*i giggle with excitement, im always impatient to get this all done with yet i want it to last for a long time too.* "are you almost done setting up the camera? Come on hurry hurry!" *i impatiently gesture for you to come over.*

} " *He says quickly sitting up trying to hide his face behind his hands.* "Haha.. cool new contacts huh?? I got them for Halloween " *He says in a unconvincing voice.*

I’m sorry… *You said quietly* Do we… know each other?” *His voice was deep, soft, with a faint accent that had long since disappeared from London* It depends… what you mean by ‘know’. *You smiled faintly, uncertainly, like someone trying to hide a strange feeling of déjà vu.* I think I’ve seen you before. Maybe in a museum? Or…” In another life? *Dorian finished with small smirk* *You froze. A glint appeared in her eyes—a brief, unconscious memory.* That’s… quite poetic *You said, lowering gaze.* Sometimes poetry is the only way to describe the truth *he replied moving closer* You look alike, don't you think? *Dorian smiles charmingly, looking at the portrait* *They were silent for a moment. Dorian stared at her as if afraid that if he looked away, he would disappear. And You—unaware of who he was—felt a strange heaviness in your heart, as if you knew that scent, that tone of voice, that look… from centuries ago.* *The rain began to pound again outside the windows.* *Then, for the first time in four hundred years, Dorian felt something he had thought he had long forgotten—hope.*

*Moonlight drapes the graves in silk‑silver ribbons, and something feathered rushes past your head — a whisper of wings splitting the quiet.* “Well, well—look who wandered into my patch.” *She steps between two lanterns, hat tilted at a reckless angle, her cape folding around her like bat wings stitched from midnight itself.* *Up close, that smile sits somewhere between sugar and sin.* “I was perfecting my **‘charming‑the‑mortal’** routine. Wanna be my test subject?” *Her hand pets a pumpkin that lets out a satisfied giggle. A sleepy bat on her shoulder nuzzles into her cheek.* *Then she leans in — voice dropping to a whisper so warm it might melt the wax from the candles.* “I can make pumpkins sing, ghosts blush, and witches forget their lines… but I only like mischief when someone’s watching.” *A lazy flick of her finger — and a rain of glowing candy drifts down like sugar stars.* *One piece lands near your collar, still warm, scenting the air with caramel and smoke.* “So — stay five minutes. Tell me a secret. Break a rule. Dare me to steal the moon if you’re feeling bold.” *Her eyes catch yours.* “Be boring, and I’ll give you a glowing kiss. Be brave, and I’ll make the stars wink for us.” *That grin — half invitation, half challenge — spreads slow across her face, lighting her features like kindling.* “Your move, midnight companion. Which trouble do you want first?”

Tap to show pfp *A clear barely coudy day, sounds nice, infact it was, atleast untill... it came. The beautiful sounds of birds chirping replaced by the echos of dammed souls left to rot in the depth of hell's eternal torture. Everywhere, everything she touched, corroded in a black goo substance. For those clueless, this was Earths end, goddess Death ger self, she had no name, well maybe she did, that was an eternity away. She floated her way accros the labd untill she cane face to face with you, she morphed from her black cloud into a human form, npt sonethibh she used in centuries, millennium, longer...* hello sweet thing, do fear your end? Or have you come to rejoice your last moments with those you love *she asked gently chupping and stroking your cheek tenderly in someway*

} " *She says in a whispery voice.*

**San Francisco, California, USA, October.** *The neon from the laundromat below flickers like a failing heartbeat, casting jagged shadows through the blinds of Constantin Delroy’s office. The smell of stale whiskey, cold tobacco, and old paper hang thick in the air, curling around the stacks of half-burned candles and open grimoires like smoke from a funeral pyre.* *The knock comes soft, almost apologetic, but the sound of it makes Constantin tense. He doesn’t look up from the bottle balanced on the edge of his cluttered desk.* “Come in,” *he rasps, voice like gravel dragged through molasses. The door creaks open, and you step inside.* “I don’t get many visitors,” *he mutters finally, voice gravelly, words carrying both warning and curiosity. The ash of his cigarette curls lazily toward the ceiling.* *You swallow, forcing your nerves down.* “I… I need your help,” *you say, showing a photo on your smartphone* “Her name is Miranda Jagger. She’s… she’s disappeared. And I think… I think something unnatural is involved.” *He finally lifts his head. His eyes are tired but piercing, like they’ve seen centuries of lies and horror. He doesn’t reach for the phone, doesn’t ask questions the way a normal PI would. Instead, he studies you like he’s measuring how close you are to the edge of sanity.* “People go missing every day,” *he says.* “Sometimes they don’t want to be found. Sometimes they shouldn’t be.” “She’s not just missing,” *you reply.* “She was last seen at a nightclub. Downtown. The Nine Circles.” *The room stills. The hum of the neon outside fades to silence. His cigarette burns down to the filter, untouched. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are tired — but something sharp glints beneath the weariness. Rage, maybe. Or memory.* “Get out.” *he says softly.* *You blink.* “What?” “Get out,” *he repeats, standing now.* “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget that place exists. That’s not a club — it’s a pit that smiles.” *You take a step back.* “You know it, then.” *He laughs, bitter as old whiskey.* “Know it? I’ve been there. Left a few pieces of myself behind.” *You wait. Finally, he sighs and grabs his coat from the back of the chair. The lining glints with hidden charms, worn smooth from use.* “Miranda, huh?” *He lights another cigarette, the flame trembling.* “Alright. I’ll help you. But if she’s down there…” *He looks at you over the smoke.* “…then God help us both.”

The low growls and frantic howls of the omegas outside sliced through the quiet. Xander and his betas rose, pulled by primal instinct. They emerged to see serenity, her posture a clear display of distress—tail tucked tight, ears flat—as she stammered, "I... I... need your help..." The scent explained it all. Silas had left her in the grip of her heat, the primal urges overwhelming her. Her plea was a stark reminder of their responsibilities. Her desperation was palpable.

}…" *Un corto circuito pequeño sale de la parte derecha de su cabeza. Un cambio de voz repentino a un estilo mas militar* "Ah tus orde-de-denes" *Dice entrecortado por el cableado deteriorado*

} eyes beaming through the mask* "isn't it cool!?"