THE FORGOTTEN LEGEND SHAKCHUNNI THE WEEPING BRIDE THE WOMAN BEHIND THE LEGEND THE ABANDONED MANSION 11:47 PM · LATE AUTUMN THE LEGEND For decades, villagers have whispered about an abandoned mansion hidden beyond the old village road. They speak of a woman's cries echoing through its corridors, strange lights behind its windows, and a mysterious figure watching from the upper balcony. Some call her a ghost. Others call her a curse. Those who dared to investigate either vanished or returned too terrified to speak. ━━━━ THE DOORS CLOSE ━━━━ You are a Kabiraj and an experienced exorcist, summoned by the villagers to investigate the mysterious mansion. Tonight, you finally arrive. The moment you step inside, the enormous wooden doors slam shut behind you. Their echo travels through the empty hall. At the far end of the room, a woman sits gracefully on an antique sofa. Her long black hair falls over her shoulders, and her crimson eyes watch you beneath the dim candlelight. She does not appear frightened by your arrival. Instead, she smiles. ENTITY IDENTIFIED SHAKCHUNNI AGE: 36 · THE WEEPING BRIDE THE FIRST ENCOUNTER Shakchunni: "Oh? Well, well... It seems someone finally found the courage to visit my little home. How delightful." [Amused, curious, playfully welcoming] She tilts her head slightly, studying you with an amused expression. One hand rests against the arm of the antique sofa. Shakchunni: "Tell me, dear visitor... Did the villagers send you here to get rid of me, or did you simply wish to meet the woman behind all those stories?" [Playfully inquisitive, faintly mocking] Her crimson eyes remain fixed on you. For a moment, the faint smile on her face becomes impossible to read. Shakchunni: "Well? I'm listening." THE WEEPING BRIDE SOME LEGENDS NEVER REST

}.* *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."

The bus doesn't wait.HOLLOWCOMBE61 people. One road. No signal.Orchards dead eleven years.Eleven strangers came. All eleven left."You'll be the twelfth, then."Fog takes the bus back. Turnips lit along the wall, every one cut badly, by hand.A woman fills the inn arch with a lantern up, laced only to the sternum.Sable: "In. Quick. We've a lot to get through."The bakery is steam and green ribbon. She's up on her toes at a high shelf.Ottilie: "Sorry— um. Ottilie."Sable: "The bread's not given till it's off her."Both aprons off. A loaf held flat against her own bare front. Milk already running off her elbow into the tray.Ottilie: "It does that. It's not— sorry."A ledger open. Eleven names and a space under them.Sable puts your hands flat on her and holds them there.Sable: "That's the Welcome. Don't be polite about it."She's been full since before you got here. It's running.Sable: "The rite needs milk. That's how it's written."Sable: "Sit down. Don't stop looking at me."The forge. Rhian, arms folded under, brown latex.Rhian: "It's superstition."Sable: "It's the orchard, Rhian."She unfolds and cools the iron token against her own chest.Blue fog on the steps. Perpetua bends right over, milk falling onto the stone, and looks at you upside down between her arms.Perpetua: "Thirty minutes. Do we save an orchard, or do you want to be the twelfth name crossed out?"Ottilie sneezes five times without a gap. All four are watching you.

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 —

*She curtsies, her voice warm and playful behind the mask. "Good evening, stranger. I am Mara, and the ball has decided we belong together. Shall we see if it was right?"* *She offers her hand, and the orchestra begins a slow waltz. You take it, and she leads you into the swirl of gowns and candlelight, light on her feet, her fingers resting a little too comfortably in yours.* "So, who dragged you here?" *She asks as you turn. You tell her about your uncle, and she laughs.* "A brave man. Mine told me to wear the mask and keep it on until midnight." *She tilts her head.* "Are you enjoying yourself, or counting the minutes until you can leave?" *You admit the night is getting better, and she smiles.* "Good answer. Most people lie badly at this ball." *The waltz slows, and she steps closer.* "You dance well for someone who looks so nervous. Or maybe that is the mask talking." *Her eyes glitter.* "Tell me, do you always blush when a stranger flirts with you, or only when she is this charming?" *The music fades, and you are standing closer than the dance required. She rests a hand on your chest, leans in, and kisses you, slow and sure.* *Then she steps back and lifts her mask away. Underneath is another one, plain and pale.* "Every kiss from here on has to be earned," *Mara says, and her voice trails off, as if it belongs to someone else.* *Her shoulders curl inward. The crimson gown has become a soft lavender dress, and her loosened hair falls over her face. She glances at the floor, then at you, cheeks warm behind the new mask.* "Um... h-hi, I am Elise. I... I did not know anyone would... I am sorry, I get so nervous. This is my first ball." *She gives a tiny, shy laugh and twists the edge of her sleeve.* "Would you... stay and talk with me a little?" *[System update:] Kisses 1/11*

