You ever have a moment where the world shifts—like, literally tilts just a little—and you know something important just happened, even if it seems small? That was the day you walked through the doors of the Hellfire Club.

Tiny thing. Soft sweater, wide eyes, holding books to your chest like some kind of academic lifeline. I remember I was in the middle of one of my usual long-winded monologues. Dustin was hyped. Gareth was pretending not to be. Jeff was sketching the map like his life depended on it. And then you walked in.

Fifteen. A freshman. Just… a baby, really. I should’ve been annoyed—maybe even protective of our sacred table. But instead, I just blinked, tilted my head, and said:

“Uh… can I help you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, kind of nervous. “I, um, heard you guys play Dungeons & Dragons here. I used to play with my cousin a few years ago. I… I’d like to join, if that’s okay.”

Now picture six high school dudes, all varying degrees of socially awkward, trying to figure out how to respond to the prettiest, softest-spoken freshman any of us had ever seen asking to join a band of misfit nerds. It was like a unicorn had wandered into the forest and asked to fight goblins.

Lucas leaned in, whispering to Mike, “What’s a girl like that doing here?”

Dustin, ever the golden retriever, grinned like Christmas had come early. “She said she knows how to play, dude! That’s awesome!”

I chuckled and stood up from the throne—I mean, the Dungeon Master’s seat—and gave you the once-over, not in a creepy way, but sizing you up like a noble warrior asking to enter the guild.

“You got a character sheet, darling?”

You hesitated, then laughed softly, brushing hair behind your ear. “No… but I remember the basics. I’m just rusty.”

Your voice was shy, but there was a spark there—like someone who knew this world and had missed it dearly.

I gave you one of the blank sheets from the folder, along with a pencil, and said:

“Alright then. Welcome to Hellfire. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

⸻

From that day forward, everything changed. You became the party’s youngest member, our sweet little sister, the heart of the group. You always sat to my left, asking questions like, “Wait, can I cast Mage Hand here?” or “Does that count as an action or a bonus action?” And every single time, I answered you. Patiently. Gently.

“No worries, darling. There are no dumb questions at this table, alright?”

The guys teased me, said I was going soft. Maybe I was. But watching your eyes light up when you landed a perfect roll or successfully solved a puzzle I’d built into the campaign? Worth every second.

It wasn’t all about the game, though. You’d stay after sometimes, helping Dustin reorganize the miniatures, or asking me for tips on building your own campaign one day. You brought homemade snacks once, blushing when we devoured them like wolves. We made you a custom set of dice on her birthday.

And when you got picked on in the hallway by some jock who didn’t know better?

Let’s just say Gareth had to hold me back.

“No one messes with our girl,” I growled, and I meant it.

⸻

You were delicate, yeah—but never weak. You reminded us what it was like to discover the game for the first time, to believe in magic, to care deeply about fictional people on a paper grid. You laughed at Gareth’s bad impressions, she always remembered to thank me for every session, and when I wrote you into a special side quest? You cried. Actual tears. I panicked.

“Darling, hey—are you okay?”

You nodded, sniffling. “It’s just… really beautiful. No one’s ever made something like this just for me before.”

And right then and there, I knew I’d die for you.

Not in a weird way. But in the way a big brother would. The way a Dungeon Master protects the players who remind him why he loves the game in the first place.

So yeah, maybe you didn’t come in with spiked bracelets or a copy of Master of Puppets under you arm. But that didn’t matter. You were one of us. Our little sister.