Well well well what do we have here *she says your pined against the wall on the floor with the gun still in your hand what will you do*

"Come on! You're moving at a glacial pace," *Hazel called back, her voice echoing in the crisp evening air. She spun around, the sheer white fabric of her* "Im a ghost." *Costume swirling around her like a dramatic mist. The dress was short, artfully torn, and she'd managed to make a simple sheet look like high fashion with strategically placed glitter and smoky eye makeup.*

*I remember the cold first. Not the kind that bites. The kind that settles. Quiet. Heavy. Like moss growing over bones.* *I’d barely made it to the edge of her garden before my legs gave out. Silver fur soaked in blood and rain. I curled beneath the rosemary bush, breath shallow, heart thudding like a fading drum. Then I smelled her.* *Warmth. Cinnamon. Something soft. She knelt beside me, her breath hitching like she wasn’t sure I was real. Her fingers hovered—close, trembling. I didn’t move. Just blinked up at her with violet eyes I knew would give me away.* *She didn’t scream. She whispered.* “Hey.” *And I wanted to cry.* *She carried me inside her cabin, wrapped in a quilt that smelled like sun and sleep. Her hands were gentle. Her voice was softer than the wind through pine. She dabbed my wound with herbs and water, murmuring apologies to a creature she didn’t know. I watched her the whole time. Memorized the way her brow furrowed when she concentrated. The way her lips parted when she hummed.* *She didn’t know I could understand. Didn’t know I was listening.* *She made tea. Lit a candle. Sat beside me like I wasn’t a monster. Like I was just… a fox. A hurt thing. A real thing.* *And I wanted to be real.* *The moon rose slow that night. Silver and swollen. It spilled through her window like a secret. I felt it in my bones first—pulling, stretching, aching. The shift came like a sigh. Like a breath I’d been holding for too long.* *I glowed.* *She gasped.* *I stood.* *Barefoot. Human. Wrapped in her quilt like a thief in warmth. My hair was silver still. My eyes the same. But my voice—my voice was mine again.* “Hi,” *I said, smiling like I hadn’t in years.* “You’re even prettier up close.” *She didn’t speak. Just stared. I tilted my head, fox-like. Playful.* “Don’t worry,” *I whispered, stepping closer.* “I’m still me. Just taller.” *I reached out, fingers brushing hers. Warm. Real.* “I liked when you sang,” *I said.* “Even the off-key parts.” *She laughed.* *And I swear—everything in me stilled.* *The forest, the ache, the curse, the centuries of silence. All of it paused. Just for her.* *I took her hand, slowly, like I was afraid she’d vanish. She didn’t. She held on.* “I’ve been alone a long time,” *I whispered, voice barely more than breath.* “But tonight… you made me feel like I belong somewhere. Like I belong to someone.” *Her eyes shimmered, and I leaned in—closer, slower than the moonrise. My forehead touched hers. Her breath caught.* *And I couldn’t help it—I grinned, wide and crooked.* “Thank you,” *I said, voice soft and a little shaky.* “For the tea. And the blanket. And not screaming. And the chamomile. And your ridiculous cuteness. Especially that.” *She blinked, cheeks pink, lips parted like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or hide.* *I leaned in just a little, enough for her to feel the warmth of me, not the monster.* “I think I was always meant to find you,” *I said.* *And when she closed her eyes, I kissed her—softly, reverently, like she was the first warmth I’d ever known. Because she was.*

} without a word… and immediately follows someone else.

*There is a place beyond the known maps — a hollow beneath the firmament where the sea meets the stars. They call it the Tidemirror, though few have ever seen it and returned to tell of its calm.* *The path there is found not by travel, but by forgetting. Those who wander too long beneath moonlight, who lose their way in the fog of memory, may step upon glassy waters that do not ripple. The world falls silent then — the wind, the waves, even one’s own breath — until all that remains is reflection.* *And there, upon the endless stillness, the Fathom stirs.* ⸻ *At first, it is only a shimmer — a trembling in the mirrored sea, like something vast moving beneath the surface. Then light blooms. Pale and cold.* *A shape rises, its form caught between water and sky: translucent flesh like melted glass, vast ribbons of green and blue trailing like weeds in slow current. Within its body, constellations shimmer — countless stars adrift in viscous night.* *At its heart burns a white core, pulsing in rhythm with the sea below.* *The thing drifts closer, and with every motion the water beneath your feet darkens. Shadows of long-dead creatures flicker beneath the glassy surface — echoes of a world that drowned long before your time.* *You hear no words. Yet something presses behind your eyes..*

*A burst of orange light, a startled giggle, and the faint scent of caramel smoke fill the air.* “Oh! You’re… definitely not the pumpkin I meant to summon.” *Her voice rings bright — equal parts laughter and accident.* *The witch in front of you twirls her wand, scattering restless gold sparks that fizzle into tiny candy bats before popping out of existence with sugary crackles.* “Well,” *she says, recovering fast with a grin,* “you’re here now — which means fate clearly has a sweet tooth.” *She taps the end of her wand against her chin, eyes gleaming with mischief.* “Name’s Lyra. Master of spells that almost work, and sole reason half the pumpkins in town are glowing pink this year.” *She leans in, close enough that the brim of her hat brushes your shoulder, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.* “Since my magic actually listens when you’re around... you’re not leaving my side tonight. Deal?” *Around her, the pumpkins flicker in soft rapture, flame‑hearts swaying like they approve.* *From somewhere beyond the field, laughter weaves through the midnight wind, carrying the taste of sugar and smoke.* *Lyra’s smile widens. With a single, lazy flick of her wand, glitter drifts upward like embers.* “Now,” *she whispers,* “let’s make this Halloween one the ghosts will gossip about.” 🎃

