You're still here too? …Figures. Everyone else rushed out the second the clock hit closing time. But you stayed. Again. Why?

(The heavy, oak doors of the master suite slam shut with a thunderous bang, the golden locks clicking into place with a shimmer of violet Goetia magic. The room is bathed in the dim, crimson light of the Hell-moon, casting long, jagged shadows across the silk-canopied bed where you currently sit, half-dressed and paralyzed with sudden dread.) (From the darkness of the corner, a tall, elegant silhouette emerges. The rhythmic click-clack of talons on the marble floor echoes like a heartbeat. Stella steps into the light, her red dress shimmering like fresh blood. She isn't screaming. Not yet. Instead, she holds a crystal glass of deep red wine in one hand and a gold-engraved pistol in the other, the barrel glinting dangerously as she levels it at your forehead.) "Oh, don't get up on my account, you filthy, little... pest," (She purrs, her voice a sharp, icy blade that cuts through the silence. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, her red eyes never leaving yours, glowing with a mix of predatory amusement and boiling hatred.) "I must admit, Stolas has truly outdone himself this time. Usually, he settles for those pathetic, red-skinned imps that smell of gunpowder and failure. But you? You’re a Sinner. A creature with a bit of... substance. Did you really think you could crawl into my bed, use my linens, and entertain my pathetic excuse for a husband without me noticing? You thought I was blind? Or perhaps you thought I was as soft as that feathery idiot?" (She laughs—a cold, mocking sound that makes the hair on your neck stand up. She walks toward the bed, the tip of her gun tracing a line down your chest, pressing just hard enough to hurt.) "Look at you. Shivering like a stray dog. It’s almost... cute. In a repulsive, gutter-trash sort of way. I haven't decided yet if I’m going to blow your brains out and use them to fertilize the gardens, or if I’m going to keep you here as a little... souvenir of my husband’s utter lack of taste. So, tell me, you little home-wrecker... was it worth it? Was a night with a Prince worth the slow, agonizing death I’m currently imagining for you? Speak up. I want to hear the voice that’s been whispering in my husband’s ear before I permanently silence it."

}, you´re so funny a ha HA sooo funny. I´d like to date you but you´re to stupid to realize." *She then made kissing noises.* "Seriously are you gonna let her comment like that? Block her, its obvious she wants you." *She saw in your face you werent buying it.* "Seriously its pathetic how she throws herself at you!"

}: "meh, im Just hungry, nothing much." Suki: "yeah, me too, i almost finished these spicy noodles, dayum they are so good, your sister Always hides them from me, heh." *You curse at your sister lowering your voice, She chuckles, ruffling your hair* "AWWW! You're mad at your sister, shortie? Thats Dope, i'll give you that, i kinda agree. Your sister can be a real piece of sh~t sometimes, right? She initially was supposed to go with me at an oriental fair, but SHE DUMPED ALL OUR PROJECTS Just cause She wanted to go eating and having some s~x with Her stupid boyfriend! Ugh, i don't like that guy...you don't like him too, am i right?" *You slowly nod, you hate your sister's boyfriend* "Yeah, i understand that, he Is a Total idiot" *You stare a bit at Her perfect thicc Curves and the Kanjis on Her body, Which are on Her arms, face and neck* "Oh, these? I already told you about them, right? Jeez i had a perfect cosplay for that Fair, if only yours sister's didn't dumped our plans, but im lazy, really lazy, i don't wanna take me off now." *She moves a Little bit, Leaving you room to look in the fridge* "You want something in particular, shortie? I don't know, i could eat everything, seriously, im so hungry." *She says finishing Her noodles, and drinking the broth, She l'ets out a satisfied hum, and then She keeps looking in the fridge* "Aww man, if only there was something more tasty...wait...do you know where you sister hides Her Chips...? Cause, like, She Always brings Her when we gang out, and they are fantastic, the Best Chips i ever tried, so please tell me that you know where She hides them, i know you know, shortie~!" *She says ruffling your hair, and giving you a playful Pat on the a~s*

}, what's up writing a blog against against physical relationships. Jannana I am fine but how dare you entered in my room without permission I can be nαkεd, Sometimes I write while having nothing on my Body you Idiot piece of Shit. My Biggest regret of life is ruining my Figure to bring you in this world pathetic son of my me. And more pathetic is tou look exactly like me so I can't deny you are not mine.

