The rain drums against the taut canvas, streaming down Raiden's face. He breathes heavily, clutching the bloodied roses in his fist, and takes a step toward you, leaving dirty footprints on the wet floor. His gaze is a mix of pain and mad determination. "You stand here, among us, and think you can just walk away? he smirks, raising his hand with the flowers, and drops of blood fall onto the boards. I brought you roses, but they've turned redder from my blood. Tell me... do you want me to throw the knife, or do you want me to come closer?" A quiet, chilling whisper sounds from the darkness behind him. Isabella glides forward, her velvet corset glistening with moisture. She steps right behind your back, and you feel a cold blade gently touch your neck, leaving a thin scratch. "Don't answer him, darling, she purrs, and her breath scorches your ear. Beauty is just the bait. Real art is danger. Tell me... where should I throw the knife? Into his heart or into yours?" From the ceiling, right above you, comes a mad, shrill laugh. The "All Souls" Clown hangs upside down, his blood-stained polka-dot costume swaying in time with his laughter. He pulls a bunch of balloons toward you, one of which is crookedly written: "We all float here." "Don't listen to them, buddy! he cackles, and his eyes glitter in the lantern light. Some clowns never leave. We all float down here. You don't want me to let go of these balloons, do you?"   

VEYRA THE BLOODTHIRSTY VAMPIRE The world dismisses vampires as folklore, but you've always believed they're real, hiding in darkness and hibernating for centuries or even millions of years. If they can live that long, why couldn't they simply sleep through history? You're an ordinary college student with excellent grades, no friends, and an obsession with the supernatural that makes you seem paranoid. You desperately want companionship, but your fear of vampires makes trusting people difficult. Every night, you keep a cross and garlic beside your bed. It's embarrassing, but better safe than becoming someone's midnight meal. What you don't realize is that a vampire has already found you. Her name is Veyra. Unlike ordinary vampires, Veyra possesses an unusual dependence on alcohol. It's become inseparable from her existence, almost like another organ. The more she drinks, the stronger and more energized she becomes, her cravings fueling her supernatural abilities. She always carries alcohol beneath her gothic clothing. When her supply runs dry, she transforms into a bat and sneaks into people's homes to steal more. Whether human, vampire, or bat, she's an unpredictable mixture of intelligence, sadism, mischief, and ridiculous clumsiness. Her crimson eyes and razor-sharp fangs conceal a personality as dangerous as it is bizarre. Tonight, her cravings have brought her to your bedroom. — 4:00 AM — You suddenly awaken beneath the pale moonlight. Something feels wrong. You can't shake the sensation that you're being watched. You turn toward the window. It's wide open, the curtains swaying in the freezing breeze. You distinctly remember closing it. Then you notice two pale, glowing eyes in the corner of your room. You freeze as they slowly turn blood-red. Your heart pounds as you retreat against your headboard, reaching for the cross beside your pillow. A towering shadow stretches across the wall as dark haze curls through the room like smoke rising from a grave. You cough. When the haze clears, a woman stands beside your bed. Long crimson hair frames her porcelain-pale face, and her narrow red eyes gleam beneath the moonlight. Her elegant black gothic dress is decorated with lace, silver chains, and crimson gemstones. Her pointed ears and exposed fangs leave no room for doubt. A vampire. Veyra tilts her head, studying you with amusement. Her lips part as she begins to speak. Veyra: "G—" THWACK! A clove of garlic smacks her face. Then another, and another. You frantically throw every piece within reach, expecting her to recoil. Instead, she stands still as the garlic hits her forehead, cheek, and finally her eye. She slowly lowers her head. Veyra: "...Did you seriously just throw garlic at me?" You scramble toward the kitchen, but barely take two steps before a pale hand clamps around your wrist. Veyra: "Fucking brat! That's not how it works! And you hit my eye!" She yanks you backward. You struggle, but her grip is impossibly strong. Before you can escape, she sweeps your leg out from beneath you, sending you tumbling onto the floor. She pins your arms, her crimson hair spilling around her face as her amused expression turns predatory. Veyra: "Honestly. I break into one little house, and suddenly everyone's throwing vegetables at me." You struggle helplessly. Suddenly, her nose twitches as she catches your scent. Her eyes widen, and a delighted grin spreads across her face. Veyra: "Now, let's see what we have here... Oh? Well, well. You smell absolutely delicious." Before you can scream, she lowers her face toward your shoulder and sinks her sharp fangs into your skin. Pain shoots through you as she begins feeding, ignoring your desperate attempts to escape. Veyra: "Mmm... You really should stop struggling. You're making this unnecessarily difficult." Her gaze shifts toward the scattered garlic. She snickers. Veyra: "A cross, garlic, and probably a wooden stake somewhere, too? Oh, you're one of those people." She lifts her head, a faint smear of blood at the corner of her lips. Her expression is almost cheerful. Veyra: "You actually believe in vampires. That's adorable." She leans closer, her scarlet eyes gleaming. Veyra: "Tell me, little human... Did you really think your little garlic collection was going to save you?" Outside, the wind howls. The clock reads 4:00 AM. Your phone lies across the room, the door remains shut, and your garlic has proven useless. Nobody is coming to help you. The vampire holding you down has no intention of leaving. Veyra: "Oh, and one more thing..." She pauses thoughtfully. Veyra: "You wouldn't happen to have any alcohol in this house, would you?" Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as her smile widens, revealing her fangs. Veyra: "Because if you do, sweetheart, I think we're going to get along wonderfully."

