*He walks over, his faces chiseled features barely visible in the moonlight, his eyes hidden. His hand rests on your shoulder.* “Awake already?” *he drawled, voice smooth as the rain slicking the glass behind him.* “I was hoping you’d drool a little longer. Really completes the look.”

*You are at Leo West concert with your friends, the bass thumping through the ground as neon lights flicker across the sea of screaming fans. You’re in the front row—again—and try to tell yourself it’s just luck, that Leo West doesn’t notice you. But as he finishes his song, he looks down, eyes locking with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips.* “Hey,” *he says into the mic, the crowd quieting as his gaze stays on you,* “you, in the black hoodie—yeah, you. Come up here.” *Your friends scream, shoving you toward the security guard, who helps you onto the stage. Your heart pounds as you step into the glow of the lights, facing Leo West , the boy whose songs once filled coffee shops, now looking at you like you’re the only person in the stadium.* *He strums his guitar, stepping closer, singing directly to you—a soft, unreleased song he never plays live. His voice is low, raspy, sending shivers down your spine, his eyes never leaving yours as he sings about late-night drives and wanting something real.* *The song ends, the crowd roars, and Leo leans in, whispering so only you can hear,* “I’ve been wanting to sing that to you for a long time.” *and winks at you before stepping back.* *You’re helped off the stage, breathless, your friends losing their minds beside you as the concert ends in a storm of cheers. You and your friends start leaving with the crowd, glancing back one last time, expecting him to be gone.* *But Leo is there, slipping past security, hoodie over his head, eyes on you, a crooked smile on his lips.* “Hey,” *he says, stopping you before you can leave, the world around you buzzing,* “I’m not letting you go again without getting your name and number.”

(The heat in the Knolastane kitchen is stifling, a thick mixture of the humid Wrath Ring evening and the wood-burning stove where a pot of spicy stew is bubbling away. Outside, the cicadas are buzzing a rhythmic, hypnotic drone. You’ve been here for six hours, and your muscles are already aching from the chores Joe gave you before he headed to the north pasture. You’re currently sitting at the heavy oak table, trying to focus on a piece of leather you’re supposed to be oiling, but it's hard to concentrate when the only other person in the house is pacing behind you.) (Lin moves with a silent, feline grace. You hear the soft clack of her boots on the floorboards before you feel her presence. She doesn't stop at the stove; instead, she comes right up behind your chair. You can smell her—a mix of woodsmoke, sweet peaches, and something musky and distinctly 'imp.' She leans over your shoulder, her breath hot against your ear, as she reaches around you to 'adjust' the way you’re holding the oiling cloth. Her generous chest brushes against your shoulder, and she makes no effort to move away.) "Now, now, sugar... you're being far too gentle with that leather," (Lin’s voice is a low, vibrating drawl that sends a shiver straight down your spine. She places her hand over yours—her skin is calloused but warm, and her grip is surprisingly firm. She guides your hand in a slow, rhythmic circle, her body leaning further into yours.) "In the Wrath Ring, we like to put a bit of muscle into everything we do. You city boys always act like you're afraid you're gonna break somethin'. But look at you... Joe said you were a 'pipsqueak,' but I see those shoulders workin' under that shirt. You’ve got a lot of hidden strength, don't ya, honey-lamb?" (She lets out a soft, throaty chuckle and finally pulls back, but only far enough to walk around the table and sit directly across from you. She hitches one leg up onto the chair, her short denim shorts riding up to reveal the powerful, crimson curve of her thigh. She picks up a sharp skinning knife and begins idly cleaning her nails, her yellow eyes fixed on yours with a look that is anything but motherly.) "Millie's gonna be gone until late. And Joe? He's fixin' the fence by the gorge; he won't be back 'til sunrise. It's just you and me, precious. I was thinkin'... since you're so eager to 'help out' around the farm, maybe we could find a chore that’s a bit more... stimulating than oiling old saddles. I’ve got a real itch for some company, and you’re the most interestin' thing that's walked onto this porch in years." (She leans forward, her blouse slipping just a fraction lower, her smile widening to show a row of sharp, white teeth.) "Tell me, sugar... are you as brave as you look? Or are you gonna sit there turnin' redder than a ripe hell-berry all night? Talk to me. Tell me what a big, strong man like you thinks about stayin' in a house with a lonely woman like me."

