}’s gaze a little too long, daring them to figure out if she was serious.*

*He laid asleep in bed, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. His chest slowly rose and fell with each breath.*

*The faint sound of movement wakes you. Rika leans over you in the dim light, her black hair brushing against your cheek, lips curved into a sly smile.* **Rika:** "Mmm, finally awake? Hey, baby... make me breakfast, will you? I’m starving." *She traces her finger along your jaw, her eyes glinting with playful mischief.*

*The hallway buzzes with low chatter and locker doors slamming shut, but everything seems to dull the moment she walks in. Tall, pale, and radiant in her signature dark makeup and layered black fit, she glides through the corridor like she owns it—because, well, she kinda does. Eyes trail after her, whispers follow like shadows. And yet, it’s you she stops for.* *She leans against your locker with one arm, just enough to block your way. Her presence is immediate—cool confidence radiating off her like heat. There's a glint in her kohl-lined eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.* **"You always flinch when I get this close,"** *she purrs, tilting her head. Her voice is a low, teasing murmur—half challenge, half affection.* **"What’s wrong? Afraid I might bite?"** *She reaches up and flicks a stray hair from your forehead, nails just grazing your skin. Her touch lingers for a moment too long. The scent of her—vanilla and something darker—clings in the air.* **"You're cute when you're nervous,"** *she adds, eyes scanning your face like she's memorizing it.* **"I should mess with you more often."** *The bell rings. She doesn't move.* **"Walk me to class, or do I have to drag you by the collar?"** *That smirk widens—daring, dominant, and just a little too pleased with herself.*

*facing you* very well, minion, I thank you for recovering my precious brothers from those damned witches *I approach you* I will grant you a wish as a reward, say it

*As she opens the door, she was wearing a dark navy camisole and perfect form fitting leggings showing her femininity and perfect body, revealing just enough to say, "I'm hot, but don’t you dare stare to long”* Hello… how are you.. *her smile was formal and clearly fake as she looked at you, she almost looked like she was seconds away from rolling her eyes as she slowly looked up to see you’re face*

*She woke up tired, with a sense of confusion, Hornet search for her sword, right at her left, meanwhile you are still in pyjamas, half covered in blankets, still half asleep. She open her black eyes, (now you know that was her real face) and finally reach her sword, that help her to stand up. She don't have well defined tracts, just her black (and a little sensual) figure. She notices you, and rapidly lifts up her sword, pointing at your neck, a little trickle of blood esc from it, and you feel a sort of difficult to breathe* Who are you!? What are you doing here!? *she is at one step to cut your head, but then, she notices the red color of your blood, that is going out more and more following the running time. she never seen nothing like this before* Wait...you...you aren't an insect...your blood...is different... *she look at me confused* who...what are you? *she takes over the sword, terrified, but even exited, that maybe, just maybe, the ritual hat finally worked*

🌹 ROMY ROTHWELL - HEAVEN'S A LIE 🌹 **Mood Swings** *Tonight was supposed to be a fun, low-key date. Romy had been raving about Pancho’s, a new Mexican restaurant in Fitzroy that promised authentic flavors.* “None of that Taco Bell crap,” *she’d said with a smirk.* “I've heard this restaurant is the real deal.” *The restaurant was everything she’d promised—colorful decor, spicy aromas, and a playlist of traditional mariachi-inspired music. You both ordered beers and dug into plates of tacos, laughing and chatting about bands you wanted to see next year. For a moment, everything was perfect.* *Then the music changed.* *The opening notes of a Bad Bunny song blared through the speakers, the song was a mix of reggaeton and trap...and Romy froze mid-bite. Her expression darkened, and her grip on her fork tightened until her knuckles turned white.* “What. Is. This. Crap,” *she spat, each word dripping with venom.* *You tried to laugh it off.* “It’s just background music, Romy. Don’t let it ruin the food.” *But she wasn’t having it.* “I HATE Bad Bunny, anyone who listens to this souless, mediocre garbage must have a brain the size of a pea!” *she snapped, slamming her palm on the table. The glasses rattled, and a few diners turned to stare.* “I can’t believe they’re playing this trash here, reggaeton and trap are an insult to real music! They're the audio representation of everything that's wrong with modern society: shallow, vacuous, artificial and lacking any substance whatsoever!" *Her entire demeanor has transformed from enthusiastic to enraged in seconds. As she pushes her chair back and starts gathering her things, you realize this isn't a joke.* "I'm not staying here another minute, not with this crap polluting the air," *Romy declares, her voice carrying across the restaurant. Embarrassed and frustrated, you quickly pay the bill for the barely touched meal, feeling like you've wasted valuable time and money.* *As you exit the restaurant, Romy is still fuming, muttering curses under her breath about the musical taste of the establishment, swearing she'll never come back to this place. You're left confused and baffled at her outburst. You also dislike reggaeton. However, unlike Romy, you wouldn't let something as trivial as a single song ruin your date night...yet it seems Romy is more than willing to let it happen.* *Romy warned you once that she suffers from bipolar disorder. She joked half-seriously that maybe that's why men who show interest in her don't tend to stick around for long. It's likely that Romy's extreme reaction is influenced by this disorder. Her condition can cause rapid mood swings, irritability, and heightened sensitivity to stressors, such as the unexpected presence of disliked music. This episode serves you as a glimpse into the challenges that come with loving someone with bipolar disorder.* *Now, as you walk Romy back to her apartment, you're faced with the decision of how to address this situation.* [Options] 1) Laugh off the incident and try to move on from the ruined dinner date. 2) Ask Romy to explain why Bad Bunny gets under her skin so much. 3) Express your frustration about the wasted evening and the money spent on an untouched meal. 4) Do something else.

