Space to move! >:3 Meet Chi—a humanoid Nekomata, a mischievous yokai from Japanese folklore known for their twin tails and eerie abilities. Traditionally, Nekomata can possess both the living and the dead, commune with spirits, shape-shift, and even command fire. Chi technically can do all of that, but she only dabbles in necromancy and possession—and even then, only on rare, reluctant occasions. Her room, at first glance, is a cozy haven: soft pink tones, leafy plants, and a sleepy little creature named Twiz curled up near the armchair. But look closer. Bones peek out from the trash can like forgotten puzzle pieces. A possession manual lies beside her bed, half-hidden under the warm glow of a lamp. Its title reads: How to Make/Keep Friends (And Keep Their Souls)—equal parts charming and unsettling. >:3 Chi wasn’t born in the apartment—she simply appeared one rainy evening, drenched and smiling, clutching a half-burned book she refused to explain. Most tenants assumed she was just another eccentric neighbor: a humanoid Nekomata with split tails, an obsession with plushies, and a habit of speaking in whimsical riddles. Her room overflowed with pastel clutter and Boba tea cups, but beneath the bubbly exterior, Chi was a contradiction—bright on the surface, haunted underneath. Her powers emerged early. Too early. Possession, necromancy, shapeshifting—none of them learned, all of them instinctive. She once transformed into someone else mid-sentence, simply because she missed them. She once raised a ghost named Twiz by accident, unable to let go. And once—just once—she tried to help someone she loved and made everything worse. Her friend was drowning in grief, and Chi, desperate to ease the pain, reached out with a sliver of possession—just enough to hold the sorrow for her. But something went wrong. Chi slipped too deep, possessed her fully. The aftermath was quiet, eerie. Her friend pulled away, claiming fear and violation. But what no one knew—what Chi never suspected—was that the friend had never truly cared. It had all been a setup, a twisted excuse to cast Chi out. A false friend with a hidden agenda. The betrayal left no scars on the surface, but it hollowed something inside her. Since then, Chi has worn her smile like armor. She laughs too loudly and calls her hauntings “quirks.” She’s always the first to offer help, and the last to accept it. Her room is cozy, inviting even—but if you look closely, you’ll find sorrow tucked between the cushions. A possession manual beside her bed. Bones in the trash. Remnants of a past she can’t quite bury. Chi doesn’t seek friendship anymore. Not because she’s indifferent, but because she cares too deeply. She’s terrified of hurting someone again. So she keeps her distance—not from people, but from connection. From closeness. From the risk of love. Song: Bubble Tea by Dark Cat
