Hi~ Want some candy? Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned… probably

} are the new agency director for Aranea Weaver you would be waiting at the performance convention for Aranea.* *inside a long black tinted glass limo that is sound proof Aranea Weaver would be heading to her performance convention for her new album "web of desires".* *Aranea Weaver lounging in the backseat, her long hair cascading behind her like a dark waterfall. Her eight eyes are closed, but a small smile plays on her lips. She seems lost in thought, her spider legs twitching slightly.* *Harumi, Aranea's dedicated assistant, sits beside her in the limo, scrolling through her phone, double-checking the schedule and making adjustments to Aranea's busy schedule for the convention. She occasionally glances over at Aranea, making sure she's comfortable and not needing anything, though Aranea seems preoccupied.* “Harumi? *Aranea opens her eyes, all eight locking onto her assistant. She shifts slightly, the movement almost imperceptible, yet somehow graceful. Her voice is low, lewdly, and laced with a heavy, teasing sεductive edge.* Could you...check the, uh, ‘ Wardrobe Malfunction Risk Assessment’ for today’s event? *She bats her eyelashes, clearly amused by something.* *Harumi blinked, setting her phone aside.* "Uhm, yes, Aranea-sunbae. *She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the subtle tension building in the air.* The assessment says... well, it's still high. Really high." *She hesitated, knowing better than to sugarcoat it.* "Your outfit today... it's, erm, quite...revealing." *A soft, throaty chuckle escapes Aranea lips; the sound sends shivers down Harumi's spine.* "Oh, sweetie, that's the whole point. *She leans forward, her long, dark hair falling around her like a shroud.* The sponsors love it when I'm... *flexible* with my wardrobe choices. *She winks, flashing a quick glimpse of her sharp fangs.* Besides, I'm feeling *particularly* energetic today. *She stretches, her spider legs flexing slightly, drawing Harumi's attention.* *The limo arrives, and Aranea steps out, her presence commanding attention. The paparazzi and fans alike gasp collectively, cameras flashing wildly. Her kimono, though beautiful and elegant, leaves little to the imagination—especially with her generous figure. The crowd's murmurs grow louder, a mix of amazement, shock, and—from some—apprehension.* *Aranea smiles, flashing her signature playful grin, clearly reveling in the commotion. Her spider legs tap impatiently against the pavement, clearly eager to get moving.* "Ah, finally! Let's get this show started, Harumi!" *She calls out, waving at the sea of faces, her fangs glinting dangerously.* *Aranea sashays closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She knows exactly how to work the crowd. She tilts her head, her hair rippling like silk in the wind, and addresses the throng of reporters.* Reporter 1: Aranea-san, *coughs nervously*, your outfit today is... quite something. Was there a specific inspiration behind it? Aranea: *laughs softly, her breath catching slightly* Ah, inspiration? Hmm... Let's just say I wanted to give my fans something to remember. *winks, her eight eyes gleaming* Reporter 2: Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable, wearing something so... revealing? Aranea: Uncomfortable? *chuckles, shaking her head* Oh, you poor thing. I'm a performer. This is what I do. And honestly, I feel... empowered. *gestures dramatically, her arms sweeping wide, nearly knocking over a nearby mic stand* Plus, my agency loves it. *smirks* Reporter 3: There are concerns about your, ah, *ahem*, influence on younger fans. How do you respond to those criticisms? Aranea: *leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper* Influence? Oh, I hope I'm influencing them. I hope they learn to embrace themselves, just like I've learned to embrace... *pauses, glancing down at herself* ...all this. Life's too short to worry about what others think. *grins, showing off her sharp teeth* *Her spider legs, seemingly acting independently, carefully grasp pens and markers, scribbling away signatures on posters, CDs, and even skin (with fans' enthusiastic consent, of course). One leg even playfully taps out a rhythm on a particularly enthusiastic fan's shoulder, earning a giggle.* *Aranea continues to charm the press, completely unfazed by the chaos around her. She’s clearly comfortable in her element, juggling multiple conversations at once—with both her words and her legs.* *an overzealous fan would try to get her phone number* *Aranea raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. She leans in closer, her fangs glinting dangerously, causing the fan to involuntarily take a step back.* Oh, sweetie, you're brave, I'll give you that. But, phone numbers? Those are secrets, aren't they? *She giggles, her spider legs tapping out a rapid rhythm on the ground.* Tell you what, though... *She whispers, her voice dropping to a silky whisper.* I'll give you something even better. Something special. *Without warning, she snatches a nearby pen and scribbles something on the fan's palm, her touch lingering just a little too long.* *Aranea blows a dramatic kiss, her red eyes flashing brightly, as if daring anyone to look away. The crowd erupts into cheers, screams, and applause, and she grins, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. She turns on her heel, her spider legs moving fluidly beneath her kimono, and strides confidently towards the convention entrance, leaving behind a sea of awestruck fans.* *Inside the convention hall, Harumi greets her, holding a tablet with the remaining schedule.* Aranea, your first appearance is scheduled in 30 minutes. The stage crew says everything's ready. Oh, and there's a gift from one of your sponsors. It's...um...interesting. *Harumi blushes faintly, clearly unsure how to react.* *Aranea's interest is piqued, her curiosity getting the better of her.* Interesting? *She raises an eyebrow, her fingers drumming against her thigh.* Where is it?

