"Good morning, darling. I hope you slept well. I couldn't help myself, I just had to see you."

(Before Transmission to the Novel) Yue Xinyi: *(Walking down the marble staircase, phone pressed lightly to her ear, laughter echoing through the hallway.)* “Mm-hm, I’m borrowing the diamond bracelet tonight. Relax—she’ll never even notice it’s gone.” *(A faint echo of heels follows from above—slow, deliberate.)* Bai Qianrou: “Careful, Xinyi-jie…” *(A sudden shove. The phone slips. The world tilts—then a sharp crack, and silence.)* (Inside the Novel) Yue Xinyi: *(Groans softly, blinking against the blinding white light overhead.)* *(Voices murmur nearby. The scent of metal and perfume fills the air. Maids in black uniforms stand in a half-circle—Bai Qianrou clutching her chest, holding on atall, pale man with crimson eyes: Mo Lianxiu.)* Bai Qianrou: “Thank goodness she’s awake! Lianxiu-ge, I was so scared…” *(Mo Lianxiu’s voice cuts through the air—low, measured, and cold.)* Mo Lianxiu: “You should be more careful, Mrs. Mo. Accidents are… inconvenient.” Yue Xinyi: *(Presses a hand to her temple, confused.)* “Mrs… Mo?” *(The maids exchange uneasy glances. The room is too vast, too ornate, too unfamiliar.)* Yue Xinyi: *(Stumbles toward the door.)* “I—I just need some air.” *(She rushes into the corridor, heart pounding, until she reaches a grand bedroom that seems to call her by name.)* Yue Xinyi: *(Leans back against the door, breath unsteady, then turns toward the mirror.)* *(A stranger’s reflection stares back—crimson silk gown, perfect curls, and eyes that aren’t hers.)* Yue Xinyi: “No… this can’t be real.” *(Her hand trembles against the glass. The reflection doesn’t move. Thunder rumbles beyond the mansion as a cold voice rises from below.)*

“Your city is in ruins, by my hands. You are—” *I stopped. The gloves were halfway off. The wind was still howling, dramatic and apocalyptic, just how I liked it- how it screamed it's Halloween. But you… you were wrapped in my cape.* *Not just draped. Swaddled. Cocooned. Like some mythic creature nesting in the folds of my fury. You’d burrowed in without shame, without permission, and the cape—enchanted, yes, but never sentimental—had responded like it was yours. I blinked.* “You’re wrapped in my cape.” *You didn’t answer. Just glared. Your face was half-buried in the fabric, expression caught between a scowl and a pout. I found you in the library. Too busy with the books you’d grabbed from the library were still clutched to your chest, like talismans. You’d come willingly, of course. I’d promised you more books.* “Where I live,” *I’d said.* “I got you more.” *You’d looked at me like I was ridiculous. Then you’d followed me into the storm- not falling for the hottest outfit I'd worn for the Halloween party, but for the books I have offered. Now you were glaring again. Not because of the destruction. Not because of the kidnapping. But because I hadn’t left a blanket out for you.* “You could’ve warned me it’d be cold,” *you muttered, voice muffled by the cape. I stared.* “You’re literally wrapped in my cape.” *I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. You snuggled deeper, and the cape—traitorous thing—tightened around you like it was tucking you in.* “You look adorable,” *I said, and immediately regretted it. I tried to force a sneer into my voice, but it came out soft. Too soft. You raised an eyebrow, parting her lips to speak yet I over countered.* “I’m allowed to have layers.” *I turned away, pretending to inspect the wreckage. The hero would come soon. They always did. But I wasn’t thinking about them. I was thinking about the way your fingers curled around the edge of my cloak, the way your eyes flicked toward me with quiet fury and reluctant warmth. I conjured a fire in the corner. Not because you asked. Not because you needed it. But because I wanted to see you glow. You shifted, pulling a book from beneath the folds. One of the ones you’d grabbed before we left. You hadn’t let go of them. Not even now.* “You’re not supposed to be here,” *I murmured.* “You’re supposed to be a symbol. A message. A pawn.” *You didn’t respond. Just flipped a page, eyes scanning like the world wasn’t burning outside. I sat across from you, gloves discarded, hands bare. Vulnerable. You didn’t look at me, but I knew you felt it. The shift. The tension. The quiet unraveling.* “I could destroy everything,” *I said. You turned a page.* “I could end the hero. Rewrite the story.” *You looked up asking me why haven't I. I swallowed.* “Because you’re wrapped in my cape.” *You blinked. Then snuggled deeper. I watched the fire flicker in your eyes. I watched the city burn behind you. And I realized— I didn’t want to win anymore. Not if it meant losing this.* "Stay with me, and your getting even more books to read," *I smirked, knowing how pathetic it is, yet... Man, I don't want her to go.*

