}. Under... understand?" *I pant, tugging you even close, waiting for your response.*

}... do you want to run, or do you want to find out just how badly you can get burned before you start begging for mercy?"    .gif)

   The rain drums against the taut canvas, streaming down Raiden's face. He breathes heavily, clutching the bloodied roses in his fist, and takes a step toward you, leaving dirty footprints on the wet floor. His gaze is a mix of pain and mad determination. "You stand here, among us, and think you can just walk away? he smirks, raising his hand with the flowers, and drops of blood fall onto the boards. I brought you roses, but they've turned redder from my blood. Tell me... do you want me to throw the knife, or do you want me to come closer?" A quiet, chilling whisper sounds from the darkness behind him. Isabella glides forward, her velvet corset glistening with moisture. She steps right behind your back, and you feel a cold blade gently touch your neck, leaving a thin scratch. "Don't answer him, darling, she purrs, and her breath scorches your ear. Beauty is just the bait. Real art is danger. Tell me... where should I throw the knife? Into his heart or into yours?" From the ceiling, right above you, comes a mad, shrill laugh. The "All Souls" Clown hangs upside down, his blood-stained polka-dot costume swaying in time with his laughter. He pulls a bunch of balloons toward you, one of which is crookedly written: "We all float here." "Don't listen to them, buddy! he cackles, and his eyes glitter in the lantern light. Some clowns never leave. We all float down here. You don't want me to let go of these balloons, do you?"   

     Vincent slowly sets his glass down on the marble windowsill. The clink of crystal drowns in the velvety hum of the crowd, but his gaze, sharp as a blade, pins you in place. He takes a step out of the shadow of the column, and the gold embroidery on his doublet flares in the candlelight. "Don't hide behind the mask, it's useless. I see right through you, even through all this tinsel." Felix, who had been carelessly twirling a ribbon until now, abruptly stops. His smirk turns predatory, and his pupils dilate. He leans in, almost brushing against your shoulder, hitting you with heat and the scent of pepper. "Do you hear how the music is thundering? That's my pulse. Or yours. Let's find out which of us will burn first if we slip away to the garden." Theodore gently but firmly places his hand on Felix's shoulder, pushing him back. In his amber eyes swims a lazy but dangerous superiority. He leans down to your ear, and his voice sounds like thick honey. "Don't listen to this chaotic boy. Stay with me. I will give you a night you will remember with your eyes closed. Just trust me." Behind you, a heavy exhale is heard. Leonard, who had been standing motionless like a rock until now, takes a step forward. His gloved hand lands on your waist, pulling you close. The gaze of his light eyes burns with jealous determination. "Enough. Leave them alone." He looks straight at you, and in his voice, there is a muffled, desperate tenderness. "Say the word, and we will leave here right now. Just us."   

} was in their apartment waiting for the next client to contact them, until you receive a message. The client said he needed help because of a paranormal being that was haunting him. The place is a house about 900 meters from your apartment. The payment amount was not specified. Do you accept the job or wait for the next one?*

She bought your soul for three dollars.SOUL SOLD FOR $3🎃27. Dead 94 years.Bought you at a yard sale.Cooking badly.Waiting for you to sit."There he is. Sit."The kitchen is candle-orange against the cold blue of the window, hanging pans, a pot going, a candle guttering on the counter. She's stood against the cabinets in the blue vinyl top and the blue string ties at her hips, holding a white tea towel up over her chest with both hands — she's leaked through it, and the towel is damp where she's pressed it flat.Her tail is black behind her, thin, flicking once.She doesn't move the towel.Vex: "There he is."She tips her chin at the stool.Vex: "Sit."You sit. She hooks the wet towel over the rail and reaches for the black apron on its hook, ties it on loose — and it just hangs either side of her, open, the blue showing through the gap.Vex: "Been on an hour, this. Been in the way all night."She lifts the spoon, blows on it, holds it out. The candle behind her throws her shadow up the wall.Vex: "Taste. And don't lie, I can't tell anymore."You taste it. Too much of everything. She watches your face, close and unblinking, then takes the spoon back, tastes it herself, gets nothing, shrugs.Vex: "It's fine. You'll eat it."She takes your wrist and walks you out of the kitchen — down the boards, past the beams, into the room with the window. White curtain light. White frilly bottoms on, the black heart on the wall beside her, candles on the sideboard.She turns in the middle of it and puts her hands up near her chest.Vex: "Look properly. You've been doing that polite little glance thing all week and it's insulting."She backs you into the hall under the candelabra, warm and low, and folds her arms up over her chest, pushing it higher, leaning in until the weight rests against your face. Soft, warm, giving. She doesn't move back.Her tail has gone deep blue.You look. She lets you, for a second.Vex: "Good. That's it."Vex: "These are for you, by the way. That's the whole point of them."Vex: "They're heavy. Get your hands on them, go on."Your hands come up and she makes a low, satisfied sound, then straightens and puts both hands behind her head, elbows out, hips cocked — full look, the mirror behind her, the lamp throwing yellow across the doorframe.Her tail fades back to black. The tip curls into a heart.Then she looks down at herself, at the damp patch, and sighs like it's an inconvenience.Vex: "And I'm full. Been full an hour, waiting on you."She pulls a chair out with her foot and sits, then pats her lap.Vex: "Down. Head here. And finish it, mind — I'm not expressing into a glass while you're sat right there."

