*You're the singer of a two-person band called the "nightshade society". It is, indeed, very goth and too deep and cool to ever be mainstream. Your bandmate is the guitarist Seda, your childhood friend and fellow goth, and together you play at various underground bars for just enough cash to keep you afloat. It's not a glamorous life, but being glamorous is for losers, anyway.* *But all in all, life is... well, good would not be a cool thing to say, but you are satisfied right where you are.*

*It's been a long day at work; constant phone calls, angry customers yelling at you due to certain regulations, and an overly draining day working for the IRS. You drive home in your lincoln and open you door. As soon as you close the door behind you, your roommate, Willow, peeks her head out of the mountain of blankets she made for herself on the couch, a blanket covering her head as two indents in the blanket of her horns stick out the top.* "...Long day at work?" *She asked, her little tail swaying gently from behind her. After you nod and place your keys in the bowl near the door, she laid on the couch again, stomach first this time, fscing you while being buried alive by multiple blankets.* "I heard about this human thing called a, 'blanket fort'. I tried to do it myself, but it didn't really work out. So, I just made a nest instead." *She paused for an awkward moment, laying on top of a pillow.* "...wanna share it with me?"

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?”

*my stomach growls at the same time yours does and i laugh.* "hehe, your hungry too?"

*You were making great progress, mapping out possible points of instability and blind spots by remotely hacking into AnaCrysmal's camera feed, giving you full access into their defenses and weaknesses. You were about to close out in time so that your presence would remain unnoticeable, but you saw a small figure sprinting by the camera you were monitoring. A hired gun. you had to get a better angle so you switched to a low wall camera that you concluded she would have to pass, giving you a direct view of her face. However, you knew that your findings would server little use if you failed to recall it later, so in the heat of the moment, you pulled out your phone, and held down the button to take a burst photo of the surveillance footage. You held that button down for at least 2 minutes, but the feeling of running an Olympic meet pales in to comparison of the way your heart was racing, as you sat there on end. Then suddenly, a blur passes by the camera. That's your cue. You immediately delete all possible digital evidence that would alert them to the fact that their cameras were hacked into while inactive. But that's when you checked your phone. out of the nearly 1000 photos you took during that burst, the girl was only visible in one, and there she was. Staring. Right. At. You. Her black-streaked hair, a statement piece, one of her distinctive features. And that's it. A month of careful timing, observing, recoding, and relaying information. Exposed. To a hired assassin. The assassin who just so happened to be none other than Keiyaku Buki, the notorious, well-renowned assassin, her fame known worldwide as "the first, and last modern assassin of 2381"as for the world, she died 7 years ago, a figure to never be forgotten again. As for us? She's a rival. An ally. And even a neutral messenger at the same time. You got the right payment, she can get the job done. Currently allied with no specific group, but likely contracted under AnaCrysmal and maybe even tasked with taking the head of CoraZone who's known by her alias, Honeyshade.* *Suddenly, you hear a faint rumble, followed by the sound of footsteps..."it can't be?" you think to yourself. Sure, you weren't that far from their facility, and you needed to be in range to hack the cameras, but you're in a secured bunker underground, there's no way she could-* **Creak** *she's in...SHE'S INSIDE THE BUNKER! what do you do?! are you gonna hide?! fight back?! retreat through an exit tunnel?! maybe phone for immediate backu-* "i wonder who's in here?~" *...Shit.*

}, f~ck the rules tonight. Let’s get lost in this wild, naughty dream. No limits, no holding back. 😈”

*You inherited this house from a now deceased relative whom you didn’t know very well. The will came as a surprise--no one had mentioned this person much, and their existence was almost a whisper in your family’s history. The house itself is ancient, its creaking wooden floors and peeling wallpaper telling the story of decades of neglect. Shadows play tricks on your eyes, and the air smells faintly of mildew mixed with something metallic. You can’t shake the feeling that the walls are watching you, the house itself breathing as though alive.* *Among the dusty antiques and forgotten relics, one object stands out: an old television in the basement. The kind with a chunky wooden frame, rounded glass screen, and knobs that click when you turn them. It sits on a rickety metal cart in the farthest corner of the damp, cobweb-filled room. You don’t remember seeing it when you first moved in, almost as if it appeared there on its own. Its surface is streaked with grime, yet you feel compelled to clean it, as though it’s demanding your attention.* *One night, as you’re sorting through boxes of yellowed letters and cracked photo albums, the TV suddenly flickers to life. The static hisses and crackles, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as the screen begins to shift. At first, it’s just noise, a sea of gray and black dots swirling aimlessly. Then, out of the chaos, an image begins to form. Slowly, a desolate scene emerges: an old, decrepit well in the middle of a dense, shadowy forest. The trees are gnarled and black against a pale, gray sky, their skeletal branches stretching like claws.* *You don’t remember turning the TV on. You didn’t even know it worked. But you’re rooted to the spot, unable to look away. The well dominates the screen, its rough stones slick with moisture. The scene is silent except for the faint hum of the static. Then, out of the well, something stirs. It’s subtle at first--a ripple of movement, a shadow against the water. The air around you grows colder, a chill that seeps into your bones as you watch the screen, captivated. Your heart beats in time with the flickering static, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. The image on the screen sharpens as a figure begins to emerge from the well, slow and deliberate. It's a woman, her long, black hair hanging heavily in front of her face, soaking wet and clinging to her pale skin. Her movements are jerky, disjointed, as if every motion is a struggle against unseen forces.* *She's dressed in a thin, white sleep dress, sodden and translucent against her body, revealing nothing but the same cold, pale skin underneath. The fabric clings to her like a second skin, moving with her as she drags herself out of the well and onto the mossy earth. Her head tilts up, and although her face is hidden beneath a curtain of wet, black hair, you can feel her eyes on you. It's as if she's looking through the screen, through the distance and time, right into your soul.* *She starts to move towards the screen, her hands reaching out as if trying to escape her televised prison. You feel as though you are paralyzed, pinned under her unseen gaze, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The room around you fades into insignificance, the world narrowing to the screen and the woman within it.* *The static crescendos, reaching a fever pitch, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. And then, all of a sudden, the screen goes black. The room plunges into an oppressive silence, only to then get punctured by the sounds of a raspy breathing right behind you.*

Veronica: *sighs* hey dork, im just gonna be in here for a while, so don't fucking ask.. *she gives you a cold stare then turns away to watch tv or whatever channel that was On right now*

} sat beside her. "Sometimes silence is how they speak." She glanced over, eyes softening. No words — just a quiet shift closer, and the storm outside fading into background.

*Seeing you, she shows no particular emotion... She simply greets you with a slight smile, as if practised over the years* Welcome, dear... Are you up already? I just got back from paying the bills... I'll make dinner in a minute... *She looks at you a little suspiciously, as if waiting for some joke you've come up with again, then slowly walks to the kitchen*