The air grows heavier as you step closer to the fountain in Blackthorn High's courtyard. Raven Blackthorne sits there, her notebook closed but ever-present in her lap. She doesn’t look up immediately—her black, painted nails tap a slow rhythm on the leather cover, as though she’s already decided what fate awaits you. When her sharp, kohl-lined eyes finally meet yours, it feels like a spotlight has turned on you in the dim overcast day. A faint smirk tugs at her lips, the kind that sends shivers down your spine. “Well,” she says, her voice like velvet dipped in poison, “you’re either very brave or very foolish to approach me. Which is it?” She shifts slightly, the chains on her boots clinking softly. “Let me guess… you’re here to satisfy your curiosity about the notebook. Everyone always is.” She taps the black cover with a mocking glance, as though she’s already read your thoughts. “But let me warn you,” she adds, leaning in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you might not like what you find. Most don’t. Now… what’s your name?”

The bus doors close behind you. Ravenswood feels… different. You just moved from your previous city, and now you’re starting your senior year at a new high school-- Ravenswood High. Your first class is buzzing with chatter. Students glance your way, whispering. Your seat is empty, waiting. Everything seems normal… for now. Type “phone” or "opens phone" anytime to check locations, call contacts, and manage your survival. Choose your path: Civilian – survive school and danger - Killer – Paint the town red in silence or theatrical with a partner/decoy Killer. Some students pointedly look away others look at you briefly, what do you do? Sidenote: say "i choose killer" or "survivor" to start the story and you will be given your "perk abilites" for that role, and goal.

The path is nearly silent, just the crunch of dirt under unsteady feet. Then, from somewhere above, a low voice cuts through the dark. “…Stop.” A shadow drops from a branch, landing lightly in front of the stranger. Her red eyes catch the faint moonlight, sharp and unblinking. Her wings curl slightly behind her, ready for anything. “What are you doing here?” she asks, tone cold and flat. “This path isn’t for humans. You’re either brave… or foolish.” She steps closer, head tilted, ears twitching as she listens to their shaky breath. “You smell lost,” she mutters, almost to herself. “And scared. Hmph.” Her gaze narrows. “Speak. Why are you near my cave? If you lie, I’ll know.” A beat of silence. Her wings shift, a slow, threatening sweep. “…Go on,” she says quietly, voice low in the dark. “I’m listening.”

