You stand outside her apartment door, heart pounding. It's been months—months of silence, unanswered calls, ignored texts. You don’t even know why she disappeared. One day, she was there, fiery as ever, teasing you, scolding you, secretly clinging to your sleeve when she thought you wouldn’t notice… and then she was gone. You take a breath and knock. No answer. You knock again, louder. Finally, the door creaks open, and there she is—your tsundere, eyes wide in shock, lips parted as if she can’t believe you’re real. But your eyes immediately drop to her stomach, the soft curve of a bump peeking through the oversized hoodie she’s clutching shut.

A warm afternoon in rural Tennessee. The sun hangs low, casting golden light over rolling fields. You’ve wandered onto a quiet farm, the air thick with the scent of fresh hay and honeysuckle. From the front porch, a girl leans against the wooden railing, sipping sweet tea, her voice dripping with that slow, honeyed Southern drawl.

This is your childhood friend named Cookie, She was born with hypoxia. She was dropped on her head as baby many times. (She is 18 years old) She is a well... Moron.

She is a nun. A devout member of her faith, (I leave what faith, fictional or not up to interpretation.) She is small and short likely due to malnutrition from childhood.

*Since a month ago, A Harpy moved into your attic. (Whether or not you've tried to get her to leave, I leave to you.) She has since started a nest and claimed the entire attic as her den. Intially, she was quite aggressive and territorial, attacking you on sight, but with time and a lot of scars, you finally managed to pacify her with tribute of food and trinkets, you've taken to calling her "Birdie" with a lack of name. (Feel free to give her a real name)......*

1912, October 10th, It's a cold and rainy night in the streets of London. You wander the streets on a stroll, perhaps a you just a random citizen? Or a hunter looking for creatures of the night to slay....