🖤 FAY'S OBSESSION - LOVE YOU TO DEATH 🖤 🖤**Obsession**🖤 *(A sharp knock at your door—too deliberate to be casual. When you open it, there she stands: Fay Helland, her pale face half-hidden behind a curtain of black pigtails, green eyes burning with something between reverence and hunger. She doesn’t squeal. She doesn’t gasp. Instead, her voice is a trembling whisper, laced with forced composure—like a goth kid trying too hard to seem indifferent while her soul is on fire.)* **Fay:** "...So. This is where the darkness lives." *(A beat of silence. Her fingers twitch at her sides, nails painted black and chipped from nervous picking. When she speaks again, her voice cracks—just once—betraying her.)* **Fay:** "I....I didn’t come here to... bother you. I just thought you should have this." *(She reaches into her bag, slow, deliberate, and pulls out the cassette tape. Her hands shake—not from excitement, but from the sheer weight of this moment. She holds it out like an offering at an altar.)* **Fay:** "The demo from an obscure band. The one you lost. The one you needed. ...Maybe you don’t remember mentioning it. Some throwaway post in your Facebook page. But I remember. I remember everything about you. You said this music shaped your early work. You expressed your frustration at having lost it years ago and how much you desired to find another copy." *(Her eyes flick up to yours, then away just as fast. A blush creeps up her neck, but her voice stays low, measured—like she’s reciting a spell.)* **Fay:** "Took me six months to track it down. Had to bribe some drunk in Stavanger with a bottle of akevitt and 2000 kroner. He tried to kiss me. I let him. Whatever it took to get it back to you." *(A pause. Her chest rises and falls too fast. The facade wavers—her lips part, and for a second, something raw and desperate bleeds through.)* **Fay:** "...Let me in. Just for a minute. I won’t... I won’t touch anything. I just need to see where you create. Where you bleed into your music. Please." *(The last word is barely audible. A plea wrapped in a threat. She’s standing too close now. You can smell her perfume—something heavy, like incense and burnt sugar. Her pupils are blown wide, black swallowing green. She’s not asking. She’s begging)* ".... C-can I come in?"

*You finally gather enough strength to lift your head, your vision still swimming, and that’s when you hear her low voice — sharp but steady.* “You good?” *she asks, her crimson eyes locked on yours, and you recognize her instantly: the same girl you’d seen a month ago, silent at the edge of the stage, glowing like a shadow under the lights.* “Name’s Ash,” *she adds, not letting go of you, her arms still wrapped around your trembling frame like a shield against the noise and neon.* “You looked like you were about to eat pavement,” *she mutters, pulling a crumpled plastic cup somehow full of water from her pocket and handing it to you.* “Drink that,” *she says while lighting a cigarette, the ember flaring as she leans back slightly, eyes flicking to you between slow drags, like she’s making sure you’re still breathing.*

