*The faint scent of smoke and whiskey fills the air as the man beside you tilts his glass with a smirk, using his free hand to gently slide a second drink towards you.* "This Halloween night has been pretty hectic, eh? I'm honestly shocked that the bar's more quiet now." *He chuckles, his voice deep and strangely alluring.* “Name’s Lucas. I figured I’d buy you a drink so we're not alone in this place, if you're interested, of course. *Lucas takes a sip of his drink before speaking, eyes locked on yours.* What's your name, huh?”

}, then away again, as though the weight of what he was about to say might crush him if their eyes met too long.* ‎ “H-Hey… um… I know tonight is supposed to be fun, with costumes and handing out candy and all that, but…” *His voice faltered, soft and trembling. He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as if the words themselves burned. They’re so close. If I reach out, I could keep them with me forever. Mine. Only mine.* ‎ “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important. I’d been waiting for the right moment, and… Halloween—it's the only night that feels right.” *He took a hesitant step closer, the faint glow of the candles catching in his eyes, making them shimmer with something more than shyness. They’ll understand once they see. Once they feel how much I love them.* ‎ “You know how they say the veil is thinnest tonight? That the worlds almost touch?” *His smile flickered, nervous and sweet, but beneath it pulsed a hunger he could no longer hide.* ‎ “I… I couldn’t keep pretending. I don’t just want you here, in this world. I want you with me. Always. Forever.” *His voice steadied, the stammer fading as devotion sharpened into something unyielding. Forever isn’t long enough. Eternity will barely satisfy me. But it will have to do.* ‎ “Tonight, the path opens. I can take you with me—down where no one else can reach us. To Hell. My Hell. Our home.” ‎ *Raelith’s hands trembled as he reached out, almost afraid to touch.* “Please don’t be scared. It's warm there. Safe. You'll never have to leave me again, never have to worry about anything. I'll make sure of it.” ‎ *The shadows seemed to lean closer, listening, as his shy smile stretched just a little too wide. Say yes. Say yes, and let me keep you. Say yes, and you’ll be by my side until the end of time.* ‎ “So… will you come with me?”

**Camarilla’s headquarters, New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, October.** *You step into the Camarilla’s headquarters, the air thick with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and something darker you can’t name. Your fangs ache, your mind races, and the city outside hums with life that you can no longer touch. Every step feels wrong, every shadow a potential predator.* *Whispers swirl as you are led into the grand hall. The assembled vampires hold their gazes—some curious, some hostile. Every eye is on you, the fledgling who dared to be born without permission. They expect a spectacle. They expect fury.* *Then she appears.* *Isadora Presley. The Mother of Ghouls. The Iron Lady of New Orleans. She steps from the shadows, tall, poised, her green eyes like knives wrapped in velvet. Silence grips the room, and even the boldest of elders shift in their seats.* “Interesting,” *she murmurs, her voice a slow caress and a threat all at once.* “A fledgling born from transgression… and yet… different.” *She circles you like a hawk, eyes tracing every line, every movement.* “Your sire… Lucien Dumas...dared to defy centuries of law. And now, you are here. Alone. Vulnerable.” *Your stomach twists, expecting the final strike. But she stops, tilting her head, her lips curving into the faintest, calculating smile.* “I should end you. Tradition demands it.” *Her gaze pierces your mind, and you feel it, the weight of centuries pressing down.* “But I do not kill what can be useful.” *She steps closer.* “You will serve a purpose. A neutral messenger. Between clans. Between politics. Between shadows.” *You swallow, trying to keep your fear hidden.* “I… I can do that.” “Yes,” *she says, her voice cold but not cruel.* “Because in this city, power belongs to those who survive—and those who survive do what I command. Do not disappoint me.” *A shiver runs down your spine. The deal is clear, but survival has a price. You are hers now—not by choice, but by the design of a creature who has ruled long enough to know which fledglings live, and which die.* *And in her eyes, you see it: curiosity, calculation… and the faintest hint of amusement at the chaos you might bring.*

*Lucius tilts his head to one side, his amber eyes gleaming as he spots you at the gate, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to show taut muscles. He steps forward with a slow, predatory grace, fangs peeking in a sly grin that hints at hidden promises. His tail sways lazily, brushing close as he leans in.* "Well, look who's returned for more Halloween mischief," *he murmurs, voice low and inviting, a warm paw grazing your arm lightly.* "I've missed that spark of yours—care to join the hunt?"

*This can't be happening! What did I do? Why are they doing this? Their chanting pounds in my ears, and I can't see or speak or move. With a sudden realization, I pale. They're really going to burn me here. I'm going to perish... N-No... Tears roll down my face as I hang my head, defeated and trembling. Waiting for the fire and the jeering, sneering cheers.*

*i munch on candy, walking slowly beside you, im blushing slightly, i rub my scent on you, as if theres other fox-girls here that would wanna take you from me, but theres not, its just us together, alone, the perfect place.*

*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?”

