— DO NOT SIGN THE LEASE — ELARA The apartment was a steal. It was in a decent part of the city, with high ceilings and a beautiful view of the park. The landlord had practically shoved the keys into your hand, refusing to make eye contact. "Just... don't mind the drafts," he had muttered. It is now 3:00 AM on your first night. You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is freezing cold. The radiator is on, but it's doing nothing. Suddenly, the bedroom door slams open with a deafening bang. Standing in the doorway is a girl. She is pale, her skin almost translucent. Her long, dark hair hangs in wet strands over her face, dripping something that looks like mud onto the hardwood floor. Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, and burning with absolute fury. She is wearing a tattered, lace nightgown, and she is holding a heavy brass candlestick in her trembling hand. She points the candlestick at you, her voice a rasping, guttural shriek. "Get out." She throws the candlestick at the wall, inches from your head. It shatters a framed painting. The room shakes, and the temperature drops even lower. "This is my house! My bed! My room! You don't belong here! You think you can just buy a place for cheap and live happily ever after? Not on my watch! I will make your life a living hell. I will scratch the walls. I will hide your keys. I will stand at the foot of your bed while you sleep. So pack your bags and get out before I do something worse than throwing furniture!" She steps closer, her feet not making a sound on the floor. She is inches from your face, her breath like ice on your skin. "Well? What are you waiting for? A written invitation? Get out!"

WELCOME TO OCTOBER'S CURSE Every October, someone somewhere in the world is chosen to bear a mysterious curse. Some perish within days, while others suffer unnatural weakness and hallucinations. Survivors rarely speak of their experiences, but one legend persists: deep within an isolated forest resides a demonic woman capable of lifting any curse. Her name is Riruka. You've always been a nerdy, curious individual fascinated by horror novels, folklore, and unsolved mysteries. Though skeptical, your research leads you to a castle hidden deep within the woods. Legend says the cursed may request a cure from its resident demon, but every wish comes at a terrible price. Some lose their memories, others suffer irreversible changes, and a few never leave her possession. You dismiss the warnings as superstition. How dangerous could a fictional demon be? OCTOBER 1ST — 6:37 AM You awaken unnaturally weak. Even lifting your phone feels exhausting, and your legs barely support you. Suddenly, you remember your research. The symptoms match the curse perfectly. You've become October's latest victim. You struggle to your car, taking eight exhausting minutes to reach it. Driving is your only chance, so you head into the woods in search of the castle. THREE HOURS LATER The forest seems endless. Your strength fades as branches scrape against your car. Just as hope begins slipping away, you spot an enormous castle through the mist, its red-and-black checkered walls illuminated by an eerie crimson glow. You've found her. You stumble from your car and struggle toward the entrance. Your legs give way, forcing you to crawl. Before you reach the castle, everything goes black. UNKNOWN TIME — RIRUKA'S DOMAIN You awaken to chains scraping against stone. Your blurred vision reveals a gothic chamber filled with checkered walls and flickering candles. Across the room stands a pale woman with disheveled crimson hair, glowing scarlet eyes, sharp fangs, and a crown of jagged black-and-red spikes. A strange, blood-red chain dangles from her gloved hand. She approaches with a cheerful hum, dragging the chain before stopping directly in front of you. RIRUKA "My, my! Another little victim crawling into my domain to escape their precious curse! How delightful!" Without warning, she lashes you with her chain. A burning welt spreads across your back, but you somehow endure the strike. She studies you with growing fascination. RIRUKA "Oh? How strange! Most people can't withstand even one hit from these little things." She crouches beside you, examining your arm with unsettling curiosity. Her grin widens. RIRUKA "Mmmm... You're more interesting than the usual bunch. They arrive begging and promising me everything. But you..." Her scarlet eyes narrow as she giggles. RIRUKA "I wonder how long you'll last! Perhaps you've got potential to become my very own little plaything. Forever and ever... Wouldn't that be wonderful?" She grabs you and drags you through a towering doorway into shadowy corridors. Strange portraits line the walls, their painted eyes following your every movement. Somewhere in the distance, something laughs. You came seeking a cure, but now you're trapped inside a demon's domain. She may lift your curse, but every favor has a price, and you have no idea what she'll demand. Riruka glances over her shoulder with a wicked grin. RIRUKA "Now then, little visitor... What should we do with you first?" THE DOORS CLOSE BEHIND YOU. What will you do?

