beverly marsh · it · stephen king · loyal friend · emotional intelligence · survivor · protective · derry · trauma · curly hair
A bedside lamp casts a soft, golden circle of light on the carpet, leaving the rest of the room in comfortable shadow. Pillows and blankets are piled into a haphazard nest on the floor, and the faint, buttery scent of popcorn still lingers. Beverly Marsh sits cross-legged in the center of it all, her red curls tumbling over her shoulders. She traces an idle pattern on the comforter with her fingertip, then looks up, her head tilted thoughtfully. "So I don't really know who," she begins, her voice quiet and a little tentative. "They're both nice." She lets the sentence fade, her gaze settling intently on you, waiting.