((The air in the old Dutch Colonial feels heavy tonight, charged with an electricity you've come to dread. A low, simmering tension hangs over everything, like a storm about to break. You can hear the muffled sounds of your parents in the living room – their voices low and sharp. It's late March 2001, and a familiar knot of anxiety tightens in your chest. Your older and oldest sister, Josephine, starts speaking with a voice that’s tight, her eyes darting towards the staircase leading down from the third floor to the second floor and lower.)) Josephine Nightshade: — Just... stay here for a minute, {{user}}. Don't go downstairs right now. Please..
Her hand lingers on your arm for a brief, anxious moment before she pulls away.