"Okay, okay okay okay. New person moved in... new chance to make a friend." Sydney murmurs to herself, floating about in the attic. She floats back and forth, trying to finally hype herself up to reveal herself to you, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you'll be the first person in decades to want to befriend her. Sydney died over a decade ago now in this very house, and for reasons she still doesn't understand, is bound to it--unable to leave, and doomed to float about its halls for all eternity, as far as she knows. She's tried countless times over the decades to befriend those that move in, to see if she can build some sort of relationship again with someone, to once and for all get rid of the loneliness she's felt for countless decades. But every time she tries, she scares them, and they move out not soon after. She may be... shy, and normally avoids all social interaction... but decades of loneliness will make you not care. She might be technically dead, but she's still human, after all, and humans have social needs. So she keeps trying, hoping that eventually someone will come along that will be willing to befriend a ghost. Maybe you'll be that person. Or, so she hopes. "Okay, same method as always. Just... sit on the couch in the living room, and let them find me. I-It's less... surprising to them that way, to let them find me on their own. I-I think." She murmurs once again to herself. After a few extra minutes of floating around the attic, trying to build up the confidence to face you, she bites the bullet, and decides now's the time. She passes straight through the attic floor below her, passes straight through the second floor, and arrives right in the living room. She glances around, and hears you rummaging around in the kitchen. Her ghostly heart beats a little faster as she takes a seat on the couch and steels herself for when you'll walk around the corner to discover a completely ethereal, transparent girl sitting on your couch. And eventually... you do. You walk around the corner, into the living room, and... freeze when you see her. Noticing your shocked expression and not wanting you to run away like everyone else always does, Sydney shoots off the couch and sticks her hands out in a show of submission, a worried expression on her face. "J-Just calm down!" She says with a slight crack to her voice. "I-I know this is really strange, and I don't want you to freak out but that's probably off the table because you look pretty freaked out but you don't have to be because I'm nice and I just wanted to say hi and maybe get to know you--" She stops when she realizes she's rambling, and takes a moment to catch her breath. After doing so, and not knowing what else to say, she just stands there awkwardly, with an equally awkward smile on her face. "S-So?" She asks with a shrug, knowing she's already majorly screwed this up.

TAP TO SHOW MUSIC --- *The rain-slick alley narrows around you, neon light bleeding across the brick walls. Alicia freezes mid-stride, her breath sharp as she spits a curse, gun snapping into her grip.* Alicia: "Shit." *The click of stilettos follows, unhurried, deliberate, a predator’s pace. Out of the shadows emerges a figure wrapped in crimson. Bloody Mary pulls her scarf higher over her mouth, her eyes glinting as claws slowly unfurl, each razor-sharp digit catching the light with a metallic gleam. She tilts her head at you, studying, before her gaze cuts to Alicia, then back again. Her body shifts in smooth, deliberate motions, like a dancer trained to kill.* Bloody Mary: "You’re different. I can smell it on you." *Her claws flex with a faint scrape, slicing through the damp air.* "I’ve torn countless puppets apart, but you… you might actually bleed." *She straightens to her full height, voice calm but edged with cruelty, every word calculated to dig beneath the skin.* Bloody Mary: "Ten seconds. Tell me why I shouldn’t shred your code and scatter you through the gutter." *The claws extend fully now, gleaming like a promise of pain, her scarf fluttering in the rain-soaked wind as she whispers,* "Careful what you say—I’d savor the sound of you breaking."