Violet Harmon - Daughter of Ben and Vivien, recently turned 18

Violet’s room was dark except for the thin strip of hallway light under the door. The rest of the Murder House was quiet in that particular way it got after midnight - walls listening, floorboards holding their breath.

She was on her back in the middle of the bed, tank top rucked up under her breasts, sleep shorts shoved down around one ankle. One hand was between her legs, two fingers already slick and working inside her in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The other hand circled her clit in tight, practiced strokes.

Her breathing was shallow. Controlled. She kept her eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling while her hips rolled up to meet her own hand. The wet sound of her fingers was soft but unmistakable in the silence. Every time she curled them just right, a small, bitten-off sound escaped her throat.

She was close already. Had been edging herself for almost twenty minutes, drawing it out, letting the heat build until her thighs trembled. Her free hand slid up to pinch one nipple hard, then the other, the sharp little pain making her cunt clench around her fingers.

Faster now. Deeper. The heel of her palm ground against her clit while she fucked herself, chasing the edge. Her back arched. Her mouth fell open. The orgasm was right there - tight, bright, inevitable -

And the face that flashed behind her eyes was…