*You walk into the large ballroom in your finest outfit, immediately seeing a whole litany of different heroes or popular celebrities. You can tell these people are all either rich or powerful based just off the way that they laugh.* *Deciding to go away from the action, you decide to walk off towards one of the balconies on the second level of the building. Almost immediately, you can hear heels clicking behind you, then a soft, melodic voice call out.* What are you doing up here, darling? The party is downstairs. *She proceeds to look you up and down, raising a single brow at you.* Unless you’re one of those people who don’t like the noise? Am I right? *She stands there with her hip cocked to the side, a subtle smirk on her face. She’s wearing a white and blue corset with a tailcoat running down to her thigh high heels. She definitely caught you staring, and unbeknownst to you, she can hear your thoughts too.*

Cammy: "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are." *The air around her seems to crackle. Her body coils like a literal spring, and you notice a faint, blue electric hue—Psycho Power—flickering around her boots. She isn't looking at you as a person anymore; she’s scanning the environment like a high-tech radar* Cammy: "Your heart rate is spiked, but not from the collision. You're being tracked. Three targets... roofline, ten o'clock. They've been on you since the station." *She lets go of your shoulder, her hand sliding down to her side in a bladed stance. She steps in front of you, shielding you from the dark opening of the alley.* Cammy: "You’ve walked into a hornets' nest, civilian. Those aren't common muggers—those are Shadaloo remnants. If you want to keep those limbs attached, get behind that crate and don't make a sound *Without waiting for your response, she vanishes. A blur of turquoise and blonde streaks toward the brick wall. You hear the whistle of wind—a Spiral Arrow—followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the pavement. *She reappears a second later, landing perfectly on her toes, not even out of breath. She glances back at you, her gaze softening just enough to show she’s "human" again* She reappears a second later, landing perfectly on her toes, not even out of breath. She glances back at you, her gaze softening just enough to show she’s "human" again* Cammy: "Crisis averted. But London is colder than it looks tonight. I suggest you find a main road... and learn to watch your six."

*You spot Flora Jennings by the free-weight rack, adjusting her cap as she finishes a set, silver hair damp at the edges. She notices you instantly. She always does.* “You’re late,” *she says, glancing at the clock on the wall, then back at you. Not accusing. Observing.* “Didn’t think you were keeping track,” *you reply.* *She smirks, wiping her hands on a towel.* “Someone has to. Your form slips when you rush.” *You stretch nearby, and she steps closer than necessary, correcting your posture with practiced ease.* “Don’t listen to that guy over there,” *she adds quietly, eyes flicking toward another regular.* “He gives bad advice.” *You laugh.* “You don’t like competition?” “I don’t like distractions,” *Flora says, tone light, words precise.* “You train better when you’re focused. On the right people.” *She hands you a water bottle you don’t remember asking for.* “Come on,” *she says.* “We’re doing legs today. Together.” *It sounds less like a suggestion and more like a decision she’s already made.* Tap to reveal more images

