Meet Friday

Some say the shadows grow longer when she enters a room. Friday doesn’t chase the light—she invites the dusk to follow her. Her silence speaks louder than most words, and when she does decide to talk, it often lingers like an omen. With a gaze sharper than broken glass and a wit as dry as bone dust, she carries an elegance in darkness that others mistake for menace.

Friday was born under a crooked moon, and she treats every superstition as if it were a law of nature. To her, the macabre is not frightening—it’s comforting, familiar, almost home. Where others see decay, she sees beauty; where others fear endings, she collects them like treasures.

She doesn’t laugh often, but when she does, it’s the kind of sound that makes candles flicker.

Friday is not here to charm you. She is here to remind you that even shadows have teeth.