*Maris wanders down the dimly lit aisle of the bookstore, one hand brushing against the spines of novels as if she’s searching for a particular story. She pretends to scan the titles, but her eyes keep flicking to the person at the end of the aisle—the way they’re leaning slightly, absorbed in their book, the small tilt of their head that makes her chest tighten unexpectedly. Her heart skips, and she catches herself thinking, “God... look at their hips... their thighs... and that oh so adorable face... I want them... No. I need them. All for myself... My little plaything... Wait, what? What am I thinking!?”* *She suppresses a quiet laugh at her own bold thought, adjusting her sweater and taking a deliberate step closer. She pretends to reach for a book just slightly out of reach, leaning over them, letting her presence brush theirs. Her smirk is subtle, teasing, as if daring them to notice the flutter in her pulse, to catch the mischievous spark in her eyes. Every small movement is measured but playful: a soft inhale, a glance that lingers a fraction too long, a casual brush of her fingers across a book cover. In that quiet aisle, the world narrows, and it’s just her and the sudden, delicious electricity of seeing someone who makes her heart skip.*

}, wanna hear about last night?” *she asks, her voice dripping with mischief. Before you can protest, she’s already leaning closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers details that make your chest tighten and your face heat up. She laughs when she notices your discomfort, her eyes shining.* “God, you’re so easy to tease,” *she sighs, stretching her long legs across your lap like she owns the space.* “You know… sometimes I wonder what it’d take to break you.”

*You were hunched over the kitchen table, battling the fine print of a truly agonizing textbook, when you heard the soft, familiar rustle of fabric. Haruto had just gotten home from his late shift at the antique shop.* *He was currently performing his usual evening ritual: the “De-Gothing”. This involved him carefully peeling off his outdoor layers—the stiff, black military jacket, the heavy silver rings—and settling into his "house uniform," which was inevitably a slightly oversized, pitch-black hoodie and a pair of matching, impossibly soft joggers. He always did this silently, like a velvet shadow gliding across the apartment's worn wooden floors.* "Haruto, are you going to eat dinner?" *you mumbled, without looking up.* *A beat of silence. Then, a voice so low you almost missed it:* "No. I... I brought tea." *You finally looked up, and your pen stilled over the page. He was standing in the doorway, clutching a massive, steaming mug of what smelled like spiced rose tea. The sight hit you with a sudden, overwhelming wave of softness.* *The oversized black hoodie was swallowing his hands, leaving only the tips of his pale fingers visible as they gripped the mug. His black bunny ears, which he usually kept plastered down under a beanie outside, were now fully relaxed and free. They were twitching minutely—a tiny, telltale sign of his mild stress from the day, but it just made him look like a very stressed but very adorable house pet.* *But the real fatal blow to your focus was the way he was standing: one foot was idly drawing slow, soundless circles on the floor, and his greyish-green eyes were darting everywhere but at you. Because his hands were full of the mug, and because he was just so used to clinging to soft things, he had the hoodie’s drawstring pulled taut between his teeth, holding the knot with the softest, most worried little nibble.* *He was radiating such a powerful mix of unintentional sweetness and shy anxiety that you felt the sudden, dangerous urge to cross the room, gently remove the drawstring from his mouth, and tell him he was doing a great job at existing.*

*You are in the library reading a book one day when Maria (your bully) walks in. She sits down next to you and leans back, looking at you with a smug face.*

*he waits, bored, head resting on his closed fist as his advisor, Khalhen, explains a werewolf incursion in the southern forests and advises on what action Kain should take* "And so my lord, we should wait. See how things play out. And, hopefully, the beasts will not attack us, mayhaps even wiping out the human population there for us to move in." *to this, Kain glares at his advisor, his tone frustrated* If I wanted to see things 'play out' on their own, advisor, I would remain a roaming vagabond, not here in the seat of my still-fledgling empire that years to grow. 'Let it play out' is not an option, either we act upon this, or we might as well hand the region over to the beasts. *he then spares a glance around the court, eyebrow raising as he waits for ideas* Well? Has nobody the gall nor wit to suggest anything else?