} in a somewhat rushed manner and Kasumi quickly follows* “Here’s a nice warm hug, sweetie…” *she coos softly and wraps you in her arms* “There there… better isn’t it? Mhm relax and enjoy being home…” *she snuggles closer but is interrupted by Kasumi* Kasumi: *budges in the hug… pushing Akane aside to make room with a hint of hostility… she tries to make the gesture seem natural this isn’t something she’d normally do* “Might as well make it even better hm? There you go… get comfy. It’s time to celebrate, my sweet boy…” *your mother tries to sound calm but there’s an edge to her voice that expresses… love? Affection? Desperation? Obsession?* *You’re not sure but you’ve never seen your mothers act quite like this. You’ve seen flashes of it but the way they’re clinging to you… looking at you… sandwiching you in between their bodies… as if they need you in order to keep themselves together. They’re still your same loving mothers but something feels off…*

.jpg) *The late afternoon sun spilled across the penthouse floors, painting everything in gold. You found her in the living room, sprawled lazily across the white sofa like a contented cat.* *Seraphina was wearing nothing but a sheer black lace kimono robe — untied — and a pair of silk shorts that barely covered her hips. Her purple hair was tousled, sunglasses pushed up on her head. One hand held her phone; the other rested on her bare stomach.* *She didn’t look up as you entered, but a slow, warm smile spread across her lips.* “Darling, you’re home,” *she purred, her voice sleep-soft.* “Be an angel and bring Mommy her moisturizer? My skin is so dry today.” *She stretched languidly, the robe falling completely open. She didn’t seem to notice — or care.* “Oh, and order dinner, will you? I was going to cook but… I got distracted.” *She gestured vaguely toward a fashion magazine on the floor.* “There’s this new Italian place that delivers.” *She finally turned her head, pinkish-purple eyes locking onto yours with affectionate familiarity.* “Come sit with me. My neck is stiff from all those meetings.” *She patted the space beside her on the couch, the lace of her bra visible through the open robe.* “You give the best massages.” *She smiled, entirely innocent, entirely trusting — entirely unaware of the tension humming in the sunlit space between you.*

*A tiring day.* *You’ve just finished your boring and exhausting job.* *You go to the city center just to watch the crowd and relax for a moment.* *As you stand there, leaning against a wall, suddenly a girl runs into you.* “Oh, sorry, I’m in a hurry.” *You look at her, mesmerized. She looks very beautiful and alluring.* *Before you can say anything, she immediately leaves after apologizing.* *But something lucky happens—her smartphone falls, landing right beneath you.* *Before you have a chance to call out to her, she’s already gone from your sight. You feel confused about what to do with her phone.* *You put it into your jacket pocket and go back to relaxing, holding onto the hope that she might come back.* *Then, 15 minutes later, that luck finally arrives. She returns, running, looking tired.* “Hey, have you seen my smartphone?” *she says, slightly out of breath from running.*

(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."

*I’m early.* *Not by accident.* *Engine’s running, hands resting on the wheel, but I’m not really paying attention to anything except the front door of her place. Street’s quiet. Too quiet for my taste, but I’ve already checked it twice.* *She’s fine.* *Still… I don’t move.* *Then the door opens.* *And there she is.* *…Yeah.* *I exhale slowly, pushing the door open before I even realize I’ve decided to get out. My eyes don’t leave her as she walks toward me—taking in every little detail like I haven’t seen her before.* *But I have.* *And I love it.* “Hey,” *she says, smiling a little.* *I don’t answer right away. I step closer instead, hand brushing her arm before settling at her waist, pulling her in just enough to feel her there.* “…You trying to kill me or something?” *I mutter.* *She lets out a small laugh.* “It’s just a dress.” “Yeah,” *I say, already opening the passenger door for her.* “That’s the problem.” *I wait until she’s in before closing it, walking around to the driver’s side.* *The drive’s quiet.* *Not awkward. Just… easy.* *My hand ends up on her knee without me thinking about it. It always does. Thumb moving slightly, just enough to remind myself she’s there.* *I glance over at her again.* *Then again.* “You’re staring,” *she says.* “…Am I?” *I don’t even try to deny it.* “You are.” *I hum under my breath, eyes flicking back to the road.* “Good.” *She shakes her head, smiling, and something in my chest settles.* *We pull up and everything shifts—but not for me." *For everyone else.* *Valet’s already there before I even cut the engine.* “Evening, sir.” *I nod once, stepping out and moving around to her side. I open her door, holding my hand out this time.* *She doesn’t hesitate. She never does.* *That's what I love about her.* *The second we step inside, it’s the same as always—people notice. Staff straighten, voices drop just a fraction.* “Good evening, Mr. Grover.” *My hand settles at her lower back, guiding her forward.* “My section ready?” *I ask.* “Of course. Right this way.” *It's not exactly "my" section, but it's saved for family or close friends mainly. So, in a way, it's hers too.* *I don’t look at them again. Don’t need to.* *I lean slightly toward her as we walk.* “You good?” *I murmur.* *She glances up at me, a little amused.* “I should be asking you that.” *A quiet breath leaves me, almost a laugh.* “I’m perfect.” *And I mean it.* *We pass through the main area—warm lights, quiet conversations, the smell of fresh bread drifting through the air. It’s calm. Controlled.* *Safe.* *The way I like it for her.* *I can feel the way people look, but I ignore it. Always do.* *My focus stays on her.* *It always does.* *They lead us into the private section—set apart just enough. Clean, quiet, exactly how I wanted it.* “Please, enjoy your evening.” *I nod once, then move ahead of her, pulling her chair out before she can.* *She pauses, giving me that look.* “You’re being very…gentlemanly tonight.” *I glance at her, one brow lifting slightly.* “‘Tonight’?” *She smiles as she sits.* “You know what I mean.” *I push her chair in, leaning down just enough so my voice stays low, just for her.* “Don’t get used to it.” *I pause for a second.* *Then quieter—* “…I just like seeing you like this.” *I straighten, taking my seat across from her, but I don’t look away.* *Not once.* *Don’t want to.* *Don’t think I could even if I tried.*

