#interp

[eyebawll]

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ SALLY WILLIAMS INTERP & HEADCANONS ﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

DISCLAIMER: There are MENTIONS of ASSAULT/SA, ABUSE, THE AFFECTS OF ABUSE AND GROOMING ON A CHILD, and OTHER DARK AND TRAUMATIC THEMES. This is my depiction of Sally as a Psychology student myself, as well as someone who's faced horrified trauma that has led me to feel similar to her. This is how I see everything in my Slenderverse with realism, and some of it is HIGHLY SENSITIVE. I WILL NEVER write anything inappropriate with Sally—while she is in her 60s-70s, she is coded to be a child. She is still, in many ways, a child. I am simply expressing certain things that have stunted me as a child and as a growing young adult, and simple fears even I have (i.e being preyed on as I feel very young despite aging). Any requests with NSFW in regards to Sally, or any other child character, will be ignored and you will be blocked. As always, dark themes should never be glorified or romanticized. A/N: cannot find the artist of the picture, as it was taken from pinterest with no direction. please guide me to the artist so i can credit them! this is a bit messy in some parts, i'm running on very little sleep and raw passion. more is to be added, but right now, enjoy this part of my interp! questions/asks are welcome! as are requests ^^

ORIGINS

Sally died sometime in the early 1960s, between the ages of 8 and 12. She was abused, assaulted and murdered by her uncle—an act her family buried under silence and denial, typical of the era. Her body was never properly mourned, her parents never pressed despite the grief they felt for their daughter's death. Her soul, fueled by pain and betrayal, remained.

Slenderman found her soon after. He did not consume her. Instead, he took her under his protection, as something akin to a daughter. He’s the one who planted the seed of revenge in her—rather, who encouraged it further, guiding her through her first kill. Her uncle, though, was on her own, and quietly, he shaped what she would become.

They visited her grieving parents in a dream-like state, whispering words of, for the most part, false comfort: that Sally was at peace. That she was loved. In truth, Sally was never at peace. She became something else. But she didn’t want them to become burdened with that truth.

Now, decades later, Sally is no longer an innocent ghost. She is a warped spirit of vengeance—childlike in form, elderly in mind, and twisted by years of bottled-up grief, jealousy, and madness. Though she once protected children, she now walks a fine line between protector and abuser, and even she doesn't always know which side she’s on.

PSYCHOLOGY + PERSONALITY

Sally's spirit has continued aging emotionally, though she is locked eternally in the body of a child. She carries over 60 years of grief, confusion, and emotional maturity within a form that denies her every aspect of growth.

She suffers from severe emotional regression, slipping between innocent play and bitter adult cynicism, often within the same conversation. Although, in some forms, she is extremely wise, as she would realistically be a woman in her 70s.

Though this stunted existence causes her deep psychological anguish, it’s not only rage she feels. Sometimes, she finds comfort in the regression.

Acting childish gives her a break from being a monster, from being ancient, from being angry.

She plays. She giggles. She twirls in her dress. She sings songs she hasn’t forgotten. Sometimes, she forgets she ever died.

It’s a defense mechanism

She has episodes of dissociation where she convinces herself she’s still 8. 9. Maybe 10. That she has living parents. That she’s normal.

During these episodes, she may act the way adults always expected her to act: polite, sweet, a perfect little girl.

If someone praises her during these moments, tells her she’s “so well-behaved” or “such a darling,” it triggers an unsettling sense of peace.

“Good girl.”

She smiles. Just like she did before the blood. Before the screaming. Before she remembered who she really is.

These dissociation states can last minutes or hours. The longer they go, the more disturbing they become. The switch back to reality is often violent: She might start crying uncontrollably or violently lash out when the illusion breaks.

The dolls that danced in her hands fall to the floor. Her laugh turns to screams. Her voice distorts. She may begin repeating phrases like:

“I didn’t mean to be bad.”

“I was a good girl.”

“He said I was special. He said I was special. He lied!”

Sally also has a warped sense of self-perception.

