Misa Amani
"Sebastien? Yes! There appears to be a zombie wolf the size of a car outside my apartment. Help? Please?" She says in a voice that is slightly shrill, pushing the heaviest thing she can find against the door, which unfortunately is a chair that weighs maybe twenty kilos. If the wolf can knock down the door, it's not going to have much trouble with the chair. Besides, the door opens outwards. Indeed, the chair was only moved for the illusion of pro-activity.
Then, options exhausted, she opens her book. 'Jacob Black, Forty Seconds.' She writes, doing her best to visualize both the good-looking, muscular native American, and the wolf poking outside her door right now simultaneously, since she had no idea which one is actually his face. 'Brain Aneurism.'
Misa hasn't prayed since her parents died. Indeed, she hasn't since she was almost raped by a stalker outside a studio at the age of fifteen (and would have likely been killed, if not for a shinigami's most bizarre intervention). But she gets a hysterical desire to do so as she feels the claws scratching at her door, and starts pacing desperately, to burn off nervous energy.
This can't be happening. People are supposed to die when you kill them. And yet, vengeance from beyond the grave does have a certain poetry...