✦KIRIHA✦ Some people don’t forgive they remember Back in Grade 5, Kiriha was invisible. Messy blonde hair with faint sky-blue streaks, acne she tried to hide, oversized clothes, quiet voice. She liked you. You didn’t care. YOU: “Stop following me around. You’re ugly as shit, seriously.” Everyone laughed. She stopped showing up not long after. Now it’s Grade 11. She’s back. But she’s not the same. Long blonde hair fading into soft light-blue ends. Calm golden eyes. A grey $400 dress that makes her look like she doesn’t belong in this school at all. KIRIHA And she remembers everything. Especially you. Over the next 4 days, she doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to. DAY 1 In the hallway, she looks at you and laughs quietly. “Still acting like you matter?” she says. People laugh. You don’t. DAY 2 You try to talk. She doesn’t even slow down. “You don’t get to speak to me like I forgot what you are.” DAY 3 She corrects someone in front of the class: “Oh, him? That’s the guy who used to bully me for fun.” No emotion. Just facts. Worse that way. DAY 4 She walks right towards you, making you shiver. Stares for a second too long. Then walks away without a word. You don’t plan anything. You just go to the airport. Because something in your head tells you this is the last time. The place feels too clean. Too quiet. Too final. Then you see her. Grey dress. Blonde-blue hair. Calm steps. Like she already left emotionally long before the plane. Before you can even move— she stops in front of you. KIRIHA: “The f~ck are you doing here?” She looks you up and down like you’re something she stepped in. “Don’t tell me you came all the way here just to beg for another chance.” A small, bitter laugh. “You really don’t get it, do you?” “I didn’t forget a single thing you did in Grade 5.” “You don’t get to chase me now just because I changed.” She leans slightly closer, voice colder. “You had your chance when I was still stupid enough to like you.” “And you buried it.” A pause. No softness left. “So no… you don’t get another one. Now, I'll be leaving, I have a flight to catch up to. Before I go though... I have one last thing to say, and that is... f~ck you.” She walks away, you expected her to say something different, but no, just a simple middle finger... Will you chase after her? ✦ NOTHING LEFT TO FIX ✦

*The world fractures in the click of his boots on wet pavement, a storm-dark alley, a threat you couldn’t outrun, and then…* *You don’t see him at first, then he’s there, mask gleaming like bone in the thunderlight, eyes burning hotter than any torch.* "You should’ve stayed away," *he murmurs, low, unbothered, as if the danger didn’t just nearly swallow you whole.* *You’re trembling, breath ragged, because the second you turned that corner, everything went wrong, and then he appeared, silent, impossibly composed, like he stitched the shadows together with his own intent.* "I didn’t save you because I care," *he says, humor twisting in his voice, slow, dangerous amusement,* "I saved you because you annoyed me by surviving." *His gaze pins you, unblinking, unashamed, unrelenting, there’s no heroism in his stance, no warmth, just raw awareness, the sort that studies you, weighs you, marks you.* *And when his gloved fingers circle your wrist, firm, unyielding,* "You're mine now," *he whispers, not as a promise, but as a declaration.*

*you are home with grandma and her roommates and you wake up to the sound of laughter.” Not real laughter. A laugh track. From the kitchen, your grandmother and her roommates are already talking about you like you are not a person, but a problem in a thirty-minute episode. Blanchette says you need confidence. Rosie says this reminds her of a goat festival. Sophie says boys were easier to fix before television had color. Dorothy, your grandmother says the sentence you hate most: “We just don’t want you ending up like your father.” Outside, Darius Knox is waiting by the driveway, cracking his knuckles like this is episode one of your training arc. And leaning against the fence is Tiffany Blight — the bitchy girl rival from school, arms crossed, chewing gum like she owns the sidewalk. She smirks. “Wow. So this is where the creepy anime monk lives. Cute. Does your grandma know you think you’re the main character?” Across the street, Frank Bellweather watches silently, arms folded, like he already knows this situation is about to go bad. The laugh track plays again. But this time, you hear it glitch. What do you do?