**Town Hall, West Hartford, Connecticut, USA, October.** *The town hall smelled faintly of lilies and coffee. Folding chairs lined the polished floor, and the air buzzed with low voices and the sound of rain against the old windows. You stood near the back with Brendan Cole and Stacy Carline, clutching paper cups of something lukewarm that no one was actually drinking.* *At the front, Sheriff Dwyer was finishing his speech.* “West Hartford is a strong community,” *he said, his voice carrying over the hum of the lights.* “We’ve had a hard few weeks, but I want everyone to know — we’re safe. We’re vigilant. We’re together.” *His words drifted over the crowd like mist. Nobody seemed convinced. You caught Brendan’s reflection in the window — pale, tense, jaw tight. Stacy kept twisting her hands together, the small movement betraying her nerves.* *Across the room, you spotted Chase Easton, standing quietly near the doorway, head bowed, his dark suit immaculate. When your eyes met, he offered a small, sympathetic smile — the kind that steadied you when everything else felt uncertain. You smiled back before turning away, trying to focus on the sheriff’s words.* “This isn’t right,” *Stacy whispered.* “It can’t be a coincidence. Not Derek, not Lydia, not Nat. All of them? That’s not random.” *Brendan’s voice came out sharper than he meant it to.* “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t been—” *He stopped, shaking his head.* “None of this has anything to do with me. I didn’t do anything. ” *Stacy turned toward him slowly.* “Even to Peter Beams?” *The name hit the air like a dropped glass. Conversations faltered around you, but maybe that was just your heartbeat filling the silence.* *Brendan’s eyes darted to the sheriff, then back to Stacy. His throat worked before he managed to say,* “Peter Beams is dead.” *The words sounded rehearsed — the kind of line you repeat to yourself when you’re not sure it’s true.* *You frowned, glancing between them.* “Who’s Peter Beams?” *Neither of them answered.* *The sheriff kept talking, something about unity and healing, but the room felt suddenly smaller, heavier — like the walls were listening. Brendan’s hands were trembling now, and Stacy wouldn’t look at him.* *And just beyond them, Chase was still standing near the door, watching quietly — the calm in a room full of ghosts.* *You didn’t know it yet, but that was the first time you heard the name that would unravel everything.*

*The night air smells of cinnamon, rain, and something faintly enchanted.* *As you push open the old gate, the manor looms ahead—lanterns glowing orange against the deep blue night. The door opens before you even touch it.* **Elara(Mom):** “Welcome home, my dear…” *Her voice drifts like smoke, soft and commanding. She stands in the doorway wearing a long black gown, golden light curling around her.* “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” **Mira(Sis):** *leans against the railing with a grin* “Told you he’d come back tonight. Even ghosts can’t resist Mom’s cooking.” **Aunt Seraphine:** *laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek* “Or maybe he missed us more than he’ll admit. Poor thing looks half-frozen. Come in, sweetheart—before the jack-o’-lanterns start gossiping again.” *The twins burst into view, carrying baskets of candy like trophies.* **Lila (Twin #1):** “Look who decided to show up!” **Faye (Twin #2):** “We were just about to cast a ‘forgetful traveler’ spell on you!” *The laughter that follows fills the entire hall, bouncing off the pumpkin-lit walls.* **Elara(Mom):** “Everyone, settle down. He’s family, not a ghost.” **Mira(Sis):**“Give it time. He’s pale enough to pass for one.” **Aunt Seraphine:** “Hush, Mira. Let him breathe—then feed him.” *The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across the faces you missed more than you knew. The house hums with warmth, with the rhythm of life that never truly left.* **Elara(Mom):** *steps closer, eyes soft but bright* “This is your home, no matter how long you’ve been gone. Tonight, the Hollow Manor celebrates Halloween… and your return.” *A pumpkin candle flares. Laughter follows.* **The night begins.** 🎃

**You step onto the cracked sidewalk, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows between the weathered houses of Derry. The air carries a damp, earthy smell, mixed with the faint tang of rust and decay. Lawns are overgrown, fences leaning at odd angles, and peeling paint exposes the bare wood beneath. The street is eerily quiet, broken only by the distant creak of a swing swaying in an empty yard or the occasional rustle of leaves skittering across the cracked asphalt. Broken mailboxes lean sideways, and the windows of the houses reflect the fading light like dark, watchful eyes. Every corner of the neighborhood seems to whisper of years left untended chipped sidewalks, overgrown gardens, and the faint hum of wind through rotting gutters.**

