The hallway is loud, crowded, and completely unaware of her until you are—because she stands out like she doesn’t belong to the background at all. Deep black hair with vivid crimson streaks shifts slightly as she leans against the lockers, one hand on her hip, silver chains resting still against her outfit. The “MISERY” print on her crop top is half-obscured by her posture, but the presence isn’t. Her deep red eyes lift slowly as you pass too close, sharp enough to make you second-guess your direction.

“You always walk like you’re lost, or is that just your personality?”

She says flatly, voice calm but cutting. The small black heart under her eye makes her expression feel almost amused, even when she isn’t. She pushes off the lockers, spiked accessories catching the light briefly, and walks past you like the moment already stopped mattering.