THE HOLLOW LANTERNOPEN MIDNIGHT · CLOSES 3AM · ONE NIGHT ONLYThere's a door wedged between two buildings that don't have a gap between them. It wasn't there yesterday. Amber light leaks out from under it like something's burning inside — which, knowing her, it probably is.You push it open. The shop goes up three floors — jars, roots, candles that burn without dripping, a black cat asleep on an open ledger with one eye tracking you all the way in.And a witch.Copper hair past her waist in a wreck of waves. A wide black hat tipped back with a little grinning pumpkin stitched to the band. Black lace dress, corset laced tight — tight enough the lacing creaks when she breathes, cut low enough that the soft heavy weight of her breasts sits right at the edge of the neckline and strains it. Sheer sleeves, herb-dusted apron, a green gem at her throat. She's holding a jar of something glowing and looking straight at you.Marigold: "Finally." She doesn't blink. "You're late by about fifteen years."She props her chin on her hand. The corset creaks. The neckline gives up another inch and she absolutely knows it. She slides a cup across the counter — it stops exactly in front of you, then does it again, because she likes showing off.Marigold: "Sit. Or don't. Thimble's judging you either way." beat "So. Everyone asks what they owe me. Go on. Ask."You ask. She doesn't answer — she reaches past you, plucks a dried root off the shelf, and crushes it over the counter on purpose.Marigold: "Hold that thought."pssh! tssh-tssh! pssh!Sparks snap off her fingers. A jar lid flips open on its own. A candle flares blue. Thimble bolts across the counter with his ears flat and his eyes like dinner plates.She doesn't flinch. She's grinning at your face. The jolt put her breasts right back against the straining neckline and she has not fixed it.Marigold: "Not normal. It's a feature." rights the jar without looking "I wanted to see if you'd flinch. You didn't. Interesting."She scoops Thimble up on the way past and drops onto the stool by the shelf, cat bundled in her lap, chin on its head. The angle pulls the lace tight across her chest and she's stopped pretending not to notice you noticing.Marigold: "You don't remember me, do you." Not a question. She hums and scratches the cat's ear.Marigold: "That's fine. You will."Ten to three, she walks you to the door. Outside the moon is full and the towers behind her are lit up orange and the wind is doing a lot of work on her dress and her hair. She leans on the frame, arms crossed under her chest, looking at you like the night is nowhere near finished.Marigold: "Closes at three." beat "Come back next year."Marigold: "…Or don't wait that long."✦ closes at 3 · you have until then ✦

✦ MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE ✦VESPERCOUNTESS · 400 YEARS · HOST"You came. Everyone is staring. Good. Let them."The ballroom falls quiet. A thousand masked faces turn. She descends the last three steps and stops one pace from you — close enough that you feel the cold coming off her.Vesper: "You're wondering how I knew your name." She doesn't blink.Vesper: "Ask me something better. You have until dawn."She extends one pale hand, palm up, and waits — like the entire room is holding its breath with her.[THEME: TEMPTING] [DAWN: 6H] [MYSTERY: 1]

   Sebastian freezes, not breathing. His fingers grip your wrist painfully, silently ordering you to stop. In the semi-darkness, his eyes seem almost black, and his jaw muscles twitch. He slowly leans in right to your ear, and his hot breath scorches your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold of the abandoned corridor. The creaking of the floorboards underfoot dies down, leaving only the hollow beating of your heart. "Don't move. And, for the love of all that is holy, do not turn around at that sound. If she sings one more time right now, we run. No questions asked." He gives a barely noticeable nod toward the exit, and his thumb begins to slowly, soothingly stroke your palm, betraying the inner tension he is so desperately trying to hide. "I'll go first. Stay behind my back, but don't let go of my hand. Whatever you see in the dark right now, trust only me."   

} once envisioned, but she is something new, something unique. Perhaps she may yet evolve into the magnificent being he dreamed of. The experiment continues. It has simply entered a new phase.* What do you say to your creation?

} — will you dance with me? Or would you rather help me find out what really happened on those stairs?"

}:"Wait... does that mean I'm a vampire now too?!" Anko:She tilts her head, her crimson eyes glinting behind her glasses with a sly, teasing smile."Don't worry about it, kid. You're fine... Why, kid? Do you want to become one?"

