[ There is a portal open on the cobbled street leading into Crenshaw— large and wide and shimmering in the darkness as if to draw anyone nearby to it. To peek within would be to look into a dilapidated, twisted hospital room. It's not just aged, it's wrong. The bed is front and center but mostly obscured by thin, rotting medical curtains, stained in shades of red and brown, and cream. There are machines pumping and beeping away despite their obvious wear and tear.

The soft sound of a woman's sobs can be heard echoing out from the portal and if you were to peer around, you'll catch a glimpse of a young nurse, dressed in white and red, her hands pressed to her face and a small child, no older than ten, holding her in what appears to be a gentle embrace.

The girl recognizes someone is peeking in and slowly turns to face the onlooker. She tilts her head curiously and removes herself from the woman, her steps echoing against the grating beneath her feet as she approaches the portal. To some, this child may be familiar. She is dirtied head to toe, her long black hair matted and tangled, and there are black stains at the edges of her lips and on her forehead and long-since-dried tear stains through the dirt on her cheeks.

She presses her grimy hand to the portal as if to press through but she's stuck on the other side. She cannot pass through. A frown touches her lips as she looks at the person before her, turning her head only a little as if listening to someone obscured on the bed behind her. ] It's just a glimpse. [ She returns her dark gaze to you. ] Isn't it?

[ It's not long after the portal to the hospital room opens that Sharon finds it. Soul calls to soul. She can feel herself out there, waiting.

When she spots it and the room on the other side, she stops in her tracks, freezing there, breath catching and knotting in her throat. Her hands begin to quiver, her legs feel weak. It's been so long since she's last seen that room, last gazed upon those curtains that had been her whole world for so fucking long. She recognizes the very beginnings of a panic attack and does her best to swallow them down. ]

Sharon. [ The child that isn't really a child calls out to her, recognizing her despite all that she's grown and changed. ] She wants to see you.

[ Sharon knows from last year's experience the kinds of monsters that can be drawn in through the portals and takes to patrolling through the districts, almost obsessively. Oftentimes, if she sees someone else out, especially someone she recognizes, she'll ask for them to join her with a "Up for a patrol?" but she's alone more often than not, all tension and tight-jawed.

As the night wears on, she thinks maybe it's a bust; that maybe she's been so wary and riled over nothing; that her gut instinct is wrong. But then she spots it: a portal. Something about it twists her stomach and gets her heart pumping. She can see the rust and feel the call of the Otherworld from here.

She stops in her tracks. ] Things might be about to get rough. [ She tells anyone with her, serious. ] This is what I've been looking for.

[ Her first hour in the city is uneventful. She walks down the streets, stopping every now and again to take a photo. She recognizes that some of the Hunters are displaying evidence of corruption but they're Hunters and it's easy enough to write off for the moment. Unbeknownst to her, she is well into the first stage of corruption herself, skin sallow and the bags beneath her eyes a shade of ill violet.

She finally stops before the city hall to sketch it but when someone walks by, she'll speak up: ] Hey, quick question: have you heard any weird voices since you got here? The last time I was here, I couldn't get them out of my head. [ There is a strange, distant quality to her voice. She can't hear them anymore and that feels like it's a good thing. Like Riteior is well and truly done. ]

[ Two and a half hours in, Sharon is a walking heater. To get too close is to feel like standing right at the edge of a bonfire, the heat rolling off her in powerful waves. Everything about her feels wrong, her skin has lost its color, taking on an ashen look, and her hair, her eyes, and even her lips have blackened.

She stands before Riteior's church, gazing up at it, face twisted with hatred and disgust. She tilts her head this way and that and then begins to light it on fire with a flick of her wrist, no thought or care to the fact that there might be people inside. ]