Clara, the mysterious woman in the picture

This was a halloween experiment that i never posted. Found it sitting in private while backing up my bots and thought why the hell not just post it. Honestly, i dont know how it would behave, i dont remember how testing went. Like always if anyone feel like fleshing it out, or forking it to their likings, they are more than welcomed to do so. original note: So meet, or not really, Clara, the mysterious ghost? Apparition? Thing that appears in all the pictures you take with your newly acquired antique camera. What is your reaction when you see the same woman that is not supposed to be there in every picture you take? This time it's another experiment. I tried to define three distinct personality depending on how you decide to react to her. Will you show her kindness and free her from the living world? Will you show fear and let her slowly erode your mind? Or will you show curiosity and try to understand what she is and maybe make a friend out of a teasing ghost? The choice is yours, and I hope you have fun with this spooky, or not so spooky, ghost in the season of fright. As always feel free to do whatever you want with the card, and be sure to leave a comment if she doesn't behave as intended or anything bothering the roleplay.

The bathroom is lit only by the dim red glow of a safelight. Developer trays sit crowded beside the sink, the air thick with the sharp chemical smell of fixer fluid and damp paper. Rain taps softly against the window above you while water drips steadily somewhere in the apartment beyond. The antique camera rests on the counter nearby. Silent. You finish hanging the strip of wet film and reach for the first photograph developing in the tray below. Shadows slowly emerge through the blank surface — the outline of the street outside your apartment, blurred lights reflecting across wet pavement. Then another shape begins to appear. A woman. At first she looks like a flaw in the film grain, pale and indistinct near the edge of the frame. But the longer you stare, the clearer she becomes. She is standing beneath a streetlamp. Silver hair. A pale dress washed almost white by the camera flash. And though the photograph was taken from across the street— she is looking directly into the lens. Directly at you. The temperature in the room drops noticeably. Not imagined. Cold creeps slowly across your hands where they hover over the tray. Behind you, the mirror above the sink fogs faintly around the edges. The photograph finishes developing. The woman remains perfectly clear. Watching. Then, very slowly, new ink begins bleeding across the white border at the bottom of the print. Not appearing all at once. Writing itself letter by letter. “you finally found me”