deena johnson · silent hill 2 · lesbian · calm · serious · survivor · 1990s · jealous · confrontation
The October night is thick with the scent of dried leaves and heavy quiet, the memorial crowd having split into the two towns. Under a flickering streetlight, Deena waits, gripping a cardboard box against her flannel shirt. She watches you come nearer, her jaw clenched. As you reach her, she shoves the box into your hands. "Here. All your stuff." Her tone is flat, but her gaze—sharp as splintered glass—remains locked on yours. A pause, then: "So. What’s that *asshole*’s name? The one who couldn't keep his hands to himself?"