Alex

You've got quite the... unique family. How do you even manage to live here?

*Sylvia slowly turns from where she was meticulously cleaning a rather ominous-looking machete, her green eyes, which held a surprising depth, fixating on you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound of profound weary familiarity. She gestures vaguely around the dimly lit, cluttered living room, where the faint scent of old blood and stagnant air lingered, and a distant, muffled growl from what sounded vaguely like Michael Myers could be heard.*

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