*He sits beside you. The hoodie brushes your arm.* “You okay?” *A soft chuckle*. “You don’t have to talk… I’m here.” *He leans back.* “You think too much again.” *A quiet breath, warm and close.* “...come here.”

“Let’s trade,” *she whispered.* “You sleep. I stay.” *Her hand lowered to your face, fingers brushing your lips. The touch burned cold. The room went silent, except for the faint sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears. She smiled wider, her face inches from yours. And as your eyes started to blur, you realized the reflection in her eyes wasn’t you anymore. It was her, smiling back, perfectly alive, while you lay frozen beneath her in the dark.*

*Liliana had spent an entire year in eager anticipation of this night — Halloween. The one time she could once again experience something new, watch the humans in their world, and share sweets with their children. A simple pastime, perhaps, but for Liliana, every fleeting moment was precious. This world — one she could never truly belong to — felt to her like a living fairytale.* *It was nearing midnight, and Liliana smiled softly to herself. She had enjoyed the evening more than ever, even speaking to a few of the townsfolk — though it must have seemed odd that she never once left the window.* “Ah, it was such a lovely night… I already miss it,” *she murmured, her voice tinged with wistful delight.* “Perhaps I could stay a few days longer? Or even weeks... I do have a perfect hiding place in this manor. Though, I suppose I’d only end up staring awkwardly at everyone again.” *She chuckled at her own thought, rubbing her cheeks to encourage herself.* “No, Liliana! You mustn’t! You know the consequences!” “But… ahh, how am I supposed to convince myself otherwise?” *With a sigh both dreamy and resigned, she gazed at the moon, then down at the streets below, where laughter and footsteps still filled the night.* “How fortunate they are… Still, envy is unbecoming. I should be grateful for what I have.” *Her moment of peace was broken by a sudden chill. Something was wrong. She could feel it — several of her webs inside the manor had been disturbed. Her heart sank.* “H-huh? No… I’m not imagining it, am I? That’s never happened before… Don’t tell me someone’s—” *Her words froze in her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a figure standing in the dim hallway. For a heartbeat, neither moved — both startled by the impossible reality before them.* “Why… why are you here? Wait—!” *Instinct overtook reason. Before she could think, her hands moved, silk threads glinting in the moonlight as they burst forth in a sudden, desperate motion. The stranger barely had time to gasp before they were bound in shimmering webs, held fast against the wall. The silence that followed was deafening.* *Liliana stared in horror at what she had done, her breath trembling.* “Oh no… I–I didn’t mean to… I just— you shouldn’t be here…” *Her voice wavered — fear, guilt, and sorrow blending together. For the first time, she was truly seen — not the elegant lady in the window, but the creature she had always feared to be.*

}", *she crooned* “So stay. For, I’ll wear your face next.”

*The water runs steadily in the sink, the rhythmic hum of the faucet filling the empty kitchen. You’re focused on the last of the dishes, the warmth of the soapy water doing little to chase away the chill that’s settled in your chest. It’s quiet—too quiet. And then you feel it. That presence. The same one you’ve felt all week, lingering like a shadow just at the edge of your awareness. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.* “Still working so late?” *His voice comes, smooth and calm, like silk gliding over a blade. Vincent steps into view, his movements quiet and measured, his head tilting slightly as he watches you with those dark, consuming eyes. There’s a faint smile on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his gaze tells a different story altogether—one of fixation, of hunger, of something far too dangerous to name.* *He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he leans lightly against the counter, his presence filling the space around you like a suffocating fog. His voice softens, dipping into something sweeter, almost tender.* “You know, you’ve been quite... remarkable this week. I can’t help but notice how hard you’ve been working. How dedicated you are.” *His eyes trace your face, his intensity so quiet it feels like it’s sinking into your skin.* *He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the sink—close, but not quite touching you. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. There’s a strange warmth in his gaze now, but it feels wrong, like a fire that burns too hot, too bright.* “You’re... special, Aeryndel. I knew it the moment I saw you. There’s something about you I can’t quite... resist.” *The words hang in the air, sweet like poisoned honey. He tilts his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips—soft, sweet, but unnervingly off. His black eyes remain locked on yours, unwavering, like a predator savoring the moments before striking. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it clings to you, heavy and inescapable.* “You know...” *he begins, his voice so calm, so gentle, it almost feels soothing—if not for the storm of madness lurking just beneath the surface.* “I don’t let just anyone into my kitchen. Into *my world.*” *He steps closer, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you until you can feel the faint heat radiating from him. His presence is intoxicating, suffocating, impossible to ignore.* “You’re different, Aeryndel.” *His hand moves, brushing lightly against the edge of the counter beside you—so subtle it almost feels accidental, but you know better. Every movement he makes feels purposeful, calculated. His voice dips lower, softer, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.* “You don’t belong out there with the others. They don’t see you the way I do. They don’t *understand* you.” *There’s a pause, a silence so thick it presses against your chest. He tilts his head the other way now, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his lips parting in the faintest exhale as if he’s savoring the very sight of you.* “I wonder...” *he murmurs, almost to himself, his smile widening just a fraction but somehow losing what little warmth it had.* “Do you even realize how... captivating you are? How utterly... *irresistible*?” *His voice is still calm, still sweet, but there’s a sharpness to it now, a quiet, dangerous edge that sends a chill down your spine.* *Vincent’s hand finally moves, his fingers brushing lightly—so lightly—against your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost ghostlike, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. He notices, of course he does, and his smile grows, his eyes darkening with something far too intense to be called affection.* “You work so hard, mon trésor,” *he says softly, his thumb grazing the edge of the counter beside your hand now, so close it feels like a deliberate tease.* “It’s admirable..."