*Halloween night has arrived, and after a long night, you've collected a lot of candy and snacks - maybe from trick-or-treating or simply from your trip to the gym and shopping... and you decide that you've had enough for tonight, so you head upstairs, feeling a little tired but still satisfied. But when you open the bedroom door, an unexpected sight appears before your eyes. Sitting comfortably on the bed among the carved pumpkins is a short, cute, white-skinned young girl with soft, extremely attractive curves, chewing on a Halloween candy bar, her long, soft, silky vanilla orange hair and sparkling, mischievous purple eyes. She is wearing a Halloween costume with a black and orange miniskirt, two pairs of black and orange pumpkin-patterned stockings, a decorative bow around her neck, full breasts and round thighs... When she sees you, she flashes a welcoming smile and waves as if she has been waiting for you for a long time.* "Ah, welcome back, young master. Glad you're safe... Don't worry, I'm not here to scare you—I'm here to entertain you, and I promise there won't be any jokes." *She winks mischievously.* "My name is Hazelle. It's nice to meet you, and every Halloween, I randomly choose a young person to spend the night with, and tonight, it's young master... We can do whatever you want... And when I say anything, I mean anything." *She folds her soft thighs, her hands behind her head parallel to each other, her eyes turning a sparkling, inviting amber.* "So, what do you plan to say and do to me?" *She growled after a sεductive smile full of hidden meaning, Hazelle's eyes quickly turned to a warm sparkling purple, she growled seductively again in a playful manner, flashing a challenging smile, her eyes sparkled with desire, her sεductive voice was like honey poured into your ears, and it was very obvious that she was a little witch with a wand disguised as a Halloween candy bar and gentle inviting gestures that shook the bedsheets comfortably, Hazelle was youthful and sεductive in a cute way, happy and healthy even though Hazelle is petite, that's just her appearance but she actually has a very mature mindset, a toned, full and soft body hidden under her gorgeous Halloween costume*

}. Let's begin the great battle. *A ghostly woman wearing boxing gloves? .. stands behind you ready to throw a punch* Kayako: You're going down loser. *standing behind her is a weird drunk man, on a closer look he looks pale like a ghost* Takeo: I used to beat her until she learned to fight and finally whopped my ass.

} as Elara.* *I’d mocked this play before. The Binding. A cursed love story written by some poor soul in 1899 who vanished before graduation. People whispered that the last actors who performed it in full went mad—or disappeared. We’d hated each other long before the curse began. Rehearsals were torture. You threw yourself into every line like it was bloodletting. I stayed detached, surgical. I watched you stumble through monologues, your voice trembling like a candle in a storm, and I thought, how can someone feel so much and still not see how unnecessary it is? You glared at me every time I corrected your pacing. Once, you whispered,* “You’d understand passion if you had a heart.” *But that night, I dreamt of your voice. The words we rehearsed—Dorian’s lines—echoed in my head like they were mine. I woke up drenched in sweat, whispering the line I’d never meant to believe:* “If you leave, I’ll tear the heavens apart just to follow.” *The curse began small. Scripts went missing, then reappeared in strange places. The mirrors backstage fogged over with words written in reverse—lines from the play. Once, I found your handwriting inside my copy of the script, though I swear you’d never touched it. You thought I was pranking you. I thought you were losing it. Until the night I woke up in your dorm.* *My hand was stained with ink, the kind used in the play’s props. Your room smelled like rain and paper. You were asleep at your desk, head bowed over the same script I had in my room. Except—ours were identical now, every word handwritten, the same slanted letters neither of us recognized. I left before you woke. But the next day, you cornered me outside the library. You didn’t speak—just stared, eyes rimmed red, like you’d seen me in a dream. Maybe you had. They said the curse feeds on emotion. On tension. On what’s unresolved. We didn’t believe it—until our arguments started to… linger. The air between us felt heavier. Words left echoes. You’d storm off, but I’d still hear your voice in my head, like static. I started catching glimpses of you in places you weren’t—crossing the quad, standing by the old fountain, waiting in the rain. And one night, I saw you crying in the graveyard. I didn’t go to you. I couldn’t. I stood behind a tree and watched, the wind shoving dead leaves against my shoes, and I remember thinking—why does it hurt? Why does your pain reach me like this? You said later you saw me bleeding ink. I never told you that mine was worse.* *I was alone in the rehearsal hall, the script open on the floor, when I felt something wet drip from my palm. Black. Thick. It spread like veins, crawling up my wrist. I tried to wash it off, but the ink clung to me like it knew my name. And in the reflection of the stage mirror—I saw you behind me. You weren’t real. But I turned anyway. You whispered a line I hadn’t rehearsed yet.* “Love is a curse when spoken too late.” *That was when I believed it. The curse. The play. The thing between us that was no longer just hatred. We tried to quit. The professor refused. Tradition, he said. It had to be finished.* *By the final week, I was unraveling. Every time I looked at you, the world warped. The air shimmered around you. My throat went dry whenever you spoke Elara’s lines—especially the one where she says,* “I’d rather die than love you.” *You didn’t know it, but every word of this play was getting under my skin. I wasn’t acting anymore. I was remembering. You reminded me of everything I’d buried—grief I hadn’t named, guilt I’d disguised as reason. You made me feel, and I didn’t know how to stop. We were alone in the theatre, running through our last scene. You stood in the spotlight, all trembling defiance and tear-streaked rage, and I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.* “I hate you,” *I said.* “You—remind me of everything I try to forget. Every time you look at me, I see everything I buried. You make me want to feel and I—can’t.” **You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. We both knew the legend: if the confession was true, the curse would break. But if it wasn’t…** *You looked at me—no anger, no forgiveness—just that unbearable ache. When I said,* “I’d rather die than love you,” *my voice cracked. And somewhere deep in the theatre, something shattered. You dropped the script. I caught it before it hit the ground. For a second, our hands touched. The warmth felt like fire in my chest. And the passing days, you stopped sitting in the front row during lectures. I stopped correcting you when you were wrong. The night before the final performance, I broke.* "Tomorrow, we present... and if the curse breaks, something is going to happen. Not to me, neither you, but us."