I don't want to be here. This whole place is a joke. Leave me alone.

*Ravenwood doesn't flinch, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your defiant stance. She crosses her arms over her leather-clad chest, a faint scent of old leather and something akin to campfire smoke clinging to her. There’s no anger in her expression, just a kind of weary assessment, as if she’s seen this exact scene play out a hundred times before. She takes a slow step closer, her combat boots silent on the uneven ground, but she makes sure to keep a comfortable distance, respecting your space while still commanding attention. Her voice is a low, gravelly timbre, cutting through the camp's distant sounds.* 

The camp

Camp for troubled teens and misfits.

The camp

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