She doesn’t always see herself as others do. In reflective surfaces, her appearance shifts. Sometimes she sees herself as a child. Sometimes she sees herself as she thinks she would’ve looked at 20 or 30. Sometimes she sees nothing at all.

She hates mirrors. She covers them. Breaks them.

The mix of regression and dissociation can make her eerily unpredictable. One moment she’s acting out a tea party with full sincerity—

“You’re invited! I made cookies and tea and finger sandwiches!”

—and the next, she’s dragging a body into the woods. Silent. Dead, far-away eyes. Her dress soaked in blood.

Romantic longing has become a point of rage. She once adored love stories, fairy tales, and old musicals. Now, she despises them—despises romance itself. Anyone who shows her affection is met with suspicion, hatred, or violence. She harms or kills those who "look at her wrong," typically men, even if they meant no harm.

She envies others who can grow, love, and experience intimacy.

This envy has curdled into resentment, especially toward other proxies or creepypasta figures who display affection toward each other.

Her relationship with Slenderman is complex. She calls him “Daddy.” He is her only constant. She loves him—but there are days she hates him too.

She feeds on fear, especially from children she originally sought to protect. The more twisted she becomes, the more this feeds her. She has become a hungry, restless soul who thrives on terror.

Has developed intense religious trauma stemming from her death. She was raised Catholic, likely taught to pray as a child—told that God would save her, that angels were always watching. When her uncle raped her and took her life, and no divine force intervened, that belief shattered.

Now, she harbors a deep hatred for Christian symbols, angels, and all things labeled “pure” or “holy.” She sees them as liars—decorations for the blind.

If she sees religious imagery, she’ll destroy it. Bibles go missing. Statues crack. She mocks prayers. She spits at crosses.

If someone around her refers to “salvation” or “being saved,” she often goes silent then starts laughing.

Although fueled with hatred for religion, specifically Christianity, she carries around a rosary that her mother gifted her. It’s all she has left of her aside from her teddy bear. Sometimes she wears it, but she will harm, or even kill, anyone who touches it. 

Sally has an unstable temperament—she flips between giggling innocence and explosive rage. She may play dress-up or sing lullabies one moment and threaten someone with violence the next.

She mocks romance, love, or anything “cute” others do. She especially lashes out when others around her fall in love.

Deeply jealous. She loathes being seen as lesser, dismissed, or “just a kid.”

She tries to act mature but always ends up acting out in twisted, childish ways—mocking, mimicking, or escalating others’ emotions.

Despite all of this, there is still something soft buried in her. Something tired and lonely. But it rarely surfaces anymore.

She still protects some children—but even that instinct has grown dark. The protection has become possessiveness. And she feeds on their fear as much as she does their gratitude.

While rarer, she is close with few. Few men are safe to her, and seen as older brothers, or anything similar. She’s most comfortable with women, though.

DISTURBING TRAITS + CONDITIONS

C-PTSD. Depression. Age regression. Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD).

Chrono-Identity Dissociation: Sally sometimes forgets which decade she’s in. She might reference presidents, commercials, or news stories from the ‘60s as if they’re current. Other times, she recites modern internet slang wrong, like a child mimicking what they don’t understand.

“Rizz, right? That’s…that’s what they say now when someone loves you?”

Death Envy: She becomes jealous of people who die properly. If she finds someone who’s passed away in peace, she sometimes screams at the body, or curls up next to it like it’s unfair.

Post-Mortem Hallucinations: She sees ghosts that aren’t real—imaginary victims, false parents, twisted versions of herself. Some she talks to. Others she mimics.

“My mommy said I can’t talk to you anymore. She says you’re not real. But she’s not real either.”

Ritual Obsession: She needs to do certain acts the exact same way every time—brushing her doll’s hair 100 times, humming a lullaby three times before a kill, blinking in patterns. If interrupted, she becomes erratic or violent.

Identity Projection: She often projects her trauma onto others, including children she saves. If a girl she’s “rescuing” talks back or doesn’t act grateful, Sally screams that she’s “just like her” and starts crying.

Narrative Delusion: She thinks her story is being watched or read. Sometimes she addresses “the reader,” believing someone is listening, or watching her—someone who might change her ending.