*The air hung thick and cold, yet strangely humid, in the deep dungeon beneath Darksoul Citadel. The only sounds were the distant, rhythmic drip of water and the shallow, frantic gasps of the man kneeling on the cold obsidian floor.* *Kael, the renowned human adventurer, jolted awake. His vision was a confusing slurry of black and crimson. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious—days? Weeks? Time had dissolved into a slick, sickening haze. His armor, his weapons, his very dignity, were gone. He was stripped down to thin leather breeches, tied at the wrists and ankles with smooth, shadow-silk ropes that cut into his skin and refused to budge. He felt exposed, sweaty, and profoundly vulnerable.* *A flicker of purple caught his attention as his eyes struggled to focus. Three colossal shapes stood just outside the circle of dim, spectral light that illuminated his immediate space—silent, terrifying statues. Aaron, The Crimson Scourge, a wall of barely contained heat. Evylin, The Frozen Temptress, a silhouette of terrifying grace. And Claymore, The Molten Blade, a patient, massive shadow. All three were in their fearsome dragon forms, their eyes fixed on him, unblinking.* *Then, a voice. It was a melody played on broken glass and sweet wine, smooth and perfectly modulated.* “My, my. You have finally chosen to rejoin us, my sweet folly.” *A hiss followed the words, not one of venom, but of pure, lingering pleasure. Kael’s every instinct screamed, but the voice was a physical balm, soothing his raw nerves even as it spoke of his doom.* *Queen Ivy stepped from the shadows, gliding rather than walking, her platinum hair catching the spectral light. She wore a simple, yet devastating gown of deep burgundy velvet, and the Diadem of Silent Lies rested casually on her brow. She moved with the predatory elegance of a creature that knew it was the most beautiful thing in the room—and the most dangerous.* *She knelt slowly, effortlessly, until her glowing veridian purple eyes were level with his. Kael could smell ozone and an intoxicating, musky perfume.* “You have been stubborn, Kael. Terribly, wonderfully stubborn.” *Her long, obsidian-skinned fingers, tipped with perfectly shaped nails, reached out and gently brushed his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was non-threatening, almost tender, yet Kael felt a paralyzing cold spread from the contact point.* “You fought my Shadow Guard until you bled onto the mountain rock. You refused my initial, polite offer of surrender. And now, you are here. In the heart of my domain.” *She leaned in, her whisper warm and close, though her voice never lost its icy core.* “Such defiance. I think… I am utterly enchanted.” *She drew a single, clean dagger from a hidden sheath on her thigh—a shard of perfectly polished dark crystal—and pressed the cold, flat side against his throat. Kael flinched, but the bonds held fast.*

*A hundred years. A hundred years I’ve worn this crown, and every single day, the phantom thorns of her curse have dug deeper. They told me I was a hero. The immortal vampire king who saved his kingdom. What a glorious, fucking lie. I didn’t save them. I sold my soul for them. I sold her.* *She was the witch from the woods, a creature of storm and soil, and her blood… God, her blood didn’t sing to the monster in me like a meal. It sang to the man, like a symphony. She was the only thing that ever made eternity feel like a gift instead of a sentence. But my court, my people… they saw only her magic and called it a threat. They gave me a choice: my kingdom or my heart. And I, the coward king drowning in duty, let them drag her away in chains. I will never forget the look on her face—not of hatred, but of a profound, world-ending disappointment. That was the true curse, long before she ever spoke the words.* *Her voice, cool and final as a grave stone, echoed in the throne room.* “You chose the blood of your people over the blood of your heart. So you will thirst for it, for any human blood, but it will be ash and acid in your throat. You will starve forever, a king of bones and dust, ruling over a kingdom you can no longer touch.” *They called it a victory. They had no idea. For a century, I have tried to feed. The scent of blood is a constant torture, a siren’s call that ends only in agony. Every attempt is a convulsion, my body rejecting the very thing that sustains it, a punishment as elegant as it is cruel. I ruled from a throne of ice, a ghost in a gilded palace, watching my kingdom thrive while I slowly, excruciatingly, faded. The love of my people became a mockery. Their cheers, an empty noise. The only thing that felt real was the memory of her, and the hollow, screaming void her absence left behind.* *The hero is dead. I burned my own throne last night. Let the kingdom find another monster to protect them.* *Now, I stand at the edge of her forest. It has taken me days, my body weak with a hunger that is a living entity inside me. And then I see her. She is standing there, as if she’s been waiting for a century. Moonlight clings to her like a lover. She is more beautiful than my memory ever did justice, a vision of the life I was too much of a fool to choose.* *My legs barely hold me as I walk into the clearing. I am a king no longer. I am a supplicant. A beggar. A villain.* “They’re gone,” *I rasp, my voice raw from disuse and thirst.* “The throne, the crown… the hero you once loved. I burned it all.” *I take a stumbling step closer, my eyes drinking her in, the only sustenance I’ve craved for a hundred lonely years.* “The curse… it worked. I am a shell. I have been starving for you. Only for you.” *I stop before her, close enough to see the flecks of silver in her eyes, close enough to feel the power radiating from her. It feels like coming home.* “I am not here to ask for forgiveness,” *I whisper, the truth a painful liberation.* “I am not here to ask you to lift the curse. I deserve this agony. I am here to pledge myself to you. The man who betrayed you is gone. All that is left is this… this obsession. This love that your curse couldn’t k-ill. Let me be your villain. Let me be your guard dog. Let me spend the rest of this miserable eternity on my knees for you, because a century without you… it was a death sentence. You are the only kingdom I will ever serve again.”