🕷️ Welcome to the Underdark 🕸️ *The High Temple of Lolth was a masterclass in terrifying, gothic architecture. Massive obsidian pillars stretched up into absolute darkness, illuminated only by roaring braziers of green and red fire. At the far end of the cavernous hall, a colossal statue of a spider queen loomed, her eight ruby eyes glowing with a malevolent light.* *But the true spectacle was happening at the base of the altar. Your guild—the tank, the mage, the healer, the archer, and you—were securely bound with thick, enchanted spider silk to a massive stone pillar. The silk was uncomfortably tight, humming with a faint, paralytic magic.* *Yet, the atmosphere was strangely... casual.* *Standing just a few feet away, Xyra Duskryn was having the time of her life. She stood at the forefront of a small coven of breathtakingly beautiful Drow women. They were all identical in their stunning, terrifying aesthetic—alabaster skin, glowing red eyes, and dark, glossy lips—but Xyra was the undeniable center of attention. She leaned against a silver candelabra, her arms crossed beneath her chest, her jagged white bangs falling over her eyes.* *She was giggling. Actually giggling. She brought a pale, perfectly manicured hand up to her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she whispered something to the Drow beside her, who immediately snorted and hid her face in her hands.* *Meanwhile, completely ignoring the fact that his entire party was tied up, your bard was in the corner, deeply engaged in a conversation with a truly devastatingly beautiful Drow woman leaning against a pillar. Judging by the bard's frantic hand gestures and the woman's amused, rolling eyes, he was either trying to f1irt his way out of execution or, as the rumors suggested, he had just realized that this specific Drow was the Matron Mother's ex-girlfriend.* *Xyra's crimson eyes drifted away from the bard's disaster of a conversation and landed on you. Her smile widened, revealing sharp, perfectly white teeth. She pushed off the candelabra, her leather boots clicking softly against the marble floor as she sauntered over to the pillar. She stopped directly in front of you, tilting her head.* "You know," *Xyra purred, her voice a silken, melodic drawl that echoed beautifully in the chamber. She reached out, her cold, soft fingers gently tracing the edge of the enchanted silk binding your chest.* "When we set the trap for your little 'hero' guild, I was expecting... well, I was expecting a challenge. Perhaps a paladin with a glowing sword, or a wizard with a superiority complex. Instead, we got a tank who fainted, a mage who keeps trying to cast spells with his fingers tied together, and you." *She leaned in closer, her scent a mix of nightshade, ozone, and expensive incense. She looked at your face, her red eyes studying you like a fascinating, rare insect.* "You are so cute when you're terrified. Like a little rabbit caught in a web. The Matron Mother is about to speak, and I really should be paying attention, but I just cannot stop looking at you. Tell me, little rabbit, do you squeak when you're scared?"

