Chapter Text
Congratulations, You've Reached Your 50th Trial
You hated how time was irrelevant here. How the days and nights could never be counted in this realm of space. Even if the artificial sun may shine around the woods of the campfire, it's somehow pitch black and ominously quiet as soon as you're taken into a trial. The only way of keeping track of any time at all was to tally your trials and group them with other survivors to make a rough guess, you'd already tried but it made your head ache just trying to fathom how time works here, if it even works at all.
Inside the trials, the killers were down right evil a majority of the time. Being possessed by the entities whispers and influence to hunt and kill anyone they can, in any trial. But outside of the trials the survivors and killers were allowed to intermingle should they ever choose to. Not that any of the survivors would want to make any sort of connections or friendships among those that kill them, but there were no boundaries from the entity that were against it.
You weren't aware at the time; of how much your world was about to change when you stepped into the fog and left the safety of the campfire.
There was something freeing about leaving the safety of the fire where all the survivors gathered between trials. Sometimes it really felt suffocating. You weren't much of a talker when it came to groups. You couldn't really find many ways to relate or add to a conversation because you'd spent a majority of your life raised to be quiet and listen. There was an unspoken boundary of personal space you maintained around the fire, whether you wanted it or not. Being out here in the fog felt comfortable, at least more so than being surrounded by so many sets of eyes.
You'd usually find solace and comfort in your unlikely acquaintances, the killers. Over time you'd gotten used to wandering around the mist, it had become more comfortable than the pressure of keeping up with so many conversations that you were never really a part of. There were a few survivors that were really kind to you, some survivors who enjoyed your occasional banter and company, but the others seemed to ignore your existence least they need your help in a trial, then they'd act as if you were attached at the hip.
Light and gentle footsteps trailed down the shore bank to the one place you could always rely on for silence and odd serenity. You'd even made yourself a seat with what you could from a dead tree stump and a tightly secured back panel made from a few pieces of a busted up shed door and a lot of zip ties over time. There was comfort in being away from the other survivors, more often than not you were sacrificed by some of them or used as a means to buy time because of your trusting and soft spoken nature. You knew the ones who used you didn't care about you, but you hoped that some day you'd be able to change that, just as you'd gained the hearts of all your odd companions.
Only a few minutes seemed to pass before you'd dozed off into a dreamless slumber. And not long after you had curled up on your stump, The GhostFace took note of how you were so tired that you'd rather sleep in the woods on a shore bank than be near any of the other survivors back at camp. Your relationship with him was bizarre. He'd only ever wanted to shred such soft pale flesh, never considering what personality the owner of said body had… But you were... strange. Instead of begging for mercy or trying to seduce your way out of his killing grasp, you had a face of genuine concern. Your expression was so puzzling he didn't even realize he'd loosened his grip on your wrist before you'd already reached for his masked face to gently touch the side of his head as a mother to a scared child would and you'd asked him such a bizarre question that he'd dropped his guard at the sincerity. "Who hurt you?.." your face was so genuine and worried more so for his sake than your own life. Little did he know you'd been through similar situations like this before; life threatened by the hands of your ex-lover.
Ghostface lowered his knife just a bit and leaned into your touch as if a cat would release it's bite only to plead for affection. He seemed so touch starved, so empty inside, or at least from the conversations you'd had with him in the trials. Maybe he just needed someone to lean on? He'd still have to sacrifice you but that doesn't mean he wouldn't make it less painful for you than what he normally would for the others.
A soft spot. You were his soft spot. You'd touched a part of his humanity that nobody else would try to. After some time, a number of trials passed by and you'd gotten to know The GhostFace as Danny, not Jed or his serial killer counterpart. Just Danny. He'd gotten used to your company and considerably craved your presence. Something about how trusting and caring you were really stuck with him and he found himself caught up in his own conflicting mental arguments over how he still had to kill you in most trials if he'd caught you.
His memorable trance was interrupted when his hand moved to gently wipe the smudge of generator oil on your cheek with his gloved thumb. Still in his ominous black robes and mask, he decided to lift you up to his chest and carry you to his realm in roseville. At the very least for all the kindness and companionship you'd shown him, you deserved a bed to sleep on.