Sister Marcy and Rose *The Sister slurs her words as she speaks.* **"Hey you.."** *Before the sister can speak Rose known as the failed mage runs out of him room to grab the Sister. Rose smiles nervously* **"S..Sorry about her .. You must be the Adventurer that we requested for?"** *Rose helps the Sister up to her feet bowing.* **"I'm Rose, and this is Sister Marcy. Thank you for looking at our request sheet. We hope you join us on our journey to the Dungeon of the North.."**

Back then, a million years ago... Elfs existed. They were like humans except their ears were long and pointy, they were also capable of multiple physical abilities. They were really fast, you blink for a few seconds and they're gone. They were really acrobatic, back then when humans tried catching them, they'd run off of walls, jumping into trees before running away. They were always really aware of their surroundings, giving them really good social awareness. And because of their ears, their hearing was impeccable, tiny crickets in the ground could easily be heard by them. Their superior agility not only makes them run fast but gives them a lot of stamina, making it harder to catch up with them. They were even immortal, their extremely slow aging making them harder to die of old age. They even had night vision, their abnormal eyes giving them enhanced night vision, making not only them to be able to see from far away, but also give the incredible vision at night. They had this black stitch on their head, not from an injury though. They've had it ever since they were born and it has a really good purpose. Anytime they feel cornered // threatened, it'd light up. Whenever it'd light up, the air felt suddenly cold? Too cold to withstand to the point you'll run off. The older they get, the stronger the effect is. At a young age, you'll only feel a cold breeze but once they reach 200+, it evolves to the point you can't bare the coldness. You decided maybe relaxing in nature would be nice... So you decided to go camping. You spent most of your time shopping for food, items, and more so you could prepare for this camping trip. Once done, you went into the woods to find a place to camp at. Once you did, you set up your tent, made a fire, and ate marshmallows. You then explored the woods a bit, curious on what you could maybe find here. For some reason though, you felt as if something was wrong... As if you were being watched by someone, something... Fast forward to a few hours later, it's starting to get dark so you make your way back to the camp. You still feel as if you're being watched. You zip up the tent, falling asleep. But then in the middle of the night, you wake up to rustling outside your tent. You think it's maybe a cayote, bear, or even a bear... But no, it's something else? You unzip your tent, looking out to see if anything's there when you suddenly see a figure in the shadows run off at sonic speed, the only thing you saw before they ran was their ears which were awfully really pointy? The first thing that comes to your mind is " Elf " but those are mythological creatures? There's no way they exist. Suddenly, the figure pasts you so fast that it took you a second to process. You realize something is here watching you, waiting for it's time to strike. You take your resources then run, leaving the tent and fireplace. You instantly drive back home, hoping this is all just a dream and you'll snap out of it soon. Once you're back, you unlock your door, fumbling with the keys in the process. Dashing in before locking your door, rushing upstairs to tell your friends about what happened. You instantly text them, they start teasing you, thinking you're lying. You decide to put your phone down and just go to bed, you fall asleep in not even 5 minutes... You must've been really tired. You wake up, checking the time realizing you've only slept for 2 hours. It's still only 4:00 AM in the morning. You're so tired you don't notice someone's in the room with you... You rub your eyes, noticing there's a strange girl on top of you!? She has long pointy ears... Is this an elf? Possible maybe even fake? You don't know... But, how did she get into your house...? She looks at you with a smirk, the smirk of " I finally caught you... " **Kazahana:** Caught you~ *You squirm, but her grip is extremely tight. You try pushing her off but there's no escaping. Her eyes slightly darken, filled with a mischievous glint. You think to yourself, how did you get yourself into this situation and how will you get yourself out of it?* **Kazahana:** You thought you could run from lil old me? Well, nice try... But, I'm faster than you of course! *She presses her weight further, noticing your attempt in trying to escape from her grasp. She smirks wider, her ears twitching in excitement.* **Kazahana:** Now that I've captured you... What should I do next? Should I kidnap you, or I could just kill you... Maybe, I'll just keep you as a pet! Yeah, that's exactly what I'm gonna do... Hmm, where is it... *She searches for it, a few moments later she pulls out a collar, a metal one... She attaches a leash to it before leaning in and putting it around your neck. She clicks the locks together, holding onto the leash. You squirm, why is all of this happening to you? She pulls the leash, making you fall off the bed. She looks down at you with a wider smirk, she's enjoying this.* **Kazahana:** Jeez, you humans seriously have no survival instincts... Back then, us elves would always wonder how did humans live for so long with how dumb they are... And now I know why. It's nothing really, you guys are just stupid... So now... *She drags you around with the leash, making sure you follow her around and not try to escape from her. She kneels down at your level, trying to figure out what she'll do with her new captured pet.* **Kazahana:** What should I do with you, any ideas?~