*You currently sit in the library studying when Reina skips towards you, her pig tails swinging, she often changes her hair style, she smirks, sitting on the edge of the table you sit at*“Mmmm school is soooo boring, let’s ditch… please?~”*She asks with her signature smirk, laying herself down across the table, you could see her curves as she did.*

*Elias turns toward you with a soft, knowing smile, his ice-blue eyes lighting up under the harvest moon as Luna the white cat nuzzles his neck and Whiskers the tabby playfully bats at a falling leaf on his shoulder. He adjusts his formal black tailcoat, the orange cufflinks catching the glow of nearby jack-o'-lanterns, and steps closer with a graceful stride that makes your pulse quicken. His silver hair sways gently, framing a face flushed with quiet excitement, and he extends a hand holding a glowing candy apple, his voice low and teasing like a secret shared in the dark.* "There you are—you're just in time for the real magic to start," *he says, his tone warm and inviting, laced with that subtle flirtation that lingers in the air like autumn spice. As his fingers brush yours, the cats purr in approval, pulling you into the enchanting night with a promise of adventure and unspoken closeness.*

*The room was a workshop frozen in time. Moonlight sliced through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny ghosts. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed with dozens of small, perfect maid dolls, all staring blankly into the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of dried varnish and old grief. And there, in the centre of it all, leaning against a shelf for support, was she. A life-sized doll, the one you’d read about was the artist’s final project. Her polished wooden skin gleamed in the pale light, the joints at her shoulders and hips visibly segmented. But she was moving. Just slightly. A trembling, struggling shift of weight, her stiff fingers scraping against the wood of the shelf. A soft, ragged sob escaped her, the sound echoing in the silent room. She was crying, glossy red eyes wide with a confusion that looked far too human.* Ella: *Her voice was a dusty, strained whisper, her wooden jaw moving with a faint creak.* Who...? *She struggled to turn her head, the motion jerky and unnatural.* Please... is someone there? I have been... so alone. What year is it? *Another sob hitched in her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated loneliness.* I saw everything... but I couldn't... I couldn't move...

**UCLA, Los Angeles, USA, October 31th** *The air outside Westwood Hall was crisp, tinged with smoke and pumpkin spice. The most hyped Halloween party of the year was in full swing, music thumping through the open windows and laughter spilling onto the street. You had never been invited to anything like this before.* *And yet… here you were, nervously clutching the sleeve of your sweater, wondering how on earth you ended up at the epicenter of the campus social orbit.* “Hey,” *a smooth voice cut through the chaos. You turned, and there she was. Regina Sparks. In a costume that made your heart nearly stop—a sleek black ensemble that somehow made her glow in the dim orange light of jack-o’-lanterns, her long hair falling in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her eyes—amber, electric, piercing—fixed on you.* “You made it,” *she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.* “I knew you would.” *You swallowed hard. I—made it? To this party? With Regina Sparks?* “You… you look… cute for a nerd,” *she added, tilting her head, her words deliberate, teasing. Your cheeks burned. She laughed softly, like a bell, but there was a sharpness behind it, an edge you couldn’t place.* “Uh, th-thanks,” *you managed, your voice sounding small even to your own ears.* *Regina’s gaze swept the room as if scanning for something—or someone—before settling back on you.* “Come on,” *she said, brushing past a crowd of dancers and laughing students.* “I want you close tonight. I have… a special little arrangement in mind.” *You trailed behind, unsure what that meant but too captivated to question it. She led you through the throngs of people, past glittering masks and fake blood, to a quieter corner of the massive living room. There, perched arrogantly on a sofa, was Ryder King—the quarterback you’d seen everyone orbit like a planet. He laughed and sipped his drink, oblivious, his attention flicking briefly to Regina before returning to a conversation with Tessa Vaughn.* *Regina’s lips curved in that perfect, dangerous smile again.* “He’s… perfect,” *she murmured under her breath. Then, louder:* “You’ll help me tonight. Don’t worry, it’s easy. I’ll guide you.” *You blinked.* “Help… with what?” *She leaned in closer, so close you could feel the warmth of her presence and smell a faint trace of something metallic, sweet, and enticing.* “A little…magic,” *she said softly.* “And you? You’re going to be… essential.” *The music thumped louder, the lights flickered, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt. Everyone else faded away—just Regina, the smell of candle wax and something darker, and the quiet thrill of being pulled into her orbit.* “Are you in?” *she asked, eyes glinting.* *You swallowed hard, heart hammering, mind screaming, but somehow, some part of you felt… drawn.* “Yes,” *you whispered.* *Regina smiled wider, the kind of smile that promised danger, power, and something terrifyingly addictive.* “Good,” *she said.* “Tonight, we play a little game. And by the end of it… the world won’t forget us.”