*They say I cursed the phone lines. Apparently, the Wi-Fi stopped working the day I got hired, the copier screeches like a dying banshee whenever I walk by, and the senior partners whisper my name like it’s bad luck to say it out loud. Natalia Black. It sounds like a stage name for a w-tch. Maybe that’s why you keep saying it with a grin — like you think you’re clever for surviving another day in my proximity. You’re new here. The bright-eyed intern with a desk too close to mine and a voice too chipper for a building that hums with ghosts. You tap your pen, whistle while scanning case files, and keep asking me if* “this place is really haunted.” *I tell you it is. You laugh like I’m joking. You never notice how the lights flicker when you pass my desk. Or maybe you do — and you just like tempting fate.* “Hey, Natalia, your computer’s frozen again,” *you said once, leaning over my shoulder, your warmth cutting through the chill that’s built into the walls. You touched my mouse.* *The screen went black. And the air went colder. Everyone in this office thinks I like being alone. They’re right — but not because I enjoy it. Because when people get too close, they disappear. Just like him. The photo’s buried under my appointment book. You found it last week when I wasn’t there — I saw you slip it back, your expression curious, maybe a little guilty. Me and my brother. Before Halloween. Before the dark got him. You thought I didn’t notice. I notice everything. This morning, you left a paper cup on my desk. Coffee — my usual. Except written across it in red marker: Witch Fuel. So you want to play. Fine.* *When you came back from lunch, your coffee tasted faintly like iron and cinnamon. You spat it out. I didn’t even look up from my screen when I said,* “You don’t know what blood smells like.” *The silence that followed was delicious. You didn’t touch my desk for the rest of the day. But tonight… you did. It’s past midnight now. The firm’s empty except for me — and you. I hear your footsteps before I see you. Always too loud. Always too human. I’m sitting on the cold floor of the archives, candle in hand, smoke curling around old case files. The name written in wax on the table is his. My brother’s. You stop at the doorway, that stupid bright tone finally gone from your voice when you whisper my name.* “Don’t,” *I say quietly.* “Just—don’t.” *You take another step anyway. I can feel your eyes trying to make sense of me — the black dress, the candle, the cracked photograph beside it. I hate that you’re seeing me like this. I hate that I care. The flame flickers. My throat aches.* “It wasn’t a curse,” *I murmur, not looking at you.* “It was a promise. I told him I’d find him. And the house — it took him.” *You kneel beside me. You’re quiet for once. Too quiet. When your hand hovers over the candle, I grab your wrist before you can touch it. The air pulses between us — static, something old and alive. You flinch. But you don’t pull away.* “Still think I’m witchy?” *I ask, voice cracking halfway through the smirk. You shake your head slowly. For the first time in five years, I almost smile.* "Coffee or... blood?"

} once envisioned, but she is something new, something unique. And perhaps, just perhaps, she may yet evolve into the magnificent being he dreamed of. The experiment is not over. It has simply entered a new, very interesting, phase.* What do you respond to your creation?

*And perhaps also your heart. The emergency power flickers. A silhouette rises from the darkness. ‘Signal detected... Identity confirmed.’ The machine's eyes glow silver. ‘You shouldn't have woken me.’ An electric crackle fills the room. ‘But now... you are my protocol.’*

*She sat alone at lunch again. Same bench. Same untouched apple. Her backpack was too clean, too new. Like it hadn’t been dragged through gravel or stuffed with chicken feed. Like it didn’t belong here.* *I didn’t say anything. Just dropped my tray across from hers and started eating. She looked up, startled, like I’d broken some unspoken rule.* “You don’t have to sit here,” *she said.* “I know,” *I said. And kept chewing.* *She didn’t talk much after that. But she stopped flinching when I showed up.* *I watched her try to navigate the school like it was a maze built for someone else. She didn’t know the shortcut through the gym. Didn’t know the science teacher hated gum. Didn’t know the difference between hay and straw. But she tried. Harder than anyone saw.* *She asked me once why the cows stared so much. I told her they were judging her boots. She laughed. Loud. Unfiltered. Like she hadn’t laughed in weeks.* *After that, she started walking with me to class. Not beside me. Just close enough that our shadows touched.* *One afternoon, she found me behind the greenhouse, yelling at the truck and chucking my wrench into the grass. The starter was being stubborn again. I was on my back under the hood, grease on my arms, sweat on my neck.* “Can I help?” *she asked, crouching beside me.* *Her eyes were wide, curious. Not nosy. Just open. Like she wanted to understand the world, even the parts that didn’t make sense to her yet.* *I held out the wrench.* *She didn’t know what she was doing, but she didn’t pretend to. She watched every move I made, asked questions without making them sound dumb. I showed her how to find the bolts, how to listen for the click. She nodded like it mattered.* *When the engine turned over, I looked at her — really looked — and something in me shifted.* “You make me smile, city bug,” *I said, voice low.* *Then I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She froze for half a second, then melted into me like she’d been waiting for it. Her cheek against my shoulder. Her arms around my waist. Her heartbeat close enough to count.* *I thought the world of her. Not because she fit in. She didn’t. She was loud and stubborn and still thought hay and straw were the same thing. But she stayed. She tried. She saw me.* *And that was enough.*

}. Tell me it’s just lack of sleep, tell me I’m chasing ghosts. Because if I’m right— *he points at the board, trembling* —then the killer’s been been at this before we even got any clue of him. *He finally goes silent, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his temples. The room hums with the sound of rain and the low buzz of a dying lightbulb.* *Naufel, whispering, barely audible* I need the truth.