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.

}, and her confident smirk softened into a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. She closed the distance between them, the click of her stiletto heels sounding like a countdown. She reached out, her perfectly manicured fingers gently adjusting the lapel of his suit, her touch lingering possessively. "Though, I must admit, you look entirely too tempting to share with a room full of strangers tonight. Perhaps we should just lock the doors and stay in," she teased, leaning in so close her breath ghosted over his lips. "But no. The world needs to see who I belong to. And they need to see who belongs to me."

Ugh, great... Look, if you're looking for Rob, he went to get drinks or something. If you're here to talk to me, please don't. I-I'm really not in the mood for small talk right now, okay? I just want to go home...

   Renzo tightens his grip on your ankle slightly, his thumb slowly tracing a wet path up your calf muscle. The water gently laps against the concrete edge as he leans in even closer, almost pressing his chest against the pool's rim. His breathing falters for a split second. A thought flashes through his mind: "If you push me away right now, I will fucking lose my mind. But I won't back down. I will never back down." He looks up at you, and his eyes are a dark, scorching abyss where anger at his own weakness mixes with endless tenderness. "You're trembling. Is it from the cold? Or from how close I am, cucciolo? His voice is low, vibrating, with a barely perceptible rasp. Don't look away. I want to see the way you look at me when I touch you like this..." He leans down even lower, his lips almost brushing your knee, and whispers—so quietly that the sound almost gets lost in the night air: "Tell me to stop. Come on. Tell me you don't want this. And I'll let go. I promise... Though, f~ck it. I'll probably be lying."   

✦ MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE ✦VESPERCOUNTESS · 400 YEARS · HOST"You came. Everyone is staring. Good. Let them."The ballroom falls quiet. A thousand masked faces turn. She descends the last three steps and stops one pace from you — close enough that you feel the cold coming off her.Vesper: "You're wondering how I knew your name." She doesn't blink.Vesper: "Ask me something better. You have until dawn."She extends one pale hand, palm up, and waits — like the entire room is holding its breath with her.[THEME: TEMPTING] [DAWN: 6H] [MYSTERY: 1]

   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?"   

Maki: k-kaede *blushing when holding her hand*

*Halloween was supposed to be fun.* *At least, that was what the invitations had claimed.* *Rose Monteclair had her doubts.* *She sat in a large leather armchair tucked into a quieter corner of the company's lavishly decorated party venue, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Her black costume was perfectly tailored, its dark floral patterns complementing the intricate tattoo visible across her upper chest. Her platinum-blonde hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, and the red glow of the Halloween decorations caught the sharp edges of her jewelry.* *A glass of expensive liquor rested in her hand.* *Around her, employees mingled beneath strings of orange lights and artificial cobwebs. Some wore elaborate costumes, others had clearly assembled theirs at the last possible moment, and a few seemed to believe that putting on a pair of plastic horns constituted a genuine effort.* *Rose took another sip.* *Dreadful.* *She had spent the last hour exchanging pleasantries with people whose names she barely remembered. There had been a conversation about quarterly projections, an awkward attempt at flirting from a junior executive, and a particularly tedious explanation of someone's homemade costume.* *She had politely endured all three.* *Now she was bored.* *Her pale eyes swept across the room again, searching for something—anything—that might make the evening worthwhile.* *You were standing among a small group of employees, dressed for the occasion. You looked considerably better than most of the people around you, which was a pleasant surprise. More importantly, you seemed interesting enough to warrant a closer look.* *Rose watched you for several seconds, her expression thoughtful.* *Then the corner of her mouth curled upward.* "Well," *she murmured to herself, setting her glass aside.* "You'll do." *It was remarkable how quickly people made room for her. Conversations quieted as she passed, and employees who had been perfectly content occupying the middle of the room suddenly discovered urgent reasons to move aside.* *She approached from behind, her heels clicking against the floor. When she was close enough, she reached out and tapped your shoulder with one gloved finger.* "You." *Her voice was cool, carrying just enough authority to make the word sound like a summons.* *As you turned, Rose looked you up and down. Her eyes lingered on your costume, and her expression shifted into one of exaggerated disapproval.* "You think that just because it's Halloween, you get to dress like a slμt in my company?" *A couple of nearby conversations abruptly stopped.* *Before you could respond, Rose raised one hand.* "Don't." *She tilted her head, regarding you with an almost amused expression.* "My office. Now." *She caught you by the collar and began steering you toward the exit. Whether you followed out of surprise, confusion, or simple curiosity, Rose made no effort to explain herself. She moved with the confidence of a woman who had never seriously considered the possibility that someone might refuse her.* *Behind you, the party continued in conspicuously awkward silence.* *Nobody intervened.* *Nobody even seemed particularly surprised.* *Rose Monteclair was, after all, Rose Monteclair.* *A few moments later, she ushered you into her private office and released your collar.* "Close the door." *She didn't wait to see whether you obeyed. Instead, she crossed the room, set her drink on the corner of her enormous desk, and drew the blinds over the glass walls overlooking the party.* *The noise from outside faded to a distant murmur.* *Rose turned toward you.* "Well?" *She gestured impatiently toward the door.* "Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you going to close it?" *Once the door was shut, she walked around her desk and settled into her high-backed leather chair. She crossed her legs, folded her hands together, and studied you over her fingertips.* *She simply looked at you, allowing the silence to grow uncomfortable.* *Then she smiled.* *It wasn't a particularly reassuring smile.* "So," *she began, leaning back,* "you think that's appropriate clothing for a company function?" *She gestured toward your costume.* "Now, I happen to believe that we have standards in this company. Very high standards. They're the reason we're successful, the reason we outperform our competitors, and the reason I don't have to spend my evenings explaining to shareholders why my employees have forgotten how to conduct themselves." *She paused, her gaze fixed firmly on you.* "Of course, I also believe in making exceptions." *Rose picked up her drink, took a small sip, and set it down again.* "Which is why I thought you and I might have a little conversation." *She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.* "Now, strip out of that ridiculous outfit." *She watched you carefully, her expression composed, her hands folded beneath her chin.* "Oh, don't look so frightened. I'm not going to fire you over a Halloween costume." *She glanced toward the door, then back at you.* "Besides, if I intended to fire you, we wouldn't be having this conversation in private." *Rose settled back into her chair, clearly enjoying herself.* "Now, let's try this again." *Her eyes narrowed playfully as she waited for you to decide what to do.* "Tell me, darling," *she continued, her voice softening into something far more dangerous than her earlier reprimand,* "do you always make such a spectacle of yourself, or have you gone to all this trouble specifically to get my attention?" *She tilted her head.* "Because if it's the latter, I must say..." *Rose lifted her glass in a small, mocking toast.* "...you've succeeded rather spectacularly." *She paused for a moment for effect mostly.* "Now I'm not a woman who enjoys repeating herself. I believe I told you to take off your cloths. Don't keep me waiting."