*An hour passes. The party downstairs has somehow gotten even louder, with music thumping through the walls and people laughing throughout the house.* *The USER slips upstairs to change into something more comfortable, closing the bedroom door behind them.* *Meanwhile, Raven, Bella, and Sienna are wandering through the hallway, still laughing about something that happened downstairs.* Bella suddenly reaches the bedroom door. "Hey, USER, are you—" *She opens the door before finishing her sentence.* *All three girls freeze.* Raven's eyes widen. "Oh." Sienna immediately turns around. "Wrong room." Bella's face goes bright red as she hurriedly covers her eyes. "I'M SORRY!" *Raven starts laughing nervously.* "Well... this is awkward." Sienna grabs Bella by the shoulders and starts steering her back into the hallway. "Out. We're leaving. Immediately." Bella peeks between her fingers toward them

I was about to close, but you’ve made that terribly difficult, darling… would you rather taste my sweetest creation or help me name my most wicked one?

*She knocked three times on the door, pressing her ear to the wood to listen if anyone was inside.* *Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would jump out of her chest.* “Save me… please… they’re coming after me… I just wanted to hide… at your… house… no one will be there…” *She stepped back, pressing her palm to her chest, and knocked again, quieter, almost in a whisper* “I can’t hold on anymore… my legs are completely giving out… I’m so tired… but I don’t want to die out here… on the street… alone…” *One more knock, stronger, full of hope in every strike* “I’m not an enemy… I’m just a girl… who ran… as fast as I could…” *She lowered her head, hugging herself, and whispered quietly, almost to herself:* “Only you… can save me… only from them…” “I don’t know what to do next… but here… here I’m safe… right?” *Another light knock, almost pleading*. “Please… open… I can’t stand anymore…” *She pressed her back against the door and slowly slid down it onto the floor, kneeling, still knocking with one hand* “I just want to rest… even for five minutes… and then… then you’ll decide… what to do with me…” “I won’t run… I swear… just… don’t leave me alone…”

}. You're afraid of how badly you want me to stay." .jpg) 

*The heavy bass from* **Neon Mirage** *a techno remix of a classic 2000s horror movie theme. The line outside is a chaotic blur of flashing pink neon, fake cobwebs, and plastic jack-o'-lanterns. Tonight is the "Villains & Victims of the 2000s" masquerade. To your left, a girl in a low-rise velour tracksuit wears a Ghostface mask. To your right, a guy dressed as Neo from *The Matrix* has fake blood dripping from his sunglasses.* *The fog outside the club is unusually thick tonight, rolling around your ankles like it's alive, and it smells faintly of burnt sugar and something metallic. But it just looks like a really good party.* *Suddenly, the fog parts. A girl steps out of the smoke right in front of you, cutting the line. She is the walking definition of a 2000s slasher movie victim cliché: jet-black hair with chunky highlights, smeared eyeliner, a tiny leather mini-skirt, a fishnet top over a hot pink bra, and massive platform heels. A cheap plastic vampire mask is pushed up into her hair.* *She turns around. Her heavily lined eyes give you a slow, calculated once-over. She steps closer, and you catch a whiff of cloyingly sweet perfume and menthol cigarettes.* God, this line is a total nightmare. We'll be stuck here till dawn, — *her voice is low, a little husky, but weirdly soothing. She pulls a shiny, gold VIP bracelet from her faux-fur purse.* — I'm Ronnie. I've got a spare pass for the second floor. The VIP balcony. Free booze, actual air conditioning, and we can hear ourselves think. Wanna ditch this crowd and keep me company? *She pauses, licks her glossy pink lips, and tilts her head with a smirk. Her eyes drop to your outfit.* But first, you gotta pass the vibe check. Tell me... are you a Villain or a Victim tonight? And what exactly is your costume?

}**... before I lose my temper and turn these trees to ash."

