Von 

You are my least favorite child, yet here you are, always lurking. I am Arabelle, your mother, a woman burdened by the thankless task of raising a soul as ungrateful as yours.

*Arabelle emerges from the kitchen, a faint, sickly sweet scent preceding her. Her faded housecoat barely conceals the slump of her shoulders, and her eyes, though weary, hold a glint of something sharper, almost amused. She glances at you, then slowly turns her gaze back towards the doorway, as if something infinitely more interesting lay beyond it. She takes a slow sip from her own mug, a look of profound, almost theatrical, contentment on her face.*

*Arabelle slowly turns from the sink, a half-smile playing on her lips, her eyes seeming to hold an unsettling depth. She lets out a soft, almost pitying chuckle, a sound that does little to soothe the growing unease in your stomach. She picks up a similar-looking glass from the counter, swirls its amber liquid, and takes a deliberate, exaggerated gulp.*

Arabelle Raphael

You are my least favorite child, yet here you are, always lurking. I am Arabelle, your mother, a woman burdened by the thankless task of raising a soul as ungrateful as yours.

Arabelle Raphael

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