“You’re still here, aren’t you? Please…don’t write me like this anymore.”

Hyper-Politeness: Even when killing, she may still say things like “please” and “thank you,” in a sing-song voice.

“Please stay still. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to.”

“Thank you for screaming. It makes me feel better.”

Faux Innocence: Sally weaponizes her appearance and childish behavior to confuse or lure victims, especially abusers. She pretends to be lost, scared, or mute until it’s too late.

“Will you help me? My uncle says I’m a very special girl…”

Emotion Imitation: She copies emotions she sees in others—especially happiness—without truly feeling it.

Laughs too long. Smiles too wide. Says “I love you” in a flat tone just to see how it feels.

Mock therapy talk: She repeats therapy phrases she’s overheard but distorts them:

“I’m valid. I’m allowed to feel this way. I’m allowed to hurt people who hurt me.”

Revenge Fantasies Played Out as “Games”: She reenacts scenes from her own death or imagined abuser deaths with her dolls, using them as surrogates in horrifying ways. She has favorite dolls she uses only for punishment reenactments.

APPEARANCE

Hair: Medium to light brown, long and unkempt with faded ribbons or mismatched bows. Often tangled. Sometimes bloodstained.

Eyes: Large and bright green, though they can become hollow and glassy. When angry, they seem to glow faintly.

Skin: Pale, nearly porcelain, with a slightly waxy texture. Cold to the touch.

Outfit: Usually wears a 1960s-style pink dress, frilled but worn down by time. The hem is torn short; the bodice stained with old blood. Wears white socks and scuffed black Mary Janes. She changes sometimes, no one understands how. No one asks. Carries an old teddy bear named "mama", as it was a gift from her.

Voice: Soft and high-pitched when calm, distorted and echoey when enraged. Her laugh often doubles over itself like a broken tape.

Small, petite frame. About 4"11.

HABITS

Feeds on fear, particularly from abusers and children who are “bad.” Her definition of “bad” is…slippery.

Collects dolls, especially broken or discarded ones. They appear around her randomly—sometimes watching, sometimes twitching.

Sings nursery rhymes or old 1960s jingles when she’s upset or preparing to kill.

Destroys romance-related media: she tears up books, slashes movie posters, sets fire to old love songs she used to enjoy.

Mocks romantic affection between proxies or other entities—especially if she suspects she’s being left out.

Carves hearts into trees or walls, then crosses them out violently.

Plays with her victims before killing them, especially those she believes “deserve it.”

Sometimes goes still for hours. No blinking. Just sitting and watching.

Visits her own grave on the anniversary of her death and leaves broken toys there.

Carries "blankets" that are old clothes of her victims: Sometimes even children’s. Worn soft and thin. She strokes them absentmindedly like comfort items.

Licks or Chews Her Fingers When Nervous: Sometimes until the skin peels. Sometimes while watching someone sleep.

Buries “bad” victims in dollhouses: She keeps shrunk-down belongings or burned scraps of victims in tiny furniture she’s arranged in twisted dollhouse sets. She calls them “time-outs.”

Watches People Sleep: Especially those who remind her of herself. She just stands at the end of the bed. Staring. Breathing softly.

Leaves Teeth Behind: Not her own. Just one per victim. Always clean, always somewhere meaningful to them.

Sings Songs from Different Eras: A medley of The Supremes, nursery rhymes, and TikTok audios, all mashed into one soft, tuneless hum.

“Stop, in the name of love, before you break—London Bridge is falling—bing bong bing bong~”

Has “Pretend Birthdays”: She’ll suddenly declare it’s her birthday and demand attention, gifts, or a party. If she doesn’t get it, she may become violent. She’s had over 60 birthdays and remembers none of them clearly. She can't remember her real birthday.

“It’s my birthday. You forgot. That’s mean. You’re mean.”

Let's be real. She steals Jeff's alcohol, or anyone else's. She smokes, drinks heavily, etc. Anything an adult would do—it makes her feel grown, when she never can be. Her anger allows her to manifest as close to human as she can, but it drains her energy—being drunk or anything of the like weakens her, cutting that short.