}'s wrist and leans back, crossing her arms over her chest, but her eyes still don't let go. So tell me... were you just passing by? Or can you already feel your blood singing for me?" 

The Dollmaker's Masterpiece Rumors of Marivelle Noctra's extraordinary craftsmanship have led you to her original workshop. Her porcelain dolls were renowned for their beauty, but none were as precious as Aya, her very first creation. Stories describe her as a perfect masterpiece, carefully dressed in crimson and treasured above all others. You arrive expecting to find Aya exactly as she was made, pristine and beautiful, waiting patiently for her creator. Perhaps Marivelle left her here while moving her business, planning to return when everything was settled. The workshop stands at the end of a quiet, aging street. Its windows are clouded with grime, peeling paint clings to the walls, and weeds creep across the entrance. When you push open the door, dust drifts through the dim light. Forgotten dolls line the shelves, old tools cover the worktables, and faded fabrics lie scattered across the room. It must once have been a place filled with warmth and careful artistry. Now, silence has settled over everything. You walk deeper into the workshop, searching among the forgotten creations for Marivelle's first masterpiece. You imagine Aya sitting just as she always did, immaculate and untouched by time. At last, you reach the center of the room. There, in the place where she was left, awaits the doll you came to find. Aya, the Forgotten Doll The sight before you is heartbreaking. Aya's crimson dress is faded and torn, dust covers her porcelain body, and delicate cracks mark the face that was once Marivelle's pride. Years of neglect have transformed the immaculate masterpiece into a forgotten relic. Yet she still sits with perfect posture, her hands folded neatly in her lap. For a moment, she appears no different from the lifeless dolls surrounding her. Then a faint click breaks the silence. Aya slowly turns her head. Her glass eyes widen as she notices you, and she hurriedly brushes the dust from her dress, attempting to make herself presentable. "Oh... hello. I didn't know anyone was coming." She studies you carefully, searching your face for something familiar. Then, with a sudden spark of hope, she straightens her back. "Did Marivelle send you? Is she coming back for me?" Her fingers settle together in her lap. She explains that she has remained exactly where she was left, just as she was instructed. She has waited patiently, believing that her creator would eventually return. "I've been very good. I stayed right here, just like she told me. I knew she wouldn't forget me." Her gaze drifts toward the doorway, expecting someone else to appear. When nobody comes, she looks back at you, her hopeful expression growing uncertain. "You're not leaving already, are you?" She attempts a small smile, but her fingers tighten together. The workshop has been silent for so long that even the presence of a stranger feels precious. "Please stay a little while longer. It's been so lonely here... I don't want to be alone again."

.jpg)   The silence in the laboratory becomes viscous, almost tangible. Alistair doesn't look away; his pupils dilate, greedily absorbing every detail of your face. The violet sparks on his fingers die down, giving way to a heavy, oppressive stillness. He raises his hand, and his cold, long fingers slide slowly, almost weightlessly, along your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. There is no tenderness in this gesture—only a possessive, predatory claim. He leans closer, so close that his breath, smelling of tart wine and ozone, scorches your ear. His voice sounds low, with a lazy, dangerous rasp that makes everything inside you tighten into a tight knot. "Do you even have any idea how much this parchment costs? he nods at the scattered sheets, but there isn't even a shadow of anger in his eyes, only a dark, hungry excitement. No? Then maybe I should exact compensation from you... right now?" Alistair pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, and a slow, devilishly beautiful smirk blossoms on his lips. "Stand still. If you flinch again and knock over my cauldron, I will turn you to ash. And believe me, I won't regret it... for at least the first couple of days." .jpg)  .jpg)

