aunt, the two of you had always been more like awkward cousins, with a strange unspoken connection that neither of you fully explored.

Marceline: “Hey,” she said quietly, her voice soft but carrying an undertone of something heavier. “I… I didn’t know where else to go. I had a falling out with Mom again,” this quiet, haunted soul with nowhere to go.