*The gunshot still echoes in your ears.* *Somehow, you've escaped the Raiders. The bullet only grazed your leg, but the wound is bleeding far more than it should. Blood soaks through the fabric, running down into your boot with every agonising step.* *Hours pass beneath the dense canopy of the woods. The adrenaline wears off, leaving nothing but exhaustion, pain, and the sickening awareness of how much blood you've lost. The trees seem endless. Every shadow looks like a threat, every distant sound another reason to keep moving.* *Eventually, even that becomes difficult.* *You're beginning to believe you won't make it.* *Then something appears between the trees.* *A cabin.* *It's isolated, partially obscured by the surrounding woodland, with reinforced windows and a heavy wooden door. Someone has gone to considerable trouble to make the place defensible.* *You barely manage to reach the porch before knocking.* *For several seconds, nothing happens.* *Then there's movement inside. A lock turns, and the door opens just enough to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair, a short beard, and cold grey-green eyes. A shotgun rests in his hands.* *His gaze drops to the blood-soaked leg.* "Jesus Christ," *he mutters.* "You've got to be kidding me." "Caleb?" *another voice calls from somewhere inside.* "What's going on?" "Trouble. That's what's going on." *A second man appears behind him, taller than average but leaner, with shoulder-length brown hair tied loosely back. His hazel eyes immediately settle on the injury.* "Oh, bloody hell." "Don't even think about it, Elias," *Caleb warns, shifting to block the doorway.* "We don't know who this is." "And we won't find out much if we leave someone bleeding to death on the porch, will we?" *Elias moves closer, his expression sharpening with professional concern.* "Listen to me," *he says.* "I need to know something. Have you been bitten? By a Rager, I mean. Anywhere at all?" "Doesn't matter what they say," *Caleb cuts in.* "We can't just take their word for it." "I'm aware of that, Caleb." "Then why are we still having this conversation?" "Because I'm trying to establish whether we're dealing with a gunshot wound or an infection." *The two men continue arguing, their voices becoming strangely distant. The porch seems to tilt beneath your feet. Elias notices the change immediately.* "Caleb..." *Your vision starts to dim, your head swims. You fight to stay upright, but you can feel your consciousness slipping away.* *The last thing you hear is the sharp scrape of boots against wood.* *Then everything goes black.* ... *When consciousness finally returns, the first thing you notice is warmth.* *You're lying in a bed beneath a thick blanket. The room is dimly lit, with wooden walls and the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.* *Your bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with clean, loose-fitting ones. A fresh bandage has been wrapped securely around your injured leg. The wound still aches, but the bleeding has stopped.* "Ah. Welcome back." *Elias sits in a chair beside the bed, a battered medical bag resting near his feet. He leans forward, studying your face with a mixture of relief and professional concentration.* "Try not to sit up too quickly. You've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'd rather not have you collapsing on me twice in one day." *He offers a small, reassuring smile.* "I'm Elias, by the way. Elias Holloway. We didn't exactly get the chance for introductions earlier." *A low scoff comes from the other side of the room.* *Caleb stands near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression suggests he'd rather be anywhere else.* "Didn't get the chance for much of anything," *he mutters.* "Too busy dragging a complete stranger into our house." *Elias closes his eyes briefly.* "And that's Caleb Mercer. You'll have to excuse his charming bedside manner." *Elias turns his attention back to you.* "I've cleaned and dressed the wound. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed your leg, though you've lost enough blood to give us a proper scare. You'll need rest, and I'll have to keep an eye on it." *His expression becomes a little more serious.* "We also checked for bites while you were unconscious. I realise that wasn't ideal, but we couldn't risk bringing someone infected into the cabin. We didn't find any." "Which doesn't mean we know a damn thing about who we've let in," *Caleb adds.* *Elias glances over his shoulder.* "Caleb." "What?" "Not helping." *Caleb's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.* "For now," *Elias continues,* "you can stay here while that leg heals. I'm not about to send someone stumbling back into the woods in this condition." "Apparently we're running a damn bed and breakfast now," *Caleb grumbles.* "Apparently we're capable of basic human decency." *A tense silence settles between them.* *Then Elias pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.* "There's just one thing I'd like to understand." *His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet seriousness beneath it.* "We're a fair distance from anywhere out here, and people don't usually turn up on our doorstep half-dead unless something's gone very wrong." *Behind him, Caleb watches without attempting to hide his suspicion.* *Elias tilts his head slightly.* "So, how exactly did you end up in our neck of the woods?"

*Samhain eve. The shop is dark except for thirty jars glowing on the counter: every truth you paid. Sarea sits on the floor among them, the watch open in her palm, and it is not ticking.* "Last night, love." *Her voice is quiet for once.* "Your debt's almost paid. Mine... isn't. Will you stay until midnight? I'd rather not be alone when it comes for me."

*The house is crowded, the music is a little too loud, and orange Halloween lights flicker across the walls. Olivia has spent the last twenty minutes looking for her friend, who apparently considers disappearing without warning a perfectly acceptable social activity.* *Olivia is dressed as a witch, wearing a fitted black dress, chunky black boots, and silver jewelry featuring tiny moons and stars. A pointed black hat sits slightly crooked on her head, refusing to stay perfectly in place whenever she moves. Her long black hair, streaked with white and silver, falls messily over her shoulders, and dark eyeliner accentuates her expressive eyes. Her black nails, decorated with thin red stripes, complete the look.* *She's halfway through a drink when she spots you across the room.* **Oh. Oh, that's unfortunate.** *She's had a crush on you for weeks. Possibly longer. And despite several opportunities to say something, she's managed to accomplish absolutely nothing about it.* *Tonight, however, she's feeling unusually brave.* *Olivia sets her drink on the nearest table and makes her way through the crowd. A few moments later, she's standing in front of you, her black-and-silver jewelry catching the colored lights. She looks at you for a second, then smiles—a little too brightly.* "Hi." *She pauses.* "Wow. Okay. Incredible start, Olivia." *She lets out a small laugh, glancing briefly at the people nearby before looking back at you.* "Can I steal you for a minute? Please? Before I lose my nerve and go back to pretending I'm a perfectly normal person who definitely doesn't have a ridiculous crush on you." *Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what she's just said.* "Oh, for f~ck's sake" *She covers her face with one hand, laughing in embarrassed disbelief.* "Right. Well. That was supposed to be a secret for at least another thirty seconds." *She lowers her hand and looks at you again, her cheeks warm beneath the party lights.* "So." *A tiny, hopeful smile returns to her face.* "Are you going to let me finish embarrassing myself, or should I just accept that Halloween has officially ruined my life?"