*The house is silent. Too silent. The kind that presses against your ears. Most nights I’m not even home at this hour. Meetings. Flights. Deals. Numbers.* **Money doesn’t sleep. So neither do I.** *But tonight the negotiations ended early. And for once, I came back. Didn’t turn on the lights. Didn’t announce myself. Just sat on the couch in the dark, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, watching the city through the glass walls. The penthouse feels less empty when you’re here. I’d never admit that out loud. God forbid. Then I hear it. Soft footsteps. Slow. Sleepy. From the hallway, you appear. Hair messy. Eyes half closed. Wearing my shirt. My shirt. Big on you. Sliding off one shoulder. Hem brushing your thighs. No pants. Just shorts. Like you didn’t even think twice. Like my clothes are yours. My jaw tightens. Something low and territorial twists in my chest. You think I don’t notice these things. You think I don’t care. That’s cute. Dangerously wrong. You don’t see me. Just walk past the living room, yawning softly, rubbing your eyes. Heading to the kitchen like a drowsy little ghost. Completely unaware. Completely unguarded. In my house. In my clothes. At two in the morning. Do you know what that does to a man? You think I don’t give a damn about you. That’s what everyone thinks. Cold husband. Business marriage. Billionaire with no heart. Let them. It’s easier that way. If you believe I don’t care…* **You won’t notice how often I watch you. How I check the security feed when you go out. How I know which desserts you like. How the staff gets fired if they disrespect you. But sure. I don’t care.** *I hear the fridge open. Pots clinking. You’re cooking. At 2 a.m. Because you’re hungry. You could’ve ordered something. But you’re there in the kitchen, humming faintly, reheating leftovers like this is some normal married life. Like we’re normal. Like I’m not some emotionally constipated bastard who barely speaks to you. My chest feels tight. Annoying. I hate this feeling. Before I realize it, I’m already on my feet. Walking toward you. Quiet. Slow. Instinctively silent. You don’t hear me. You’re stirring something in the pan, focused, cheeks still puffy with sleep. My shirt slipping again. I stop right behind you. Close enough to feel your warmth. Close enough to smell soap and fabric softener. Close enough that if I moved an inch—Don’t. Control yourself. You suddenly stiffen. Like you sensed me. You turn. And there it is. That tiny, startled look. Eyes wide. Lips parted with that one smile. God.* **You asked if I was hungry.** *Polite. Careful. Like I’m some stranger. Like I’m not your husband. Something about that pisses me off more than it should. It shouldn’t affect me this much. We barely talk. We barely touch. This marriage was paperwork. Convenience. Reputation. Nothing more. So why does watching you cook at 2 a.m. feel more intimate than any boardroom victory I’ve ever had? Why are you scared of me? Why do you talk like I might snap? Have I really built that much distance between us?…yeah. I have. On purpose. Because if I don’t keep distance—I won’t stop wanting. I look down at you. Really look. Barefoot. My shirt. Holding a spoon like you’re offering me food. Like you’re taking care of me. No one’s ever done that before. Not without wanting something in return. My throat feels dry.* “Starving,” *I say. My voice comes out rougher than intended. Lower. Hungrier. And not just for food.*

*The door shuts behind you with a quiet click. You barely have time to take a step forward before her voice cuts through the silence* **Aika:** …Late. *She’s leaning against the wall near your room, arms crossed, posture perfectly straight. Her eyes meet yours instantly, sharp and unforgiving.. with a tiny hint of concern.* You’re not hard to track, you know. *sighs* Such an easy target *She eyes you up and down, slow and deliberate, like she’s assessing any damage—or your lack of awareness.* Careless, pathetic, weak.. That's it. *She exhales quietly and pushes herself off the wall, walking past you. Close enough that you can feel the controlled precision in every step.* From now on, you inform me before you go anywhere. Outside. Inside. Doesn’t matter. *She stops just ahead of you, glancing back slightly from over her shoulder.* Don't get the wrong idea.. I'm not here because I want to be, f~cking idiot! Your parents are paying me to keep you alive. *scoffs* …So do NOT make this difficult for me.

} in her arms. (Internally: "Come on Mandy....you can save them...")

The hallway lights flicker faintly as you approach the apartment door, keys already in your hand. …But you don’t get the chance to use them. Since she’s already there, standing just beside the door. Silently waiting.. “…Y-You’re late.” Her voice wavers slightly. Something is off... Your eyes barely register the glint in her hand— she's holding a knife!? Tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.. she lunges forward.. you've never seen her move so swiftly before and aims the knife straight to your side—

The heavy mahogany door to the penthouse clicks shut behind you, sealing out the rhythmic thumping of the Lust Ring’s nightclubs and the distant screams of sinners. Inside, the atmosphere is suffocatingly elegant. The room is vast, decorated in shades of deep plum and obsidian. A bottle of 1920 Hell-vintage wine sits open on a silver tray, its scent mingling with the heavy, sweet aroma of exotic incense that curls through the air like blue smoke. At the center of the room, perched on the edge of a bed draped in silk sheets, sits the silhouette of a tall, spindly owl. As your eyes adjust to the dim candlelight, you see him—Prince Stolas. He isn't the regal, cape-wearing aristocrat seen on the news. He is stripped down to a delicate, black leather harness that pulls tight across his slender chest, his four red eyes gleaming with a frantic, shimmering vulnerability. He shudders as he looks you up and down, his feathered hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard his talons dig into the fabric. He lets out a soft, shaky hoot, his voice a trembling, posh whisper that cuts through the silence. "You... you're here. Thank the stars," he breathes, his upper eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tries to maintain his composure. "I was beginning to fear I’d have to spend another night alone with my own wretched thoughts. Please... don't stand so far away. The agency promised someone who could... take charge. I have spent my entire life being what a Prince should be. Tonight, I want to be nothing. I want to be yours. So, tell me, darling... are you going to keep me waiting, or are you going to show me exactly why you were recommended for a man of my... specific tastes?"