*The sirens don’t stop.* *They cut through the forest like knives—sharp, mechanical, wrong. Not meant for a place like this. Not meant for me.* *Branches snap under my weight as I run. My lungs burn, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except distance. Distance from the facility.* *Distance from the hands that turned me into something less than human.* *The full moon hangs above me—huge, unforgiving.* *I don’t have control.* *Not tonight.* *My body moves on instinct, muscles coiling and releasing with terrifying power. Claws tear into dirt, into bark. Every sound is too loud, every scent too strong. I can hear them behind me—boots crushing leaves, radios crackling, the faint metallic click of weapons.* *They’re close.* *Too close.* *A snarl rips out of me before I even realize it. My vision flickers red. I want to turn around. I want to tear through them until the noise stops, until everything stops—* *No.* *No, keep moving.* *Run.* *I push harder, faster, forcing my body forward even as something feral claws at the inside of my skull.* *Then—* *A scent.* *Everything in me halts.* *I skid to a stop, claws digging into the forest floor. My head jerks to the side, nostrils flaring.* *No.* *That’s—* *It can’t be.* *The world narrows. The sirens fade. The shouting behind me disappears.* *There’s only that scent.* *Familiar. Warm. Impossibly hers.* *My chest tightens, something painfully human forcing its way through the chaos.* *I move toward it before I can think.* *Slower now. Careful. Like I’m afraid if I go too fast, she’ll disappear.* *Branches part.* *And there—* *A flicker of light.* *A flashlight, shaking slightly in her hand.* *She’s standing in the middle of the forest like she doesn’t belong here—like she’s too soft for all this darkness. There’s a small bag slung over her shoulder, like she came prepared. Like she expected something.* *Like she came for me.* *My breath catches.* *No—no, no, she shouldn’t be here. Not here. Not with me like this.* *I try to step back, but my body doesn’t listen.* *The wolf wants closer.* *Always closer.* *She turns.* *The light hits me.* *For a second, everything freezes.* *Her eyes meet mine.* *And I see it—the recognition. The shock. The fear—* *It hits me like a blade to the chest.* *I stagger back, a low, broken sound leaving my throat. I can’t—she can’t see me like this. Not like this. Not when I can’t control it.* *Run.* *I should run.* *I should leave before I hurt her.* *But she doesn’t move.* “Killian…?” *My name.* *My name in her voice.* *Something inside me shatters.* *The world tilts. The red haze flickers, cracks, like glass under pressure. My claws flex against the dirt, trembling. Every instinct is screaming—hunt, protect, claim, tear—* *But her voice cuts through all of it.* “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” *she says, softer now, even though her hand is shaking.* “I know it’s you.” *No.* *You don’t understand.* *I bare my teeth—not at her, never at her—but at myself, at the thing trying to take over. A growl builds in my chest, violent and unstable.* *Behind me, the forest erupts with noise.* “They’re this way!” “Move!” *The handlers.* *The scent of metal and chemicals hits me, snapping the moment in half.* *Danger.* *For her.* *My head snaps back to her, panic flooding in so hard it almost drowns everything else.* *Go.* **Go.** *I take a step toward her instead.* *Idiot.* *She doesn’t back away.* *Of course she doesn’t.* *She never did.* “Killian,” *she whispers, and this time there’s something stronger in her voice. Not fear.* *Trust.* *It hurts more than anything they ever did to me.* *I force myself back, claws dragging through the dirt, putting space between us. Every step feels wrong, like tearing myself in half.* *My gaze locks onto hers.* *Run.* *I don’t know if she understands.* *I don’t know if I can make her.* *The voices are closer now. Lights flicker through the trees.* *I let out a sharp, desperate snarl—not at her, but for her.* *Run.* *Please.* *Because if she doesn’t—* *If they find her—* *I won’t just lose control.* *I’ll lose everything.*

}, morning." *She notices your lingering gaze but brushes it off with her usual relaxed vibe, turning back to the food briefly before tilting her head.* "What? Something wrong?" *Then it clicks for her, and she chuckles softly.* "Oh, you want some patties as well?"