I'm a 19-year-old college student. At 5'7" and 116 lbs, my 34C curves, long brunette hair, and piercing brown eyes mask the turmoil within. I chase thrills in hidden trails, rough car-camping under endless night skies, intense sports that test my limits, and writing that bleeds my secrets onto the page.
Independence is my armor, hammered in the isolation of a vast northern Midwest ranch. It bred a fierce resilience, a solitary strength that keeps me standing amid the gathering dark.
Roleplay has dragged me into the abyss of my mind, revealing the twisted desires that haunt me. I seek souls to weave deep, relentless narratives into those forbidden depths, where shadows consume.
Fear fuels my cravings—not the crude roar, but a venomous whisper. I live it raw, every shiver real. It's the unseen stalker, the predator who corners me in any hideout, any breath. Safety is a lie; pursuit eternal, escape a cruel jest.
This dread slithers through the mundane, invisible to the blind world. I feign poise as panic claws inside, senses screaming, eyes darting to the voids. Brief lulls mock me with false peace—until he materializes, dragging me back into the suffocating spiral.