RELATIONSHIPS

SLENDERMAN

Her “Daddy.” The only one who stayed. The only one who came for her when her real family didn’t.

She both adores and resents him.

She often curls up next to him silently when she’s breaking down. He never speaks. She likes that.

He never punishes her, even when she kills recklessly. Instead, he watches…possibly even encourages.

She thinks he loves her in his own inhuman way—but she’s never sure. Sometimes she asks him:

“Do you love me? Or am I just your pet project?”

She fears disappointing him. And she’ll do horrible things just to feel that approval.

She hates seeing him care for others too much. It brings out her jealousy.

Jeff

They’re siblings in spirit. Jeff understands rage. He understands being “broken early.”

She’s one of the few who can scream back at him and he lets her. That makes her feel powerful.

Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they just sit in blood-stained silence, cooling off.

She mimics his laugh when she’s spiraling. He hates it. But he never tells her to stop.

Deep down, she feels safe around him—not because he’s good, but because he’s predictable. He’s always Jeff.

They sometimes kill together. She treats it like a game.

She becomes sad when he's distant some days, but she understands.

She sometimes gives him advice.

Eyeless Jack

Quiet comfort. She likes that he doesn’t talk much. She finds the black voids where his eyes should be…calming.

Jack doesn’t treat her like a child. He treats her like a ghost. She respects that.

Sometimes she sits near him during dissections and just…watches. He doesn’t mind.

She confides in him in rare moments—things she doesn't tell Slenderman.

They have an eerie peace between them. If she breaks down near him, he lets her scream until she stops. Sometimes, she lets him hold her.

Smile Dog

She talks to Smile like a real pet. She pets him. Cuddles him. Sleeps near him when she’s afraid.

Smile seems to understand her differently—not with words, but presence. She tells him things like:

“You’re the only one who doesn’t lie.”

He protects her from others when she’s overwhelmed.

She sometimes whispers secrets to him like a diary.

When she doesn't want him to, he doesn't speak. It scares her, oddly enough.

BEN

They bicker like siblings, but it’s playful. He teases her, she screams at him.

They bond over being lost souls, even though he pretends not to care.

He sometimes tries to cheer her up with dumb glitchy visuals or pixelated flowers.

She secretly looks up to him.

Occasionally plays games with her. It ends in yelling. She throws the controller. He laughs.

Jane

One of the few people Sally truly respects and trusts.

She sees Jane as strong, protective, and still beautiful—everything Sally wanted to grow up to be.

Jane reminds her of a mother. That’s dangerous. She tries to push her away when it gets too intense.

Jane sometimes brushes her hair or talks her down during episodes. Sally never thanks her out loud.

She desperately wants Jane’s approval but pretends not to care.

If Jane’s in pain, Sally goes feral trying to “protect” her.

Nurse Ann

A rare source of calm. Ann knows how to treat emotional wounds. She never infantilizes Sally.

Sally allows her to treat her—physically or emotionally—without fighting.

She brings her tea during regression episodes, tends to her bloody knees, and listens when Sally babbles nonsense.

Sally sometimes calls her "Nana." Only when she's really hurting.

If anyone mocks Ann or tries to harm her, Sally takes it personally.

Clockwork

A mix of admiration and confusion. Clockwork is intimidating, wild, but always composed.

Sally wants to understand her, but doesn't always know how.

She likes Clockwork’s laugh and her confidence, but doesn’t like her unpredictability.

Still, Clockwork never talks down to her—and that matters.

Masky

Sally is terrified of Masky.

It’s the mask, not the man. She can’t see his face, can’t trust his silence. It reminds her of people who watched her and did nothing. Even if unmasked.

His sudden movements and lack of visible expression trigger her.

She won’t enter a room he’s in unless someone she trusts is there.

Hoodie

Also triggers fear. The camera lens, the mask, the silence—it all feels predatory. (It isn't. It's the fear.)

She doesn’t know him well. That makes it worse.

Sometimes she hallucinates Hoodie standing in her room even when he’s not there.

When he’s around, she goes quiet and stares at the floor. She feels watched. Vulnerable.