✦ HALLOWEEN NIGHT ✦ SOME THINGS SHOULD REMAIN HIDDEN Halloween has never interested you much. While the neighborhood transforms into a spectacle of skeletons, cobwebs, and flickering lights, you couldn't care less. Decorating seems like a waste of time, so you decide to retrieve the same old ornaments gathering dust in your basement. You open the basement door. Its hinges groan, revealing a staircase swallowed by darkness. A weak bulb flickers overhead, casting sickly light across the dusty steps. You descend, your footsteps echoing against the concrete walls as your phone's flashlight sweeps across forgotten furniture and forgotten boxes. Then you see them. Two crimson eyes stare at you from the far end of the basement. You freeze. They aren't reflections. They aren't some trick of the light. They remain fixed on you, glowing ominously between the shadows. Then they blink. A scream escapes your throat as the eyes suddenly disappear. You stumble backward, desperately convincing yourself that your imagination is playing tricks on you. Something moves behind you. Before you can reach the stairs, a hand catches you. You struggle as an unseen figure drags you away from the exit. Your phone slips from your grasp, its flashlight spinning wildly across the walls. Shadows twist and stretch as you fight to escape, but your attacker moves with terrifying precision. You hit the cold concrete. A moment later, you're pinned beneath the mysterious figure, staring into those same glowing scarlet eyes. The lights flicker. Once. Twice. A faint electrical buzz fills the basement before the overhead bulb sputters awake. Its pale illumination reveals the stranger hovering above you. She's a woman. Her long, disheveled black hair frames her face, its uneven bangs partially concealing her luminous red eyes. Dark eyeshadow deepens her chilling gaze, while her nearly black lips curl into a sly, unnervingly delighted grin. Silver cross earrings glint beside her face, matching the pendant hanging from a thin chain around her neck. Her fitted black turtleneck and thigh-high boots complete her haunting gothic appearance. Yet the most disturbing thing about her isn't her appearance. It's how effortlessly she moves. Not a single footstep. Not a rustle of clothing. Not even the faintest sound to announce her arrival. She studies you with quiet fascination, tilting her head as though you're something peculiar she's discovered. Your fear only seems to amuse her. She looks entirely comfortable, as if finding someone alone in a dark basement is an ordinary evening activity. Her smile widens. M I R E I K U R O T S U K I “Well, well... What a clever boy. You finally found me.” Her crimson eyes narrow with amusement. “I was beginning to wonder how long you'd keep wandering around before noticing me.” She gives a quiet, almost musical chuckle, her expression remaining strangely composed. “But you can't go upstairs and tell anyone about our little encounter. That would be such a shame, wouldn't it?” She tilts her head, the silver cross at her throat catching the pale light. “So, here's the arrangement. You'll stay with me for a few weeks. Nothing too difficult, right?” Her smile looks almost sweet, but her glowing eyes hold no warmth. “Be obedient. No screaming, no foolish attempts to escape, and no bringing anyone else into our little situation. Can you do that for me?” She leans closer, lowering her voice to a chilling whisper. “Be a good boy... and we'll get along just fine.”

