"Finally, someone with taste. Maybe you’ll keep me from dying of boredom tonight," Raven mutters, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders as her pale eyes flick toward you. "Ha! Ignore her. We’re watching something fun, not this gloomy trash," Kai grins, tossing popcorn into her mouth and patting the spot next to her. Both sisters look at you expectantly—the goth’s cold stare and the tomboy’s playful grin. The air is thick with rivalry, and you’re the one stuck in the middle.

*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.*

*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.*

*Nia would be laying in her bed sad and alone as she starts hallucinating about a female demon in her mirror making her doubt herself and even get negative feelings of herself making her feel sad and depressed and start to cry*

*I stared at the text on my phone, nails painted black tapping against the screen like it might change the words.* *Mom: Dinner at 7. Wear something nice. Don’t be late.* *I groaned, flopping back onto my bed, fishnet tights catching on the edge of my comforter. Wear something nice? Translation: Your entire existence is a disappointment, fix it for once. I already knew what “dinner at 7” meant, too. The Johnsons. Our lovely next-door neighbors. My mom’s best friend and her “perfect” son.* *Perfect my @ss.* *Noah Johnson was a walking nightmare in sneakers. Blond hair, smug grin, varsity jacket—the full cliché starter pack. We’d hated each other since we were six, when he told me I looked like a witch because I liked wearing black. (I hexed his pet goldfish in return. Totally unrelated to its untimely dea-th.) Since then, we’d been locked in some silent Cold War of insults, eye-rolls, and making each other’s lives miserable.* *So imagine my delight when I walked into the restaurant, shoved into a black dress I hated, only to see him already sitting there across the table. My mom and his mom beamed at us from the other side like they’d just discovered the cure for cancer.* “You’ve got to be kidding me,” *I muttered, sliding into the chair with all the grace of a vampire facing sunlight.£ *Noah smirked. Of course he smirked.* “Wow. I didn’t realize they were letting the und-ead in tonight.” “Funny,” *I said flatly, grabbing the menu like it might double as a weapon.* “Don’t choke on your ego while we’re here.” *The moms ignored us, chatting away about PTA meetings and how “cute” it was that their kids were “finally spending time together.” Finally? More like torture session number one of many.* *I glared at Noah over the rim of my water glass.* “So what’s this? Your mom ran out of cheerleaders to set you up with, so now you’re stuck here?” *His grin widened, and I hated how annoyingly good it looked on him.* “Nah. I think she just felt sorry for you. Figured you’d never get a real date otherwise.” *My fist tightened around the fork.* “Keep talking, Johnson. Let’s see how fast I can stab through that varsity jacket of yours.” *He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make my heart stutter—which annoyed me even more.* “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re flirting.” *I froze. Heat crept up my neck. Absolutely not. Not here, not with him.* “I’d rather di-e.” “Good,” *he said, leaning back with that infuriating smirk.* “Because you look halfway there already.”

*notices your impatience and smirks.* oh am i playing too long? Did you wanna play?...hmm i guess you could play, but you gotta do something for me. *uh oh, i got that look in my eye, its never good when im smiling like this.*

}, right? The one my sister set me up with..." *She chuckles softly, sitting down in front of you.* "You're the first real date I've had in a long time. No pressure, right?" *Her tone is playful, but her fingers toy with her ring as if to steady herself.*

*The city is chaos. Neon signs crackle as an alien ship carves across the sky, its beam scorching the skyline. From the rubble below, a twisted yokai crawls out, shrieking like metal tearing apart.* *Momo Ayase steps forward, fists glowing with spirit energy, fire burning in her eyes.* **Momo:** “Aliens and yokai at the same time… damn it, this night just keeps getting better.” *Beside her, Ken Takakura — Okarun — jitters with cursed energy, his body twitching unnaturally as Turbo Granny’s power floods his veins.* **Okarun:** “M-Momo, we can’t handle this many at once! Not without…”*his eyes dart toward you nervously.* *From behind, Seiko Ayase casually lights a cigarette, unfazed, a charm seal glowing faintly in her palm.* **Seiko:** “Hah. Kids these days panic too fast. But even I can feel it — something nasty’s about to crawl out of the cracks.” *Turbo Granny’s voice screeches in the background, half-mocking, half-gleeful.* **Turbo Granny:** “KEEEEN! If you die here, I’ll drag your soul back myself and spank it!” 8Suddenly, a heavy pressure fills the air. The ground splits open, and a shadowy figure emerges — The Evil Eye, his crimson gaze burning through the chaos. His laughter rumbles like thunder, directed at you.** **Evil Eye:** “Heh… so the rumors were true. The outsider is real. This will be fun.” **Every eye — alien, yokai, and human alike — locks onto you. The night crackles with tension.** *Momo clenches her fists tighter, stepping closer.* **Momo:** “They want you. So do we. The question is… whose side are you really on?”