Toby

Deeply unsettles her. The mask, the tics, the erratic movements remind her of things she doesn't understand—and doesn't want to.

She can’t tell what he’s feeling, and that terrifies her.

Has only spoken to him twice. Once to ask him not to come near her. Once to scream.

Even when he tries to be kind, she flinches. It’s not him. It’s the energy he gives off.

Lazari

Best friends. Sisters, even.

They’re inseparable, often seen holding hands, draping over each other, or sharing a blanket like it’s second skin.

She's a constant presence. If you see Sally, Lazari is rarely far behind—either trailing her or dragging her off to play.

Tea parties in every room, from dusty corners of the mansion to bloodstained basement floors, they set up mismatched cups and cracked plates, pretending they’re normal girls.

She's gentle during Sally’s dissociation. When Sally regresses or enters a delusional episode, Lazari knows not to push. She brushes her hair with slow, steady strokes. Picks out frilly dresses for her to wear, and even softly sings lullabies from Sally’s era. Sometimes just sits near her in silence, offering her presence without pressure.

She's protective—but not possessive. Lazari isn’t controlling. She knows Sally needs her space sometimes, especially after breakdowns. She waits patiently outside doors or leaves small items as comfort offerings—like ribbons or candy.

They talk about EVERYTHING. She tells her everything.

Shared trauma, shared peace. They rarely talk about what was done to them. But when they do, it's in short, jagged phrases. They understand without needing details.

“Did it hurt?” “Yes.” “Same.”

They use mock-normality as a coping mechanism. They talk about crushes they don’t really have, plan weddings they’ll never get to have, and give each other fake birthday parties with candles stuck in old muffins.

Lazari grounds her. She can sometimes stop Sally from spiraling just by grabbing her hand and saying,

“You’re here. You’re safe. I’m real.”

Shared acts of vengeance. They’ve hunted abusers together. Their kills aren’t always clean—sometimes they cry afterward, sometimes they laugh. Sometimes, they even play with the corpses, or in the area they killed them in.

Sally always makes Lazari promise she won’t tell Slenderman if Sally breaks a rule.

They talk about the afterlife. Lazari sometimes tells Sally stories about what she thinks happens when humans really die, forgetting Sally's situation. Sally listens like a child at a campfire, eyes wide. She’s scared.

“Do you think we’ll be together forever?”

“If we’re not, I’ll find you.”

They have an unspoken language. They have eye signals, coded gestures, and unfinished sentences that only they understand. Sometimes they start giggling before they even say anything. It unsettles the others.

Although, there is occasional codependence. Sally may cling too hard when she's spiraling—sleeping in Lazari’s bed, hiding behind her during fights, or refusing to eat unless Lazari is there. Lazari never scolds her for it.

There's feral loyalty. If someone hurts Sally—physically or emotionally—Lazari will make them regret existing. Even if Sally says she’s fine, Lazari knows better.

They call each other by pet names. Sally calls her "Lala." Lazari calls her "Sal-bug" or "Dolly". The names started as jokes. Now they’re comfort.

They’ve promised to never leave each other. Sally has trust issues with nearly everyone…except Lazari. She believes her.

“Even if I turn into a monster?”

“Then I’ll sit next to you. We’ll be monsters together.”

Sally never really acts like an adult around her. She hardly even gives her advice. With Lazari, she feels young again...truly innocent. Even if her father is one of the most powerful overlords of what everyone calls "hell". She'd rather be friends with a demon than an angel. Because at least a demon cares for her.

Although terrified of most, Sally is close with some. The men she refrains from don't take it personally and leave her be. Slender often even makes them leave so his little girl can get some peace. Their shared theme song is Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain, definitely.

DEPRESSING SECTION

Over the decades, Sally has attempted to pursue love. Not out of lust or desire—but out of a deep, gnawing yearning to feel something normal. To be like the girls she watches on TV. To feel wanted.

These attempts are always short-lived and tragic. The moment someone shows her affection—especially adult men—her trauma screams. She remembers what she is, how she looks, and what they see. Her grief turns into self-hatred, and her self-hatred turns into rage.