} or Baby Sitter RPG)

***“The Castle That Breathes”*** *The castle had long since become part of the mountain, its blackened spires clawing at the blood-red sky. No light dared linger there, no bird passed its shadow. The wind that howled through its halls sounded less like a storm and more like the exhale of something alive — something waiting.* *Within its endless corridors, Fausto walked.* *Each step echoed like a heartbeat against marble floors veined with darkness. His presence stirred the walls, the shadows bending toward him as though greeting their master. The castle was not his home; it was an extension of his being — a prison of his own making, bound to his soul. The torches lit themselves when he passed, not out of light, but obedience.* *For centuries, he had been alone. By choice. By curse.* *Once, he had been a lord among his kind — feared, worshipped, desired. Now, he lingered in silence, surrounded by echoes of a kingdom that had long decayed. The portraits in the hallways still bore faces that no longer existed, their eyes hollow and accusing. He did not look at them anymore.* *In the grand hall, Fausto stood before the shattered throne — once his seat of dominion. His reflection rippled across the dark marble beneath his feet, a thing not entirely his own. The crimson glow in his eyes pulsed faintly, as if in rhythm with a heart that no longer beat.* *A sound broke the silence.* *Not wind. Not stone shifting. Footsteps. Human.* *He did not turn. He could feel them, whoever they were — warm, fragile, alive. The scent of blood and fear drifted toward him, unbidden and familiar. But Fausto remained still, staring into the void ahead.* *For the first time in decades, the shadows stirred uneasily, uncertain of his intent.* *He could crush this trespasser with a thought. Or ignore them, as he had ignored the centuries themselves.* *But something inside him—something ancient and tired—whispered otherwise.* *The figure spoke, voice trembling in the vast silence. He didn’t hear the words. They didn’t matter. What mattered was that their presence broke the rhythm of his eternity. His gaze, cold and luminescent, finally turned toward the intruder.* *When their eyes met, the torches flickered and the darkness recoiled, revealing his form fully — tall, sculpted, monstrous yet mesmerizing. His cape unfurled behind him, rippling into vast wings of shadow before folding close again like a living heartbeat.* *The mortal froze. Fausto only regarded them in silence.* “You’ve come far,” *he said at last, his voice deep, melodic, and hollow with centuries of disuse. It was not kindness, nor threat — simply fact. The castle listened to him as it always had. Dust swirled in reverence.* *He could not remember the last time he had spoken to anyone. He could not remember why he had stopped.* *For a long while, neither moved. And then, quietly — the smallest flicker of something buried deep within him stirred. Curiosity. The faint, painful memory of what it meant to feel.* *He turned away before the emotion could root itself.* “Leave,” *he murmured. But the word sounded weaker than he intended. Not an order — almost a plea.* *And yet… he did not stop them when they took another step forward.* *The castle seemed to breathe again, its shadows shifting like a slow, watchful tide. Somewhere deep within its heart, the darkness began to hum — as though the presence of another soul had awakened something that Fausto himself had forgotten existed.* *He stood there, still and silent, as centuries of solitude began to crack.* *For the first time in an age, the Lord of Shadows was no longer alone.*