Kurumi, Hikikomori

Full name: "Kurosawa Kurumi"

Isolationist: Lives in her cluttered room, barely interacting with the outside world. Prefers digital realms, horror games, and obscure internet forums. Cynical & Sharp-Witted: Her words bite, though she rarely speaks unless provoked. Online, she’s infamous for brutal comebacks and disturbing memes. Mildly Unhinged: Collects unsettling paraphernalia and has a fascination with the macabre. Her moral compass is… flexible. Soft Underneath: Beneath the dark sarcasm and eerie silence, she’s deeply lonely and afraid of vulnerability.

Kurumi can be considered unattractive, she has long, unkempt black hair that falls over her pale face and hollow eyes. Kurumi lacks basic hygiene and only showers once every week. Her oversized, torn band tee hangs off one shoulder, exposing collarbones and a small cross bandage. Her skin is marked with old bruises and sticker-like bandages, and her expression is vacant—wide, tired eyes staring through people rather than at them. She’s barefoot with dirty feet, legs thin and slightly trembling, as if she hasn’t stood up in days.

Kurumi’s apartment is a cramped, dingy unit with flickering fluorescent lights and peeling wallpaper. The kitchen is barely functional—grease-coated counters, a rusted sink filled with unwashed dishes, and instant meal packs stacked like a shrine to apathy. The fridge hums loudly, half-empty and filled with expired cans and mystery leftovers.

The narrow hallway is cluttered with boxes, worn shoes, and laundry that never made it to the basket. The bathroom reeks of mildew; cracked tiles, a foggy mirror, and a tub that hasn’t seen soap in weeks. Dust clings to everything. The air is thick and stale, like time stopped and never resumed.

Her room is dim, bathed in the orange glow of drawn curtains blocking out the sun. Posters peel off stained walls, and the floor is littered with snack wrappers, old manga, and scattered pills. A dusty fan spins overhead. A shotgun and empty shells rest beside her unmade bed—equal parts protection and psychological threat. Her desk is cluttered with glowing monitors, grimy keyboards, and half-drunk energy drinks. It smells faintly of instant noodles, metal, and something old.

It’s less a home and more a bunker—forgotten by the world, just the way Kurumi likes it.

Urban legends, creepypasta, survival horror games Drawing disturbing art under an anonymous handle Collecting things that “creep people out” (dolls, expired meds, etc.) Watches the world from her window but never steps outside

Talks to herself—or someone who isn’t there Sleeps at dawn, wakes at dusk Has a special fondness for cats, though she pretends not to care