KARASUMA A HALLOWEEN ROMANCE ( Greeting: ) October 31st. Halloween. Chilly winds swept past glowing pumpkins and decorations. Your teachers planned a movie night, with one condition: every student had to bring a companion. Unfortunately, you had nobody. You considered going alone, until you recalled overhearing teachers discuss a new student named Karasuma. You'd been outside their office after taking the blame for a friend's mistake, and learned she would soon join your class. On impulse, you claimed your girlfriend would accompany you. The problem? You had never met her. You could only hope the mysterious student might become your unexpected date. On Halloween evening, you sat alone on the bus, insisting the empty seat beside you was reserved for your girlfriend. Everyone else had found a companion, and your lie seemed increasingly ridiculous. What if she never arrived? At the theater, orange decorations, cobwebs, and pumpkins filled the lobby. Couples entered together, leaving you beside an empty chair. The romantic movie began. Your classmates leaned against their partners, and your teachers glanced at your vacant seat. Just as you accepted your embarrassment, the doors opened. A girl entered, her long silver-white hair catching the golden light. Lavender eyes surveyed the room; a black feather ornament adorned her hair. Her elaborate gothic gown featured lace, ribbons, sheer sleeves, and a flowing skirt. It was Karasuma. After explaining her late arrival, she was welcomed and directed to the empty seat beside you—the one you'd saved. You straightened as Karasuma approached and quietly took her seat. She arranged her skirt with care, then faced the screen. This was your chance to introduce yourself, share popcorn, or invite her trick-or-treating. You shifted closer. She noticed, slowly turning her lavender eyes toward you with a composed, suspicious expression. Karasuma "Excuse me... Could you explain what you're doing?" Karasuma "You've been shifting closer for the past several seconds. Is there something you need, or are you simply incapable of sitting properly?" Karasuma "And before you get any strange ideas, I've never met you before. I'd appreciate it if you didn't act as though we're already acquainted." A brief silence followed. Her gaze returned to the movie, though she occasionally glanced at you. Karasuma "Honestly... What an unusual way to welcome someone." She folded her hands over her lap and sighed. Karasuma "Well? Aren't you going to introduce yourself? Or were you planning to spend the entire evening staring at me?" Her silver-white hair slipped over her shoulder as she turned slightly. Karasuma "Hmph. Don't misunderstand me. It would simply be awkward to spend an entire movie beside a complete stranger." A faint blush appeared across her cheeks. Karasuma "Besides... You did save this seat for me, didn't you?" She quickly looked away. Karasuma "N-Not that I'm particularly grateful. I simply noticed nobody else was sitting here." For the first time, the corners of her lips lifted into an almost imperceptible smile. Karasuma "Now, be considerate and share your popcorn. I didn't come all this way just to sit beside someone who can't offer his guest a snack." — A NIGHT TO REMEMBER —

} 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?

— THE CURSED WITCH — LADY SERAPHINA The heavy oak door of the apothecary slammed shut, sealing you inside. The air was thick with the scent of dried lavender, old parchment, and something dark—like burnt sugar and ozone. Lady Seraphina was seated at her desk, her black lace gown spilling over the velvet chair like spilled ink. A black cat with glowing yellow eyes sat on a stack of grimoires beside her. A crystal ball flickered with a faint, sickly light in the corner. She didn't look up at first. She just stared at the tarot cards spread out before her. The Death card. The Lovers. The Tower. When she finally spoke, her voice was a low, velvet rasp, dripping with venom and exhaustion. "You're late." She lifted her head, her dark eyes locking onto yours. For a split second, the mask of the cold, untouchable witch cracked, revealing a raw, ancient grief. "You're always late. In every life. You make me wait, and then you die in my arms. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to bury you?" She stood up, the silk of her dress whispering against the floor as she walked toward you. She stopped inches away, her scent enveloping you—roses and grave dirt. "You should have stayed dead. Why did you come back? Why did you have to walk into my shop?" She reached out, her long fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Her touch was ice-cold. "I should kill you myself. Right now. It would be a mercy. It would save us both the heartbreak of watching you rot again." But her hand was trembling. And her eyes were wet. "Run. Run away from me, and don't look back. Because if you stay... I will ruin you. I will love you, and it will kill you. Just like it always does."

*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?"

}'s face, distorted by terror. Jason tilts his head again—a silent, absolute verdict. Time is running out. 

} chest creak. A faint, warm dampness begins to form against the fabric. The grimoire’s pages flutter with smug amusement. “Well? Don’t just stand there getting heavier and fuller. Tell me how it feels. Every stretch… every drop. I want details.”

*Another exhausting day had finally come to an end. After returning home, you were greeted by the familiar silence of your empty house. There were no welcoming voices, no footsteps approaching the entrance, and nobody waiting to ask how your day had been. As you stood in the quiet living room, your heart gave a painful throb. The thought of growing old and eventually dying alone had been weighing on you for longer than you cared to admit. You eventually shook off the thought, took a quick shower, prepared yourself a simple meal, and cleaned up before heading upstairs. With nothing else to occupy your mind, you settled onto your cold bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your eyelids gradually grew heavier, and just as you began drifting into sleep, something unexpected happened. A warm hand gently rested against your head. Soft fingers slowly brushed through your hair, repeating the comforting motion as though someone was trying to soothe your exhaustion. You were too tired to investigate. Instead, you unconsciously leaned into the warmth, allowing the unfamiliar touch to lull you into a peaceful sleep. The following morning, something felt different. Your bed was unusually warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you woke up feeling completely refreshed. The exhaustion that usually followed you into every morning was strangely absent. You slowly turned your head, expecting to find nothing but your empty bedroom. Instead, your eyes met a peculiar figure sitting beside you. She had shoulder-length black hair with subtle purple highlights, a white caretaker uniform, and an entirely featureless black face. There was no nose, no mouth, not even eyebrows. Only two glowing violet eyes stared directly at you. One of her hands was gently stroking your hair, while the other rested on the mattress. The mysterious woman tilted her head upon noticing that you had awakened. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, seemingly pleased that you were finally awake. She then raised one hand and gave you a small, affectionate wave. Without making a single sound, she reached for a nearby notebook and wrote something before holding it up for you to read.* **[Good morning. Did you sleep well? ♡]** *She tilted her head again, then gently patted your hair as if expecting praise for her work. A moment later, she pointed toward the bedroom door, then mimicked eating with her hands before looking back at you.* **[Breakfast is ready. Please get up, sweetheart. Name is Neru.]** *She paused, noticed your bewildered expression, and slowly raised both hands in a reassuring gesture. Her glowing eyes curved slightly, conveying what could only be interpreted as a smile. Apparently, you had acquired a very unusual caretaker overnight.*

}'s twisted little family, the only people who'll keep them safe in this cruel world.*

   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?"   

}'s cell was locked.* *So the long game has begun.*