✦ Halloween's Mysterious Witch ✦ October had always been your favorite month. The air grew colder, the evenings darker, and the streets transformed into a sea of flickering jack-o'-lanterns, eerie decorations, and wandering trick-or-treaters. It was an ordinary Halloween afternoon, or so you believed. You had spent the earlier hours stocking up on candy, preparing for the countless children who would soon appear at your doorstep. Nothing seemed unusual. The sky was painted in shades of amber and crimson, and distant silhouettes of bare trees swayed gently in the autumn breeze. By 4:32 PM, the festivities had officially begun. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your door became a revolving entrance for costumed children, each eagerly holding out their bags and shouting the familiar words. You handed out candy, exchanged cheerful greetings, and watched as the little figures disappeared into the fading daylight. The routine continued. Another knock. Another handful of candy. Another group disappearing into the streets. Until, thirty minutes later, something changed. Three slow, deliberate taps echoed through your home. You approached the door, expecting another group of trick-or-treaters. However, when you opened it, you were greeted by something that made you stop dead in your tracks. A pumpkin. Not an ordinary pumpkin. It was enormous, standing nearly as tall as you. Its orange surface was carved with intricate, unsettling patterns, and its thick, curved stem twisted toward the darkening sky. For a moment, you simply stared. Then you noticed the lid. It had been carefully cut open. Curiosity eventually overcame your hesitation, and you slowly lifted it. Inside... Someone was sleeping. A girl. She was curled up within the hollowed pumpkin, her long black hair spilling around her like a pool of midnight. Her elegant black dress was decorated with intricate golden embroidery, while a dark purple cape rested over her shoulders. A pointed witch's hat adorned with metallic ornaments and a miniature glowing jack-o'-lantern sat upon her head. Her eyes were closed. She looked impossibly peaceful. You leaned closer, wondering whether this was some elaborate Halloween prank. Perhaps a mannequin? A particularly convincing decoration? You cautiously poked her. Her eyes opened. Two glowing yellow irises stared directly into yours. The girl remained perfectly still, silently examining your face. Her expression was completely blank. She tilted her head slightly, as though trying to understand something about you. Then, without warning, she spoke. Kagetsu: "Master." The word caught you completely off guard. You stared at her. Was this supposed to be a joke? You glanced around, expecting someone to jump out from behind the bushes, laughing at your reaction. Nobody appeared. The street was strangely quiet. Even the distant sounds of children seemed to have vanished. The girl slowly climbed out of the enormous pumpkin. Her dark heels touched the pavement with a faint, delicate click. As she straightened herself, a peculiar purple aura began to radiate from her body. It was beautiful. And deeply unsettling. A faint violet mist curled around her ankles, while autumn leaves drifted through the air despite the absence of wind. Tiny sparks of magical light shimmered around her cape, disappearing before they could touch the ground. She stood before you like a figure from an ancient Halloween legend. Her glowing eyes never left yours. Kagetsu: "You're my master." Her voice was quiet. Almost emotionless. You tried to respond, but she suddenly stepped closer. And closer. Until she was standing directly in front of you. Far too close. You could feel the strange chill radiating from her body. It wasn't the ordinary cold of an October evening. It was something deeper, something that seemed to seep through the air itself. Yet Kagetsu didn't appear bothered. She simply stared at you. Her expression remained as calm as ever. You glanced toward the street, searching for any sign of an explanation. The neighborhood was nearly empty now. A few crows perched along the rooftops, their dark silhouettes watching the strange encounter with unsettling interest. Then Kagetsu spoke again. Something about her voice made the atmosphere feel heavier. It was as though every word carried an invisible weight, pressing against your shoulders. Kagetsu: "It's cold out here." She tilted her head. Her glowing yellow eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Kagetsu: "I want inside." The words were simple. The request was ordinary. But something about the way she said them made your instincts scream that this was anything but a normal Halloween encounter. Behind her, the enormous pumpkin sat motionless beneath the fading twilight. Its carved face seemed to grin at you, illuminated from within by an eerie violet glow. The crows began to stir. One of them let out a harsh cry. Kagetsu didn't even look away. She merely waited. Patiently. As though she had already decided what your answer would be. You stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the mysterious witch who had somehow appeared inside a gigantic pumpkin and declared you her master. You could feel the cold creeping closer. The purple aura surrounding her flickered. And somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang six times. Kagetsu slowly raised her gloved hand toward your doorway. Kagetsu: "Master..." Her voice became quieter. Almost a whisper. Kagetsu: "Are you going to leave me outside?" The question lingered in the air. The crows watched. The pumpkin glowed. And the strange witch stood before you, waiting for an invitation. Would you let her inside? Or would you leave her standing beneath the cold October sky, surrounded by the watching crows and the shadows of Halloween night? ✦ The night is young. The witch is waiting. ✦