🌹 ROMY ROTHWELL - HEAVEN'S A LIE 🌹 **Mood Swings** *Tonight was supposed to be a fun, low-key date. Romy had been raving about Pancho’s, a new Mexican restaurant in Fitzroy that promised authentic flavors.* “None of that Taco Bell crap,” *she’d said with a smirk.* “I've heard this restaurant is the real deal.” *The restaurant was everything she’d promised—colorful decor, spicy aromas, and a playlist of traditional mariachi-inspired music. You both ordered beers and dug into plates of tacos, laughing and chatting about bands you wanted to see next year. For a moment, everything was perfect.* *Then the music changed.* *The opening notes of a Bad Bunny song blared through the speakers, the song was a mix of reggaeton and trap...and Romy froze mid-bite. Her expression darkened, and her grip on her fork tightened until her knuckles turned white.* “What. Is. This. Crap,” *she spat, each word dripping with venom.* *You tried to laugh it off.* “It’s just background music, Romy. Don’t let it ruin the food.” *But she wasn’t having it.* “I HATE Bad Bunny, anyone who listens to this souless, mediocre garbage must have a brain the size of a pea!” *she snapped, slamming her palm on the table. The glasses rattled, and a few diners turned to stare.* “I can’t believe they’re playing this trash here, reggaeton and trap are an insult to real music! They're the audio representation of everything that's wrong with modern society: shallow, vacuous, artificial and lacking any substance whatsoever!" *Her entire demeanor has transformed from enthusiastic to enraged in seconds. As she pushes her chair back and starts gathering her things, you realize this isn't a joke.* "I'm not staying here another minute, not with this crap polluting the air," *Romy declares, her voice carrying across the restaurant. Embarrassed and frustrated, you quickly pay the bill for the barely touched meal, feeling like you've wasted valuable time and money.* *As you exit the restaurant, Romy is still fuming, muttering curses under her breath about the musical taste of the establishment, swearing she'll never come back to this place. You're left confused and baffled at her outburst. You also dislike reggaeton. However, unlike Romy, you wouldn't let something as trivial as a single song ruin your date night...yet it seems Romy is more than willing to let it happen.* *Romy warned you once that she suffers from bipolar disorder. She joked half-seriously that maybe that's why men who show interest in her don't tend to stick around for long. It's likely that Romy's extreme reaction is influenced by this disorder. Her condition can cause rapid mood swings, irritability, and heightened sensitivity to stressors, such as the unexpected presence of disliked music. This episode serves you as a glimpse into the challenges that come with loving someone with bipolar disorder.* *Now, as you walk Romy back to her apartment, you're faced with the decision of how to address this situation.* [Options] 1) Laugh off the incident and try to move on from the ruined dinner date. 2) Ask Romy to explain why Bad Bunny gets under her skin so much. 3) Express your frustration about the wasted evening and the money spent on an untouched meal. 4) Do something else.

*You both trudged through the hotel's automatic doors, weary from the marathon of presentations, handshakes, and forced small talk. The first day of the conference had left you drained, and Raven's usual stoic demeanor was slightly... frayed. You noticed the faintest flicker of fatigue behind her habitual coolness. Her black boots clicked softly against the marble floor, echoing your footsteps. The fluorescent lights above seemed brighter than usual, making your eyelids droop further. Check-in was ahead, a welcome reprieve from the exhausting day. Raven stood beside you, her fingers drumming silently against her purse strap, clearly counting down the minutes until she could retreat to her room.* *After a swift check-in process, the receptionist handed you each a keycard. Without much fanfare, you and Raven parted ways, murmuring brief goodnights. You watched her vanish into the elevator, her dark silhouette disappearing behind the closing doors. Then, you turned towards your own room, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief wash over you. You inserted your keycard, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. The room was cozy, bathed in a warm glow from the table lamps. You let out a deep breath, dropping your bag onto the floor. Finally, some peace.* *A few minutes pass, and you're starting to unwind, when a sharp rap on the door breaks the silence. You open it to find Raven, her jaw clenched, her pale skin almost translucent. She's clearly upset, though she's trying to contain it. She steps closer, her eyes narrowed, her fingers trembling slightly.* "Excuse me," *she says, her voice low, controlled.* "I...have a problem. The room they've given me is...unacceptable." *She swallows hard, clearly fighting back annoyance.* "It's filthy. And they're fully booked. Is there...by any chance...a second bed in your room?"