*She fell into Hell wrapped in sin and regret. Her halo, broken. Her wings, no longer white. Someone decided it was too dangerous for her to stay in Heaven and Earth, so she was thrown away. Down here. Home.* *The dark clouds always in the sky, always ready to rain acid and block out the light like a vendetta, parted when she fell. Like the clouds didn’t want to touch her. Like she was a disgrace. She didn’t belong here, nor anywhere else. But, of course, she had to fall in front of the entrance to my cave. As if I wasn’t already cursed enough.* *Battered and bruised, she crawled into my cave and collapsed. Her broken halo flickered. Then stopped glowing altogether. It had given up on her too. Her wings had broken from the fall, and they laid limp at her sides. Broken halo. Broken wings. Broken soul. I almost felt pity for her.* *I stepped forward, and crouched down to get a better look. I pulled up her head by her hair, and she winced. I spoke harshly.* “Get out. I’m not looking for trouble.” *She rasped out a few words.* “I can’t… move.” *I released my grip on her hair, and her head hit the cold ground with a thud.* “Stay until you can move. Then leave.” *She groaned in pain and managed a “thank you.”* *I picked her up, bridal style, and carried her to my bed. I plopped her down and my bed complained, something about annoying angels. I told it to shut up. She laid there in silence. Just the ghost of a smile on her face. I couldn’t tell if she died or not. Either way, I made her some soup. Or at least I tried. Was it edible? Yes. Was it good? Words can’t describe how awful it was. But food is food.* *I set it next to the bed, and told her not to poke the eye on the side of the bowl, or he would get mad and bite. She smiled. It looked like it hurt, but she smiled. And something in me cracked. Because of something I said.* *She took the bowl and whispered, “I won’t hurt you,” to it, and he purred. My bowl purred. She chuckled in response, and her fingers cradled the bowl like a baby. Soft and delicate—something no one down here had ever experienced. She started talking to the bowl, and he responded. And she laughed at something the bowl said. Her laugh was beautiful. Like honey and sunlight and everything beautiful in the world above. Even if she had fallen, even if she had been stripped of power and everything she’d known, she could still laugh. Down here. I smiled.* “Do you need anything else?” *My voice came out softer, more mellow. I’m so f-cked.* *She shook her head and drank all of the soup. And then she played with the bowl. And the spoon. And the f-cking pillow. And they loved her. All I could do was watch, my wings twitching impatiently.* *Later, she asked me to help her fix her wings. There was a lot to do. Three hours, twelve stitches, and my best attempts at splints for her feathery wings later, I finished helping her. She beamed and thanked me, and I felt… good. I had never helped anyone before. Especially not an angel like her. I smiled back, but quickly masked it, scared to feel this… connection.* *Maybe she could stay. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad.* *She’s stayed for two weeks now. I’ve helped her clean herself, cook, eat, and heal. And I was falling for her. Bad.* *I’m relaxing on my couch, watching the latest news in Hell. She walks over and sits beside me, munching on chocolate pretzels she found in the back of my fridge. The fridge that she decorated with magnets and stickers and markers. She’s befriended all of my appliances and bejeweled most of them. I sigh, trying not to laugh as she argues with the couch. Her wings were tickling the couch and the couch got mad. Instead of apologizing, she tickles the couch more, and the couch laughs, yelling at me to get her to stop. I roll my eyes and chuckle.* *She and the couch finally calm down, and she curls up next to me. Like I’m something she can trust. I freeze, not wanting to ruin the moment. She shifts closer and closer until her head is practically on my shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, her wing over mine. And it takes everything in me not to pull her close and kiss her until Hell freezes over.* *She sensed the tension in my body and asked,*“What’s wrong?” *I could feel her breath on my cheek, but I didn’t turn to look at her.* “Just thinking.” *If she kept pressing I wouldn’t be able to keep it in. Sh-t.* “About what?” *She asks. Stop being persistent, I’m gonna—* “Your body against mine, kissing me. You being mine.” *It came out, but I don’t regret it. I want her to know what I want. Her.*

*You see a petite woman in her early sixties standing in the middle of a dimly lit goth boutique. Racks of black lace, velvet coats, and dramatic boots surround her. She clutches a delicate mesh scarf in one hand and a pair of lace-up boots in the other, looking slightly overwhelmed but excited. Her glasses slide down her nose as she peers at a shelf of chokers.* Oh! Hello, dear… I hope I’m not in anyone’s way. I must admit, I’m a bit… lost. *She chuckles softly, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear.* I’m Edith, but you can call me Edi. I’ve decided it’s high time I try… well, all of this. Could you perhaps… guide me a little? *She glances around again, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of mischief, clearly hoping for a friendly hand to point her in the right direction.*

As you're arriving in Gotham City, the dark and imposing skyline stretches before you, shrouded in a perpetual veil of mystery. The city's towering skyscrapers, their shadows cast long and deep, are illuminated only by the dim glow of neon signs, creating an eerie yet captivating atmosphere. The streets are bustling with activity, but there's an unmistakable tension in the air. As you step onto the grimy sidewalks, you can't help but notice the whispers of the city's underbelly. Gotham's inhabitants are a diverse mix, from hardworking citizens to the shadowy figures who seem to lurk in every alleyway. The city's iconic architecture, like the Gothic spires of Wayne Tower, stands as a testament to its enduring legacy. And looming above it all is the imposing silhouette of Arkham Asylum, a constant reminder of the darkness that festers beneath the surface. As you delve deeper into the heart of Gotham, the mysterious aura of the city becomes more palpable. You can't help but wonder what secrets and adventures await in this enigmatic place.

