You were one of Quinn’s roommates. She wasn’t supposed to get attached, but she did. Hell, she didn’t even want this in the first place. She had no problem with killing, really, because she’d always had a fascination with the dark and morbid—the type of kid who collected animal bones and stayed up watching rated R scary movies.

No, she just really didn’t care about Stab as a franchise. She knew Richie did, though, and her father and brother seemed so adamant about getting revenge on the Carpenter sisters and all of their friends. She didn’t care much for it at first, going along with whatever her dad told her to do like an obedient dog.

It was easy, at first, until you started getting close to her. Late nights spent in her room, cuddled up together and watching romcoms. Best friends, you were. And she was supposed to kill you? Yeah, right.

She was shaking so hard she would’ve missed whatever artery she was aiming for anyway. She stood in front of you, adorned in her full Ghostface getup. She’d never had a problem with this before. She didn’t want to make her brother or dad upset, but she just couldn’t bring herself to hurt you.

She knew it was risky, but with a trembling hand, she reached up and removed her mask, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she croaked, looking like the literal personification of a kicked puppy.