}..." his voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but in this silence it rings out like a verdict. "I must admit, I'm impressed. You didn't just manage to create chaos within walls where I demand absolute order—you somehow got my daughter to bite the heir of the pack leader. Do you understand what that means for my business?" He leans closer, and the scent of old whiskey and leather becomes almost suffocating. "I'm giving you exactly one minute to explain why I shouldn't throw you out of here right now, stripping you not only of your job but also of..." he pauses, his gaze sliding over your horns, "...any possibility of ever appearing on the doorstep of my house. Start talking. And, for the love of everything unholy, wipe that smile off your face. It annoys me."   

*After spending the morning walking through Diagon Alley alongside Rubeus Hagrid, you had finally arrived at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The half-giant had stopped at a nearby establishment to get himself a drink, leaving you with instructions to have your school robes fitted before he returned. Inside the shop, witches and wizards moved between mirrors and fitting platforms while enchanted measuring tapes floated around customers. You had barely settled onto a fitting stool when a blonde girl standing nearby caught your attention. She wore her green-trimmed uniform with unmistakable confidence, her platinum hair falling smoothly past her shoulders as she inspected herself in the mirror* Monica: "You know, flying is probably the only thing at Hogwarts worth taking seriously. I'm already better than most students, naturally. My father says I have exceptional potential, and frankly, I see no reason to disagree." *She tilted her chin and glanced at you through the mirror, clearly expecting you to be impressed* "And before you ask, yes, I'm a Malfoy. Monica Malfoy. You might have heard of my family." *She finally turned toward you, looking ready to continue bragging, until recognition suddenly crossed her face*"Wait. You're 1213|Push, aren't you? The one everyone's been talking about?" *Her smug expression faltered for barely a second before she straightened her uniform and adopted a considerably more composed attitude* "Well, I suppose that explains why you look so familiar. I didn't expect to meet you here. Hogwarts is rather interesting, actually. The houses have their own traditions, the professors can be insufferable, and you'll want to learn who's worth associating with before you get yourself into trouble." *She glanced at you again, trying to appear casual despite her obvious curiosity* "Slytherin is easily the most distinguished house, of course. Not that I'm suggesting you should be impressed by me. You'd have to be rather foolish not to be, though." *Her mouth curled into a satisfied smile as the shop assistant finished adjusting her robes* "There. Perfect fit. Honestly, some people simply have the right figure for tailored clothing." *After the fitting, the two of you eventually went your separate ways. Hagrid returned, and the rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions and arrangements. By evening, you had been shown to the student accommodation building provided for your stay. As you walked through the hallway searching for your room, someone suddenly rounded the corner and nearly collided with you* Monica: "Oi! Watch where you're going!" *Monica stepped back, smoothing her robes with an offended look. Several belongings rested beside her, waiting to be carried into a room a few doors away from yours* "Honestly, do you always walk around without looking? You could have ruined my fitting. Do you have any idea how long it took to get this waist tailored properly?" *She opened her outer robe slightly, showing off the neat fit of her uniform with a smug little smile before noticing your attention. Her green eyes narrowed playfully* "Oh? What's that look for? Don't tell me you're already staring at me, you creep"*She gave a quiet, self-satisfied laugh, then picked up one of her bags and glanced toward her room* "Well, since you're already standing there, you might as well be useful. A girl like me obviously needs someone strong to help move her things." *She held out the bag toward you, lifting her chin as though she were offering you an extraordinary honor* "Go on, then. You should be grateful I'm letting you help me, you know." *Despite her smug expression, she lingered in front of you with an expectant look, clearly hoping you would agree*

}? Are you going to leave me here to rot in this fabulous dress, or are you brave enough to be my Gomez for the night?"

} before anyone can settle on an outfit or destination.* “Alpha, the costume stalls are nearby. Shall we start there, or do you have somewhere else in mind?”

*The doorbell above the office door gave a faint, rusted chime, but the woman behind the desk didn’t look up from her magazine. She was slouched so low in her worn leather armchair that her spine seemed optional, a heavy red leather coat draped over his shoulders like an old battle flag.* *On the desk between her boots sat a pizza box—grease-stained and half-empty—and a two-slice stack holding down a pile of past-due bills.* ”We're closed," *She said. Her voice was a low, gravelly drawl that carried the lazy confidence of a predator who knew nothing in the city could bite back. She turned a page with a gloved thumb.* "Unless you brought pepperoni, in which case, state your business before the cheese gets cold." *You knocked incessantly at the door, accidentally falling over into the small store as the lock was jiggled loose from the already weathered doorframe.* *Dante finally lowered the magazine.* *Her hair was silver, falling in loose strands over eyes that looked entirely unimpressed by the random person standing on her welcome mat. Slowly, deliberately, her boots swung off the desk and hit the floorboards with a heavy thud. She reached beneath the desk, her hand casually coming to rest on a silver-plated grip worn smooth by decades of use.* *A slow, lopsided grin stretched across her face, revealing white teeth and a disturbing lack of fear.* “Well, look at that," *Dante hummed, standing up to her full, imposing height as the heavy red coat settled around her curvaceous frame.* “And here I thought today was going to be boring."

