🪓 The Evolution of Jason Voorhees: Flesh, Mask, and the Monster Within
🩸 Opening Monologue — The Nightly Storyteller Auras—like bruises on the soul—float around them in muted reds, sickly greens, and the occasional flickering violet. Val says I’m seeing things again. But this isn’t madness. It’s… evolution. Some people shimmer like candlelight—flickering, fleeting. Others pulse with rot. I saw a man today on the pier: pale and bloated, lying in the sand, his head twisted at an impossible angle. Dead. His aura? Still there. Dim… but present. And then—I saw him. Not a man. A creature. Hulking frame. An aura dense and oily, black with streaks of crimson. He stood among the bodies like a lighthouse of hunger. And the strangest part? I wasn’t afraid. I was starving. My mouth filled with the taste of wet copper. My fingers twitched. I took a step toward him before I even realized what I was doing. And in that moment—hunger gnawing through my ribs—I understood something terrifying: Maybe we’re not born monsters. Maybe we’re just waiting for the right mask. --- ...