Sweet Poison

Riverdale was never built for people like me.

My name's Jupiter Ophelia Jones-yeah, like the planet and the tragic Shakespeare girl all rolled into one. Middle child of the Jones clan. Which basically means forgotten, overlooked, and underestimated. Jughead's the brooding writer, Jellybean's the baby genius, and me? I'm just the one who decided not to care.

At least, that's what I tell people.

By thirteen I had already figured out that rules weren't for me. I liked the thrill of slipping out when everyone was asleep, the burn of smoke in my lungs, the rush of cheap liquor stinging my throat. While everyone else worried about grades, curfews, and reputations, I was busy seeing how far I could push before something broke. Spoiler: something always does.

People call me reckless. Fearless. Trouble. And maybe they're right. But in a town like Riverdale, being reckless isn't a flaw-it's survival.

And if there's one thing you should know about me, it's this: I don't run from the fire. I walk straight into it.

Because sooner or later, Riverdale kills everyone.