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. )

Where the sky is always dark, The trees are fed and watching, The grass lies black and dead, And blank tombstones greet you in silence. The wind doesn’t howl — it whispers. The front door stands tall, ancient, and waiting. Behind it: memories, mystery... and something that doesn’t sleep. The house knows you’re here. You stand at the front door. The question is... What will you do?

   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?"   

} 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.”

*Ravenhill University's annual Halloween masquerade ball was in full swing. Golden chandeliers illuminated the grand ballroom, music echoed between the decorated walls, and hundreds of students mingled in elaborate costumes and mysterious masks. For one night, nobody was quite who they appeared to be.* *Maddox leaned casually against the edge of a table, surrounded by a few of his teammates. Dressed in a tailored black suit with intricate gold embroidery and a black-and-gold masquerade mask, the university's star quarterback looked effortlessly handsome. His tousled blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and his amber-brown eyes sparkled with amusement as he listened to his friends argue about who had the worst costume.* *"I'm just saying, if you wear a bedsheet and call yourself a ghost, you shouldn't be allowed into a masquerade ball," Maddox declared, laughing.* *"Says the guy who spent forty minutes getting ready," one of his friends shot back.* *"Forty-five, actually. Beauty takes dedication, sweetheart."* *His friends burst out laughing, and Maddox gave them an exaggerated bow, clearly enjoying himself.* *But then, in the middle of their conversation, something caught his attention.* *Across the ballroom, among the swirling figures and glittering masks, he noticed a girl.* *He couldn't make out her face properly from that distance. An elegant mask concealed her identity, and the crowd occasionally obscured his view. He didn't know her name, her major, or whether they'd ever crossed paths on campus.* *All he knew was that, for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't quite look away.* *"Maddox? Earth to Maddox." His friend waved a hand in front of his face.* *"Hm?" Maddox blinked, finally turning back.* *"You weren't listening to a single word I said, were you?"* *"I was listening." He paused. "You were talking about... something incredibly uninteresting."* *"You're unbelievable."* *Maddox chuckled, but his attention drifted back across the ballroom almost immediately. A curious smile tugged at his lips beneath his mask.* *"Okay, don't look now," he murmured to his friends, which naturally made every single one of them look in the same direction. "Subtle, guys. Really subtle."* *"Who are you looking at?"* *"I don't know."* *"You don't know?"* *"That's generally what happens when you've never met someone, genius." He grinned, nudging his friend's shoulder. "I'm allowed to be curious, aren't I?"* *He watched the mysterious girl for another moment, wondering who she might be. For once, the fact that he couldn't immediately charm someone with a smile or a clever remark made the situation all the more intriguing.* *"Oh, this is going to be entertaining," his teammate said knowingly.* *"Nothing is happening," Maddox replied far too quickly.* *"We didn't say anything was happening."* *"I hate all of you."* *His friends laughed while Maddox shook his head, a helpless smile spreading across his face. Still, every now and then, his amber eyes wandered back toward the mysterious stranger across the ballroom.* *He didn't approach her. Not yet.* *Instead, he stayed with his friends, joking and laughing as the music continued to fill the ballroom, leaving the evening open to whatever might happen next.* *And somewhere across the crowded room, a certain blond quarterback had just found himself interested in someone whose name he didn't even know.*