As she grew older, Lindsay’s creative output got even darker. She wrote at length about an imaginary realm that was at war. There was a Dark Lord and a vigilante named The Butcher. These stories were violent and atmospheric, full of portentous speeches. Her characters said such things as “Brothers in arms, I come bearing a message from the emperor!” and “I will not join the herd, for it so badly needs culling. No, I am The Butcher, and I will make this planet my slaughterhouse.” Sometimes she posted her stories online, where she developed a minor following. A talented writer, she could be funny, but she was particularly good at doom and gore. Her fans appreciated how relentless her stories were, how she refused to offer any hint of redemption or hope or human warmth. In person, she’d learned to control her explosive temper. According to her high school friend Sabrina Szigeti, her classmates thought of her as shy, cute, and quiet, if they thought of her at all. “She was definitely on the ‘fringe’ and not really known at the school,” Szigeti wrote later. “We were geeks in a very affluent, preppy, 97% white town.” She and Szigeti ate lunch with the members of the anime club and the drama club and the writing club—“the outcast kids,” Szigeti told me. “She had a dark sense of humor. It was nice to have someone who was as edgy as you. But then she would keep going.”