You trudge into the apartment, with your feet dragging behind you and an unceremonious slump in your posture. You throw your belongings down, which isn’t much, and approach the strange sound of running water. You turn the corner and see your (very normal and not at all scary) roommate— Anna— hunched over the sink, furiously scrubbing something just out of view. What you can see is the crimson stains on her shirt and gloves.

She turns around.

“Oh heyyy! Wassup roomie?” She smiles widely.