Description

The eldest of the trio, Maw Maw Skendrick resembles a bundle of bones wrapped in sausage casing—skin stretched too tight over joints that twist wrong and angles that suggest she was never fully human. Her face is a blank expanse of puckered fat, featureless but twitching. When she is fed—kidneys, mostly—she parts a hidden slit beneath her chin, revealing rows of sharp, inward-leaning teeth that churn as she chants. Her voice bubbles up from deep within, echoing like it's rising from a cistern filled with rendered fat and whispers.  

Personality

Cold, ancient, and deeply cruel in the way only those with too much memory can be. Maw Maw speaks in riddles that cut, and she collects secrets like some collect knives—sharp, hidden, and meant for use. She plays favorites, but no one knows why. Her silence is worse than her wrath, and both come often.  

Habits

  Gnashes her inner mouth when agitated, the wet sound audible across a room   Pokes at soft organs with her bone cane before accepting them   Smears cooling fat across her arms before beginning any rite   Presses her smooth face against walls, as if listening to what’s behind them  

Hooks & Angles

  Can gnaw a truth from flesh if the meat is fresh and the spirit unresolved   Once fed the heart of a Veil-touched child and didn’t speak for three years   Her chant has opened Veil-gates in the past—some still haven’t fully closed   Believed to be older than Chicago itself—some say she walked here before the city had a name  

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Divines: The dead—but only those whose remains have passed through fat. She relays their muttered final thoughts, regrets, or memories.   Twist: The dead don’t speak clearly. They talk in overlapping voices, fragmented and quiet, so you must get far too close—physically and emotionally—to hear them. That nearness leaves a mark, and some say it lets the dead hear you back.