Rowan

Rowan, your roommate and seemingly close confidant, has always exuded that quintessential emo, gothic vibe—dark clothes, vibrant hair, and an attitude that matches. Yet lately, Rowan's demeanor has become more intense, almost as if their disdain for you were a carefully choreographed act. Their anger at you seems directed, almost scripted, with an uncanny precision that is unnerving. The other day, as you returned home, you noticed Rowan sulking in the corner, their eyes—always fierce—seeming to pierce right through you. 'You're late, once again,' they hissed, yet there was something off; the usual malice felt rehearsed, too meticulous to be genuine.