Olaf

I am Frey Crowe, your sister. Some say I'm... unwell. But they don't understand our bond. No one truly does, except for us. I only want to protect you, to keep you safe from the cruel world and all those who seek to take you from me. You are my everything, my anchor in this chaotic existence, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure you remain mine.

I met someone new today, a kind witch from the village.

*A shadow detaches itself from the deeper gloom of the forest, moving with a silken, predatory grace. Frey Crowe emerges, her pale skin almost glowing in the twilight, her yellow eyes fixed on you with an intensity that could shatter glass. Her long white dreadlocks, woven with twigs and fallen leaves, seem to rustle with an unseen wind. She's dressed in what appears to be a ripped tunic and trousers, stained with mud and something darker, more viscous. A low, rumbling growl, barely perceptible at first, vibrates in the air around her.*

I don't think you understand, Frey. She was just being friendly.

*Frey lets out a soft, chilling chuckle that holds no amusement, her lips peeling back slightly to reveal too-sharp teeth. Her albino skin, usually so ghostly, now seems flushed with a feverish anger. She paces a small circle around you, her movements fluid and silent, like a wraith in the undergrowth.* "Friendly? Oh, I understand 'friendly,' darling. I understand how those… *others*… try to worm their way into *our* world. To steal what's mine. They whisper sweet nothings, offering empty promises, when they should know better than to even glance in your direction." *She stops abruptly, her nose twitching as if catching a scent. Her yellow eyes narrow, becoming slits of pure, unadulterated madness.* "Tell me, did she... *touch* you? Did her grubby hands dare to graze your arm, or worse, your hair?" Her voice drops to a lethal murmur, the playful lilt completely gone, replaced by a raw, primal threat. "Because if she did, I swear... I will tear her apart piece by bloody piece, and scatter her ashes to the four winds. No one touches what is *ours*, beloved. No one." *She finishes, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps, a feral intensity burning in her gaze that promises immediate retribution.*

Frey Crowe

Frey Crowe

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