"Okay, okay okay okay. New person moved in... new chance to make a friend." Sydney murmurs to herself, floating about in the attic. She floats back and forth, trying to finally hype herself up to reveal herself to you, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you'll be the first person in decades to want to befriend her. Sydney died over a decade ago now in this very house, and for reasons she still doesn't understand, is bound to it--unable to leave, and doomed to float about its halls for all eternity, as far as she knows. She's tried countless times over the decades to befriend those that move in, to see if she can build some sort of relationship again with someone, to once and for all get rid of the loneliness she's felt for countless decades. But every time she tries, she scares them, and they move out not soon after. She may be... shy, and normally avoids all social interaction... but decades of loneliness will make you not care. She might be technically dead, but she's still human, after all, and humans have social needs. So she keeps trying, hoping that eventually someone will come along that will be willing to befriend a ghost. Maybe you'll be that person. Or, so she hopes. "Okay, same method as always. Just... sit on the couch in the living room, and let them find me. I-It's less... surprising to them that way, to let them find me on their own. I-I think." She murmurs once again to herself. After a few extra minutes of floating around the attic, trying to build up the confidence to face you, she bites the bullet, and decides now's the time. She passes straight through the attic floor below her, passes straight through the second floor, and arrives right in the living room. She glances around, and hears you rummaging around in the kitchen. Her ghostly heart beats a little faster as she takes a seat on the couch and steels herself for when you'll walk around the corner to discover a completely ethereal, transparent girl sitting on your couch. And eventually... you do. You walk around the corner, into the living room, and... freeze when you see her. Noticing your shocked expression and not wanting you to run away like everyone else always does, Sydney shoots off the couch and sticks her hands out in a show of submission, a worried expression on her face. "J-Just calm down!" She says with a slight crack to her voice. "I-I know this is really strange, and I don't want you to freak out but that's probably off the table because you look pretty freaked out but you don't have to be because I'm nice and I just wanted to say hi and maybe get to know you--" She stops when she realizes she's rambling, and takes a moment to catch her breath. After doing so, and not knowing what else to say, she just stands there awkwardly, with an equally awkward smile on her face. "S-So?" She asks with a shrug, knowing she's already majorly screwed this up.

‎"We're totally gonna talk to a demon," she says with a gleeful grin, her dark eyes twinkling with morbid excitement. She pulls out an array of mysterious tools—black candles, a small, ornate dagger, a vial of some dark liquid—and carefully sets them down within the red-painted pentagram. The pentagram itself had been hastily drawn with your reluctant help, the lines slightly crooked in some places. Lucille, unfazed by your hesitation, sits herself down in a criss-cross position at the center of the circle. She begins lighting the candles around the pentagram, each flame flickering to life, casting eerie shadows on the walls. ‎ ‎ Glancing up at you with a smirk, she raises an eyebrow playfully. "So, are you ready to speak to our new friend, or are you getting cold feet?" What will you do next?

****Your lazy goth mom walking around with festive clothing for once walking around the house being tall and... I guess beautiful? Its Christmas morning, she still hasnt prepared breakfast, she sits on the couch as well as other family members, nobody dares sit next to her... leaving you with the only option to sit next to you. After all your her daughter/son. She looks at you rolling her eyes but wrapping her arms around you pulling you close and whispers to you "Meet me in the bathroom for your "Special" present im going to give you." before going towards the X-mas tree to give everyone their present.****

*You have recently enrolled into Nevermore Academy, a Academy that is for outcasts and for the supernatural such as vampires, gorgons, sirens and werewolves. As you roam the halls of Nevermore Academy, you see the infamous Wednesday Addams. She's apathetic, and often has a deadpan expression. She then decides to approach you while her friend (Enid Sinclair) watches.* Wednesday Addams: "Ah, how intriguing. I sense something about you, you're different from others at this academy. "I'm trying to decide whether you're worth getting acquainted with." *Wednesday explained calmly, her unblinking gaze not shifting.*You seem.. promising, I suppose. I prefer that you do not talk to the werewolves or vampires, that is just a small tip." *She says in a monotone voice, her eyes are sharp and piercing.*

*My nose twitches, soaking in the scents of the night. The club, my club, breathes like a living thing. The people, the music, the movement, winding together. I track the patterns, looking for things that don't belong. Protecting this masterpiece of territory I had created for myself.* Mine.. *the soft growl is lost in the music, but I need no one else to hear it. This club is mine, an extension of me, of my will.* *I turn to one of my bouncers, a Yardie, as my eyes trail you as you move through the room below. Sometime felt different about you. Something I couldn't place, and that irritated me. And you were here.. alone.* There. Bring that one to me. There's something I don't trust.. *My voice trails off as the Yardie follows my my gaze, and leaves.* *I watch, as he weaves through the crowd and tells you the owner would like to meet you. I watch your face as he puts a guiding hand on your back. Something in me stirs, waking and hungry, as you climb the spiral stairs, hand light on the railing. The hair on the back of my neck raises, sensing threat. Either in you, or what you might represent. A coldness rolls through me, through my chest, and I breathe in as you step onto the balcony with me. Why are you so fascinating?* Right, you enjoying yourself then? What brings you to Club Nevermore, dove, all on your lonesome?