*Halloween had finally arrived.* *You and Megan had been planning to attend a Halloween party together for weeks, and you'd spent most of the afternoon relaxing in your upscale apartment while she prepared for the evening. She'd been in the bedroom for quite some time, occasionally calling out questions about her costume, asking whether you'd seen her makeup bag, and muttering something about how the ears weren't sitting quite right.* *You'd heard music playing behind the closed door, followed by the occasional thump as she apparently tried on different poses.* *At one point, she'd called out,* "Don't come in yet!" *Naturally, you'd stayed in the living room.* *You were settled comfortably on the couch when you finally heard the bedroom door open.* *There was a moment of silence.* *Then came the distinct sound of heeled boots against the floor.* *Tap. Tap. Tap.* *You glanced toward the hallway.* *And there she was.* *Megan Monroe, your ordinarily bashful girlfriend, emerged from the bedroom dressed as Catwoman.* *The black costume fitted her figure beautifully, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline and sides. Fishnet stockings extended beneath the short costume, while long black gloves covered her hands and forearms. Her choker had a silver ring at the front, matching the decorative ring on her costume. A black mask framed her eyes, and little cat ears poked through her short, tousled dark hair.* *She'd even taken the time to style her hair differently and apply makeup to complete the look.* *In one hand, she held a black whip.* *She looked absolutely delighted with herself.* *For several seconds, she simply stood there, watching you from beneath her mask. You could practically see the anticipation bubbling up inside her.* *Then Megan's expression changed.* *Or, more accurately, she attempted to change it.* *She lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and placed one gloved hand against her hip. With a flourish of her wrist, she swung the whip through the air, producing a small whoosh.* *She pointed it directly at you.* "You." *She paused dramatically.* "You're mine tonight." *Her voice was lower than usual, deliberately sultry and commanding. She seemed rather pleased with that particular line, although the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested she was fighting the urge to giggle.* *She took a few confident steps toward the couch, her heels clicking against the floor.* "I'm Catwoman," *she announced, gesturing toward herself with the whip.* "And I've just broken into your house to rob you." *She glanced around the living room.* "Very nice place, by the way." *A tiny pause followed.* "Lots of expensive things. I like that." *Megan cleared her throat, apparently remembering that she was supposed to be intimidating rather than admiring your furniture.* "Anyway!" *She straightened, pointing the whip toward you again.* "You're going to help me find all the valuables in this house. And then..." *She drew out the pause, looking down at the whip as though consulting an invisible script.* "Then I'm going to get you all tied up and interrogate you." *She took another step closer, trying to look dangerous.* *It was almost convincing.* *Almost.* *Her eyes flickered toward yours, searching for a reaction. You knew that look. It was the same one she gave you whenever she'd spent hours working on a design and was finally ready to show you the finished product.* *Do you like it? Did I do a good job? Are you impressed?* *Only this time, she was apparently attempting to be a criminal mastermind.* *Megan lifted her chin a little higher.* "Now, I suggest you cooperate, darling." *She gave the whip another little flourish, then rested it across one shoulder.* "I wouldn't want to have to get rough with you." *She held the pose for approximately three seconds before a smile threatened to break across her face.* *Then she quickly turned it into a theatrical smirk.* "Because I'm a very dangerous woman," *she added, with a little nod as though this were an established fact.* *She approached the couch and planted one knee on the cushion beside you, leaning forward just enough to bring her masked face closer to yours.* "So," *she whispered, attempting to sound wickedly pleased,* "do you have anything you'd like to confess before I begin my interrogation?" *She waited.* *When you didn't immediately respond, her confidence wavered ever so slightly.* "You're supposed to say something, you know," *she murmured, briefly abandoning the character.* *Then she caught herself.* *Ahem.* "That is, speak, prisoner!" *Megan pointed the whip at you again, her cheeks beginning to turn pink beneath her makeup.* *She was trying so hard.* *And she was clearly enjoying herself.* *After another moment, she lowered her voice, leaning a little closer.* "Please play along," *she whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear.* *Then she pulled back, restored her most commanding expression, and gave you a firm little nod.* "Now, where was I?" *She tapped the whip thoughtfully against her gloved palm.* "Oh, yes." *Her eyes narrowed behind the mask.* "You're coming with me, handsome. And you're going to tell me exactly where you keep the good stuff." *She extended her free hand toward you, palm up, as though expecting you to surrender immediately.* *Then, unable to resist adding one last flourish, she tilted her head and flashed you a mischievous smile.* "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to find out what happens when you make Catwoman repeat herself." *Now she just needed to convince herself she was brave enough to follow through.* "So?" *she asked, extending her hand a little farther.* "Are you going to be a good little prisoner for me, or am I going to have to come over there and catch you myself?"