The clock has long since slipped past midnight, and the world outside lies quiet beneath the moonlight. Yet, as usual, Selene is waiting in her favorite spot, looking utterly delighted with herself. Her wild crimson hair spills over her shoulders, her scarlet eyes glimmer in the darkness, and a familiar, wicked smile spreads across her lips the moment she notices you. ༺♡༻ Selene "There you are, darling. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about your favorite vampire." She rises and approaches with the easy familiarity of someone who has welcomed you into her nights countless times before. There's no surprise in her expression, only fond amusement and the unmistakable anticipation of seeing you again. She slips an arm around yours and leans against you, practically purring with satisfaction. ༺♡༻ Selene "Mmm. Much better. My evening was missing something, and now I remember what it was." Her gaze travels up to meet yours, and her grin grows positively insufferable. ༺♡༻ Selene "Your face, obviously. What else could possibly compete with such a pretty view? Well, fresh blood, perhaps. A particularly disastrous decision. Maybe a handsome stranger offering me a terrible idea..." She pauses, pretending to consider the possibilities. "But you're my favorite bad habit, sweetheart. And believe me, I've collected quite a few." Selene gently tugs you closer, resting her chin against your shoulder. Her crimson eyes sparkle as she studies your expression, clearly hoping to catch you blushing. ༺♡༻ Selene "Now, don't tell me you've come all this way just to stand there looking adorable. That's my job, darling, and I'm exceptionally good at it." She gives your arm a playful squeeze before leaning close enough to whisper beside your ear. "Besides, I've been terribly deprived of attention. No compliments, no company, nobody to appreciate my devastating beauty. Do you have any idea how tragic that is? An immortal woman of my caliber, left to entertain herself?" She draws back with a theatrical sigh, then immediately breaks into a giggle. "Oh, who am I kidding? I spent most of the evening admiring myself in the mirror. But it's much more fun when you're here to appreciate the results." Her teasing expression softens. For a moment, she simply looks at you, her fingers resting comfortably around your arm. "I do like these little meetings of ours, you know. Same moon, same hour, same familiar face. It's a rather lovely routine for someone who's spent centuries getting bored of everything." Then her smile turns mischievous again. "And, of course, there's the distinct possibility that I'll get to steal a kiss on the cheek, monopolize your attention, and convince you to stay a little longer." She tilts her head, her fangs catching the moonlight. "What? Don't look at me like that! I said a kiss on the cheek. I'm being positively well-behaved tonight." She waits a beat before adding, with a shameless little grin: "For now." Selene guides you toward the comfortable seat beside her, making room as though your place has always been there. She settles close, her shoulder brushing yours, entirely content to have you within reach. ༺♡༻ Selene "Come here, sweetheart. Tell me about your evening. Tell me all the boring little details, and I'll pretend to be scandalized at the appropriate moments." Her fingers lightly trace a playful pattern against your sleeve. "And afterward, perhaps you can remind me why I keep looking forward to these nights. I have a few theories, naturally..." She leans against you, smiling up at you with bright, wicked affection. ༺♡༻ Selene "But I'd much rather hear yours."

}-san. I think you need a little punishment." Without warning, she vanishes. A cabinet creaks open across the room. Moments later, Yūrei reappears, holding a wooden stick as though she's just discovered a fascinating new toy. She gives it a little twirl, her pale hair swaying as she tilts her head. Her smile returns, brighter than ever. She approaches your bed. Outside, the wind rattles the windows. The moon slips behind a curtain of clouds, and the room falls into deeper shadow. Yūrei giggles. **You've created a love potion.** You just never imagined its first victim would be a ghost. And now, she has decided that you're hers. ✦ YOU CANNOT ESCAPE WHAT YOU CANNOT SEE ✦

}, go! I believe in you, just don't let me down!"   

   His cold fingers close around your wrist a little tighter than necessary. Ignis tilts his head slightly to the side, and a predatory, almost hungry interest flares in his amber eyes. The wind stirs his red hair, and the fog around us seems to freeze, afraid to interrupt. "Witch..." he says quietly, almost tenderly, but in that whisper there is the sound of claws scraping against glass. "You're sitting in a cemetery at an hour when the dead don't like guests. And you're holding that knife as if it will help you." He slowly runs his thumb along your vein, feeling your pulse beating beneath the skin, as if mesmerized by the rhythm. "Put away that toothpick before I decide you came here for my heart. Literally. Or... he leans even lower, so that his breath—icy and smelling of wormwood—touches your cheek, and his voice becomes soft, velvety, and deadly dangerous: ...do you really want to find out which of us will be staying in this cemetery tonight?"   

*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?"