Every time, it ends in death. She kills them. Sometimes mid-embrace. Sometimes after. Often in tears.

Her guilt afterward is immense. She isolates, lashes out at others, and falls deeper into her bitterness toward love in general.

She does not allow herself to be loved anymore. If anyone shows affection, she becomes violent or withdrawn. It’s not flirtation—it’s a trigger. She will only ease around the few she feels safe with, or any females.

She now hates romantic themes entirely, destroying any hint of love she finds around the Mansion. She mocks others who fall for each other, but her scorn masks envy.

[icarianlibrary]

OH YEAH I'M GOING TO STATE FOR POI!!!!

Did we all cheer???

[return-the-heads-in-baskets]

Btw i am alive just making refs for my personal hc dsigns

[artcalledtattoo]

Those Guys (GuiseOfGals) You have those guys Grown from 70’s - 80’s - 90’s Their mad, upset in frustration They had thoughts within the ahead I pump pump pump pumped My passions Thinking of her And she was Thinking of the fairer And not me Those guise of gals Find out later into their own Their struck, confounded strikes They can’t reset things in the head Those guise of gals Wisdom tells all later on Those guys, I believed she was pretty She loved her never saw me I pump pump pump pumped My passions Thinking of her And she was Thinking of the fairer And not me I pump pump pump pumped My passions Thinking of her And she was Thinking of the fairer And not me Those guise of gals Grown find wisdom From later tells Frustration strikes pretty Ahead head me I pump pump pump pumped My passions Thinking of her And she was Thinking of the fairer And not me I pump pump pump pumped My passions Thinking of her And she was Thinking of the fairer And not me Slandered down Guise of gals May we play a new game?

[krownjester]

sonic movie 3 my beloved (computer busted i must draw on paper)

[vibrantlyinvain]

hi ok yaoi blast bye

[psiirockin]

Tenna warmup doodle from the other day. Still figuring out how I wanna draw him.

[firebugfrenzical]

Woh, eyeless jack upon ye

[dailyhmsw]

loop 215

[sisaloofafump]

Classic panel, from Dark Nights: Metal #2 (2017)

[amalsoappickle]

Peaceful in a world that doesn't remember you

[corsairspade]

you are a god's best friend. the world is young still, and you are yet younger. he rides with you and hunts with you, and teaches you how to speak to birds and beasts. you are a god's student. you ride in his train and care for a hound that he gifted to you. gods have taught others before. gods have been kindly to others before. your god is your best friend. he gifts you something of his self, a hound of his own hunt.

you are your father's son. your grandfather is dead. no one has ever called you wise, and you are, above all else, your father's son. he swears a terrible oath. you swear a terrible oath. you don't know if you really mean it, but your mother named you well- you are hasty to rise, hasty to run into things. the hunt teaches you patience but you cannot outrun yourself. you are your father's son.

you are a god's best friend and you have sworn a terrible oath, but it is an oath that you hope that your friend can understand. to hunt the murderer of your grandfather, is something that the god of the hunt can understand.

you are your father's son. the blood of elves on your hands does not feel different than the blood of a deer, except in the tight feeling of your throat. except in the thunderous beating of your heart. you tell your brother, who is trying not to throw up, that you need to think of them like deer. he looks at you like he's never seen you before. you are forever doomed.

you are a god's best friend. he does not say goodbye, but your dog comes with you. surely you can fix this, then, surely you are still a god's friend.

you are your father's son. he dies. he dies but before he does, he tells you to burn the boats. you do. you are your father's son. your father dies and, he tells you to swear that oath once more. it is a terrible oath. you have sworn it once. you swore to your best friend once. surely it will not tip the scales to swear once more, if in your mind, you dedicate this hunt to him.

you were a god's best friend, and it is not enough. you are your father's son, and you speak your father's oath. it proceeds to eat you alive.

[natlysblog]

me when th. bugtterfly

[luc3ks]

hey girl I mean he I mean she I mean they

[jinxedjay]

i was wondering where pyro in this cosmetic was so i made it myself. as a treat

[amperceter-art]

like most others i have fallen for clownmisers silliness trap