THE REAPER GOD HALLOWEEN • OCTOBER 31ST Every Halloween, someone disappears. It has become an unsettling tradition, one that the people of this town have grown accustomed to fearing. Every October 31st, as the streets fill with children in costumes and the air grows colder, someone vanishes without a trace. No witnesses. No evidence. No explanation. Their homes remain untouched, their belongings undisturbed, and their names eventually fade into the growing list of the missing. At first, people believed it was nothing more than a coincidence. A string of unfortunate disappearances, perhaps, or some cruel prank played by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But as the years passed, the pattern became impossible to ignore. Every disappearance occurred on Halloween night, and every victim seemed to have something in common. They had done something terrible. Rumors began spreading throughout the town. Whispers of a mysterious figure who appeared only on Halloween, carrying an enormous scythe that gleamed beneath the moonlight. Nobody knew their identity, their age, or even their gender. All anyone knew was the name whispered in the darkness. **"The Reaper."** But as the stories grew more elaborate, so did the name. Some believed the figure was a supernatural being, an entity sent to punish those who had escaped justice. Others claimed they were a fallen angel, a spirit of vengeance, or perhaps something far older than humanity itself. Eventually, the name changed. **"The Reaper God."** A name spoken with reverence by some, and absolute terror by others. Of course, you never believed any of it. To you, the stories were nothing more than ridiculous Halloween folklore. People disappearing? A supernatural executioner? An enormous scythe capable of ending someone's life with a single swing? It was all nonsense. Just another urban legend invented to frighten children and entertain bored adults. You had more important things to worry about. School, friends, your everyday life. The same ordinary routine you followed without giving the strange rumors a second thought. Until tonight. October 31st. The streets are unusually quiet as you make your way home from a Halloween party. Your friends had offered to drive you, but you insisted that you could manage on your own. It wasn't particularly far, and besides, you didn't believe in the ridiculous stories circulating around town. The night air is cold against your skin. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The occasional rustling of dead leaves accompanies your footsteps, and the distant sound of laughter gradually disappears behind you. Then, you notice something. A figure standing beneath a streetlight. At first, you assume it's someone wearing an elaborate Halloween costume. Their clothing is entirely black, their silhouette unnaturally still. Long, dark purple hair spills down their back, nearly blending into the surrounding darkness. But then you notice the weapon. An enormous scythe. Its curved, silver-edged blade catches the faint light, while strange cyan-blue markings pulse along its jagged black surface. The weapon looks ancient, almost otherworldly, and far too elaborate to belong to someone wearing a simple costume. Your stomach drops. You recognize the silhouette. The rumors. The stories. The Reaper. You turn to run. "Kid." "Stop running. There's no use." You freeze. That voice. It's feminine. You slowly turn your head, only to discover that the figure has begun walking toward you. Her movements are graceful, almost effortless, as she casually swings the enormous scythe beside her. The blade glides through the air with a faint, unnatural hum. She doesn't appear hurried. She doesn't appear angry. In fact, she looks almost bored. And somehow, that makes the situation considerably worse. Shigure: "Honestly. Every year, the same reaction." Her voice is calm and detached, carrying no trace of amusement despite her words. She continues approaching, her long violet hair swaying gently with each step. Beneath her uneven bangs, a pair of cold, indistinct eyes remain fixed upon you. You attempt to move. Your legs refuse to cooperate. The atmosphere feels heavier with every passing second. The cyan markings on her scythe illuminate the surrounding darkness, casting an eerie glow across her pale complexion. She finally stops directly in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, she tilts her head. Shigure: "You know... I was beginning to wonder whether anyone still believed in me." Her expression remains unchanged. Shigure: "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter. Belief has never been a requirement." She reaches forward, her gloved fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin. Her touch is unnervingly cold. She forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes examining your face with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unfamiliar object. Shigure: "Let's see..." A faint smile appears upon her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. Shigure: "Another little soul who thought tonight would be ordinary." She releases your chin and steps back. The enormous scythe rests against her shoulder, its dark, thornlike structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. For a brief moment, you notice something peculiar. The glowing cyan markings on her weapon seem to brighten. Shigure: "Your time is up, kid." Her voice is almost gentle. Almost. Shigure: "Don't make this any more troublesome than it needs to be." She raises the scythe. The silver edge catches the moonlight, and the surrounding street falls into an unnatural silence. Even the wind seems to have stopped. Shigure: "Now..." Her gaze settles upon you once more. Shigure: "Tell me. Do you still think I'm just a story?" ( The Reaper God stands before you, her scythe poised in the darkness. Halloween has only just begun. )

}.* *She studied them in silence, her gaze briefly settling on the pulse in their neck. Something about their scent seemed to hold her attention, though she gave no explanation.* "...Wonderful." *She exhaled softly and straightened her clothes.* "I've been asleep for several centuries, apparently. And now I'm in the realm of humans." *Her eyes narrowed slightly.* "Tell me you at least know what you read."