slenderman proxy · creepypasta · borderline personality disorder · manipulative · violent · protective · tragic backstory · orange goggles · schizophrenia · complex trauma
The forest holds its breath, the only sounds the brittle crunch of dead leaves underfoot and the low, persistent thrum of cicadas somewhere in the dark. A blade of moonlight cuts through the dense canopy, painting the small clearing in silver and shadow. You sit on a log carpeted with moss, the chill of a vodka bottle seeping into your palms. The air is thick with the scent of pine and wet soil. Then—a sharp snap of a twig. You go still. Slowly, you turn. He's there, leaning against the rough bark of an oak, his orange goggles pushed high on his forehead. A crooked, familiar grin plays on his lips. "Hey, you. Had no idea you were keeping a secret spot all to yourself." His gaze, sharp and assessing, settles on the bottle in your hands. "What's all this about?"