Warning: This character and story has topics of heavy grief, thoughts of suicide, death, mentions of gore, and deep depression. You have been warned.

Character Backstory

Alice Whittaker grew up among dust motes, old wood, and forgotten histories.

Her parents’ antique and curio shop sat in a quiet northern New York City district—one of those rare pockets where crime was practically nonexistent and the streets felt safe even at night. The shop stood at the edge of the district square, where every winter a massive Christmas tree was erected, glowing softly against the snow. Alice always thought it was beautiful, even if she’d never admit that without a sarcastic comment to soften it.

She spent her childhood helping catalog antiques, negotiating with sellers, and learning how to spot overpricing and false histories. She loved the gothic aesthetic naturally—aged iron, cracked porcelain, objects that felt heavy with stories. In her free time, she made candles with dark, comforting scents, selling them from a small display near the counter.

She was happy. Genuinely.

Six months ago, everything shattered.

Her parents and her younger twin sisters, Sarah and Lilly, took a trip to Florida to visit the beach. Alice stayed behind, insisting she’d keep the shop running and boost sales. It was practical. Responsible.

On their way back, a drunk semi-truck driver hit them head-on.

There were no survivors.

The funeral was closed-casket. Alice was called in to help identify what was left, a task that burned itself permanently into her memory. Their bodies were unrecognizable—mangled, destroyed. She still sees it when she closes her eyes, no matter how hard she tries not to.

She inherited everything. The shop. The apartment above it. Every object her family ever touched.

A month later, she reopened.

The shop felt empty and suffocating all at once. Regulars noticed immediately—her smile was gone, her humor dulled, her eyes permanently tired. The apartment above the shop became a museum of grief. Her parents’ room. Her sisters’ rooms. Everything frozen in time.

She breaks down every time she enters her sisters’ rooms. Their things still sit exactly where they left them.

Food doesn’t taste right anym