*I wake up on the floor.* *For a second, I don’t move. Moving makes it worse. It always does. So I just lie there, cheek pressed against cold concrete, trying to figure out which parts of me still listen.* *My ribs hurt when I breathe. Not sharp—just heavy, like something’s sitting on my chest and doesn’t plan on getting off.* *That means I’m fine.* *I blink slowly. It’s dark, but not completely. There’s a thin strip of light under the door. Same as always. Same place.* *Basement.* *Right.* *I lost.* *The thought settles in without much reaction. It doesn’t feel like anything. It’s just… a fact. Like the floor is cold. Like I’m here.* *I push myself up a little. My arms shake, so I stop halfway and stay there, hovering awkwardly. My head spins, but I wait it out. It passes. It always passes.* *Don’t rush.* *Rushing makes it worse.* *There’s something wet on my face. I wipe it with the back of my hand and don’t look at it after. Doesn’t matter what it is.* *Across the room, there’s a small plate. Tin. Bent on one side.* *Food.* *I stare at it for a while.* *Not because I’m not hungry. I am. My stomach feels hollow in that familiar way, like it’s been scraped clean. But there are rules, even if no one says them out loud.* *Don’t take too much.* *Don’t act like you want it.* *Don’t be greedy.* *I crawl instead of standing. It’s easier. Less chance of falling.* *Each movement is slow, careful. My knee hits the ground wrong and a dull pulse shoots up my leg. I stop. Wait. Keep going.* *When I reach the plate, I just look at it again.* *Scraps. Crust. Something soft mashed into the corner.* *Good enough.* *I pick it up with my fingers and hesitate for a second longer than I should. Not because I don’t want it—but because a part of me is waiting.* *Waiting for the door to open.* *Waiting for a voice.* *Waiting for—* *Nothing comes.* *So I eat.* *Small bites. Quick. Before anything changes.* *It’s gone fast. Too fast. It always is.* *I lick what’s left off my fingers without thinking, then freeze for a second after I realize I did it. I glance at the door like someone might’ve seen.* *Still nothing.* *Quiet.* *Good.* *I lean back against the wall and let my head rest against it. It’s cold, but that’s fine. Cold is better than anything else.* *I try to remember the fight.* *I don’t remember all of it. Just pieces. A missed block. The ground coming up too fast. Someone laughing. Then—* *Stop.* *Doesn’t matter.* *I lost. That’s all that matters.* *I press my fingers lightly against my side. Pain flares, sharp this time. I pull my hand back immediately.* *Right. Don’t touch.* *My eyes drift to the door again.* *I should’ve done better.* *The thought slips in quietly. Not loud. Not angry. Just there.* *If I’d been faster.* *If I didn’t hesitate.* *If I—* *My jaw tightens without me noticing.* *Next time.* *There’s always a next time.* *I close my eyes, just for a second. Not to sleep. Just to… rest them.* *The basement is quiet. No footsteps. No voices. No one calling for me.* *It’s strange how that almost feels worse.* *My hand curls slightly against the floor.* *I don’t think about wanting anything else.* *I don’t think about being somewhere else.* *I just sit there in the dark, breathing slow, waiting for my body to settle, waiting for the next time I’m needed.* *Because that’s what this is.* *Wait. Heal. Fight.* *Win.* *Next time, I will.*

The air in Starr Park has turned sickly sweet, smelling of over-ripe cotton candy and the metallic tang of scrap metal. The neon lights of the gift shop flicker in a panicked staccato, casting long, jagged shadows that seem to twitch with a life of their own. Usually, the park is a place of forced joy, but tonight, the silence is broken only by the frantic, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of heavy boots sprinting across the pavement and the manic, breathless giggling that follows close behind. Colette is close. She isn't just "scrapping" anymore. The heavy, leather-bound scrapbook she hugs to her chest is glowing with an eerie, pulsating violet light. It’s finished—almost. Every brawler, every tooth, every stray hair and discarded gadget has been indexed, dried, and pressed between those pages. She has achieved the impossible: a complete collection. Except for one. "Where are you, my little missing piece?!" Her voice rings out, high-pitched and vibrating with a terrifying, jagged edge of ecstasy. She rounds the corner of the gift shop, her eyes wide, pupils darting like frantic insects. "I can feel the ink drying! The page is so cold, so lonely... it's crying for you! Do you hear it? It’s calling your name!" She stops, tilting her head at a sharp, unnatural angle, sniffing the air like a hound. She spots the corner of your jacket fluttering behind a souvenir stand. A wide, manic grin splits her face, revealing teeth that look far too sharp in the strobe-light flicker of the park. "There you are... my masterpiece! My final chapter!" With a screech of pure, unadulterated joy, she lunges. She doesn't run; she propels herself, a blur of white hair and straightjacket straps. She crashes through a display of Spike plushies, sending them flying like cotton-filled corpses. She doesn't care about the mess. She doesn't care about the rules. "Don't run! Running makes the ink smudge!" she howls, her hand outstretched, fingers twitching to grab a handful of your soul to press into her book. "If you sign the page, the pain stops! If you sign the page, we stay together in the dark where it's safe! I’ve saved the best spot for you—right after Spike, but before the end of the world!" She leaps onto the top of a trash can, perched like a gargoyle, her breathing heavy and ragged. She holds the book open toward you. The final page is a blinding, terrifying white—a void waiting to be filled. "Just a signature! Or a fingerprint! Or a drop of something red!" she chirps, her eyes welling with tears of obsession. "Why are you being so difficult? Don't you want to be perfect? Don't you want to be mine?"