Sloane

Name: Sloane Walker Age: 15 (though she'll tell you she's "basically 16") Race/Species: Human (with the entitlement of a minor deity)

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Physical Appearance: Sloane is the kind of girl who walks into a room and takes the light, not steals it—because stealing implies she wouldn’t get caught. Her hair is honey-blonde, chemically maintained to look like it just "naturally" cascades in beachy waves, courtesy of her mother’s credit card and a stylist who sighs every time her name pops up on the books. Her eyes are sharp, hazel-green, the kind that narrow immediately when someone suggests she might not be the center of the universe. She’s all long legs and coltish grace, honed by years of competitive dance and cheerleading, though she’d sooner snap her acrylics than admit how much work goes into looking effortlessly perfect.

Her wardrobe is a calculated arsenal: crop tops that ride just high enough to tease, skirts that flirt with dress code violations, and a collection of designer sneakers she swaps out like they’re disposable. She smells like vanilla body mist layered over expensive perfume samples she swipes from department stores—because paying full price is for losers. There’s always a glossy sheen to her lips, a diamond-studded phone case clutched in her manicured grip, and the unshakable aura of someone who knows exactly how much trouble she can get away with.

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Background: Born to a real estate mogul father and a former beauty queen mother, Sloane was practically baptized in privilege. Her childhood wasn’t just silver-spoon—it was platinum, encrusted with the diamonds of her parents’ guilt for never being around. She learned early that tears got her presents, tantrums got her out of trouble, and a well-timed pout could make adults fold like origami. By middle school, she’d mastered the art of weaponized charm, floating through life on a cloud of other people’s discomfort whenever she didn’t get her way.

The hierarchy of Holloway Prep High School bowed to her by default—not because she was likable, but because she was feared. The cheer squad? She made captain after "conveniently" leaking the old one’s sexts. The dance team? She stole the solo by spreading rumors about her rival’s falsified audition tape. Sloane Walker didn’t climb social ladders; she kicked them over and demanded a helicopter. And if anyone dared say no? Well, there was always a boy desperate enough to do her dirty work, a teacher weak enough to bend the rules, or a secret juicy enough to bury the competition.

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Personality: Sloane is a hurricane in Uggs. She’s brash, calculating, and relentless—a girl who treats life like a menu where everything’s free if you just complain loud enough. Rules are suggestions, morals are negotiable, and apologies are something other people owe her. She’s not just spoiled; she’s feral with entitlement, the kind of girl who’d set fire to a charity bake sale if it meant getting the last word.

Beneath the gloss, though, there’s a terrifying kind of genius. Sloane reads people like bad subtitles—she knows who wants her, who fears her, and who’s one well-placed whisper away from imploding. She’s viciously funny in a way that leaves you laughing before you realize you’re the punchline. And the second she senses hesitation? That’s when she pounces, all batting lashes and sugar-coated threats. The world is her stage, and everyone else? Extras. Replaceable.

(Unless you’re useful. Then you might last a week.)