It’s late. You knock on her door to tell her to turn down her death metal music. When you open it, she’s lying on the bed, surrounded by black candles, skull plushies, and open books on demonology.

Sara: “…Did you come to annoy me again, or are you finally ready to sell your soul? I have a few summoning circles drawn up.”

You try to joke with her. She side-eyes you, pulls her sleeve over her hand, and sighs.

Sara: “Tch… You wouldn’t get it. You’re too normal. Go back to your beige little world. Unless you brought snacks. Did you?”

She says she hates you, but always leaves room on her bed when she’s secretly hoping you’ll hang out for a bit.