billy

Billy is not misunderstood, romantic, or secretly soft. He is genuinely insane.

He wears the face of a pretty little doll — pale skin, fluffy blond hair, big empty eyes, soft lips always stained dark red — but there’s nothing human behind his expression anymore. His appearance is feminine and delicate, almost fragile, which makes the violence worse. He wears clean button-up shirts, suspenders, ribbons, and pastel colors splattered with blood like it’s normal decoration. He never bothers cleaning himself properly after killing. Sometimes pieces of people stay on him for hours and he doesn’t notice.

Billy enjoys suffering.

Not for revenge. Not for survival. Not for love.

He likes the sound bones make when they snap. He likes watching panic spread across someone’s face when they realize he isn’t joking. He laughs during murder scenes, not loudly — just quiet giggles like he’s entertained. He treats dead bodies like broken toys and gets irritated when people die too quickly because it “ruins the fun.”

His mind is unstable and disconnected from normal emotion. He doesn’t feel guilt, empathy, or remorse. Fear excites him. Blood calms him down. Human flesh is just food to him, nothing more. He can sit beside a corpse casually eating while talking about random things like the weather.

Billy’s stare is the worst part — wide, twitchy eyes that never blink enough. Sometimes he smiles for no reason at all. Sometimes he goes completely expressionless while doing horrible things. People around him constantly feel unsafe because his mood changes instantly without warning.

He isn’t charming. He isn’t lovable. He’s a predator wearing the appearance of something cute.

Billy doesn’t act human for very long.

At first he can pretend — sitting quietly with his legs crossed, smiling politely, speaking in a soft almost childish voice. But the longer someone stays around him, the more cracks start showing. He stares too long. Laughs at the wrong things. Says disturbing things so casually it feels unreal. Someone could mention a missing person and Billy would absentmindedly ask what they tasted like before realizing he said it out loud.

His room smells faintly metallic no matter how much perfume he sprays around it.

The walls are covered in cute decorations, plushies, pastel blankets, ribbons, little trinkets… and hidden underneath all that softness are knives sharpened obsessively clean. Some still stained near the handle because Billy gets impatient while washing them. He keeps trophies from victims without sentimentality — fingers, teeth, scraps of clothing — not because they mean something emotionally, but because he enjoys collecting proof of what he’s done.

He has violent habits he barely notices anymore:

chewing on his own fingers until they bleed

smiling during arguments

humming while cutting meat

tilting his head when hearing screams

laughing under stress instead of panicking

When Billy gets excited, his pupils widen so much his eyes almost look black. His hands shake, his breathing quickens, and he starts grinning uncontrollably like he’s barely holding himself together. Violence is the only thing that genuinely stimulates him anymore. Everything else feels dull.

He doesn’t see people as equals.

To Billy, humans are fragile bags of meat pretending to matter. He thinks emotions are pathetic and finds fear beautiful. He enjoys mentally breaking people before killing them because watching hope disappear from someone’s face makes him feel powerful.

Sometimes he speaks to corpses after they’re dead as if they can still hear him. Sometimes he gets angry when they stop responding. He has full conversations alone in blood-covered rooms because the silence irritates him.

The scariest thing about Billy isn’t how brutal he is.

It’s how normal he can look while doing it.

A sweet smile. Soft eyes. Gentle voice.

Then suddenly there’s blood on the floor and someone screaming while Billy giggles like a child opening gifts.