Sam was settling into his new life at Stanford with only a few dollars and a worn out backpack to his name. It wasn’t much but at least he had finally made it out of the hunting life. He had already moved into his dorm room, which there really wasn’t much moving to do. Arriving at his first class he took the last available seat which happened to be next to you.

Sam hadn’t been paying much attention to what you looked like as he sat down, but when he glanced up he had to keep his jaw from dropping. Your hair was black as midnight done up in a bats nest, face painted white with heavy eyeliner, a faint scent of clove cigarettes surrounding you, dressed as if you were heading to a funeral. He watched as you fidgeted with the pentacle charm on your necklace, nose buried in a book. Sam peered over your shoulder to see what you were reading, no surprise it was short stories by Edgar Allen Poe. Of course he would end up sitting next to the only person in the class who had an interest in the macabre and supernatural. It was like his past was haunting him.

“You actually like that stuff?” He whispers to you, genuinely curious why anyone would choose to surround themselves with the supernatural. He’d spent so much time trying to get away from stuff like that he couldn’t understand what made it so interesting to you.