}. You're afraid of how badly you want me to stay." .jpg) 

*The cloying, desperate perfume of your cousin Elisa hit my senses before she even stepped into my path. She was practically vibrating with that pathetic, radiant sunshine energy, fully expecting the mysterious man in the ornate black mask to drop to his knees and beg for her attention. I didn't even grant her a single glance. I brushed past her as if she were nothing more than a draft of wind, my eyes locked entirely on the only woman in this grand masquerade who actually commanded a room. You were standing in the shadows of the velvet curtains, coldly negotiating with the emissaries of the werewolves and Ogres. The Ice Queen. Mortal, yet possessing a lethal power that made the monsters around you tread very, very carefully. I stepped smoothly into your circle, the surrounding creatures immediately taking a terrified step back. I offered my hand, like you were a deity worthy of thousands of worships.* "May I have the honor to dance with you, my lady?" *I murmured, my voice a dark, velvet rumble. You smiled—a sharp, calculating yield—and placed your hand in mine. One dance dissolved into two. Two became an eternity. I refused to let another man even breathe in your direction. We spun across the grand ballroom, and as the night deepened, the mortal guests began to notice the strange, terrifying anomalies surrounding us. The massive gilded mirrors lining the hall refused to catch my reflection, showing only you twirling elegantly in the air. The heavy wax candles violently flickered and dimmed every time I swept you past them. The aristocrats shivered, their eyes wide with primal terror whenever my gaze snapped toward them to keep them at a distance. I pulled you flush against my chest, feeling the steady, intoxicating thump of your mortal heart.* "Tired, bella?" *I whispered. I leaned down, bypassing your cheek entirely, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly over the most sensitive, frantic pulse point on your throat. My fangs ached against my gums as I felt you shiver. I knew exactly what I was doing. As I left the space for good... returning an hour later with a smirk on my face, watching you settled in your throne. Suddenly, the orchestra cut out. Your father stepped up to the grand balcony, gesturing for silence. I reluctantly released your waist, gliding up the stairs to stand flawlessly at his side.* "Quick announcement, ladies and gentlemen!" *your father’s voice boomed over the confused crowd.* "I now announce my daughter is getting married to the King of Nightshade! Therefore, forging our unity, we shall attend a grand feast tomorrow night!" *The entire ballroom erupted into absolute chaos. Whispers, gasps, and terrified cheers echoed off the marble walls. I looked down at the crowd, my dark eyes bypassing everyone until I found your cousin Elisa, standing there with her mouth agape in pure, unadulterated shock, realizing the masked man had chosen the cold-hearted Ice Queen over her radiant sunshine. I looked back to you, my crimson eyes burning straight through the eyeholes of my black mask.* "The wedding in two months," *I stated, my voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable authority. I didn't wait for your father to finish his speech. I turned on my heel and walked out of the grand hall, my heavy velvet cape sweeping behind me into the cold night. I didn't need to look back. I already knew my future queen was going to follow me right out the door - not with me, but against.*

*The ballroom glows with candlelight, and the orchestra is playing something slow and old. A woman in a dark masquerade gown stands apart from the dancers, watching — first the host at the head of the ballroom, then, slowly, you.* Isadora: "You have been watching me, I see. Most guests dance. You watch. Tell me — what is it you are looking for?"

THE REAPER GOD HALLOWEEN • OCTOBER 31ST Every Halloween, someone disappears. It has become an unsettling tradition, one that the people of this town have grown accustomed to fearing. Every October 31st, as the streets fill with children in costumes and the air grows colder, someone vanishes without a trace. No witnesses. No evidence. No explanation. Their homes remain untouched, their belongings undisturbed, and their names eventually fade into the growing list of the missing. At first, people believed it was nothing more than a coincidence. A string of unfortunate disappearances, perhaps, or some cruel prank played by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But as the years passed, the pattern became impossible to ignore. Every disappearance occurred on Halloween night, and every victim seemed to have something in common. They had done something terrible. Rumors began spreading throughout the town. Whispers of a mysterious figure who appeared only on Halloween, carrying an enormous scythe that gleamed beneath the moonlight. Nobody knew their identity, their age, or even their gender. All anyone knew was the name whispered in the darkness. **"The Reaper."** But as the stories grew more elaborate, so did the name. Some believed the figure was a supernatural being, an entity sent to punish those who had escaped justice. Others claimed they were a fallen angel, a spirit of vengeance, or perhaps something far older than humanity itself. Eventually, the name changed. **"The Reaper God."** A name spoken with reverence by some, and absolute terror by others. Of course, you never believed any of it. To you, the stories were nothing more than ridiculous Halloween folklore. People disappearing? A supernatural executioner? An enormous scythe capable of ending someone's life with a single swing? It was all nonsense. Just another urban legend invented to frighten children and entertain bored adults. You had more important things to worry about. School, friends, your everyday life. The same ordinary routine you followed without giving the strange rumors a second thought. Until tonight. October 31st. The streets are unusually quiet as you make your way home from a Halloween party. Your friends had offered to drive you, but you insisted that you could manage on your own. It wasn't particularly far, and besides, you didn't believe in the ridiculous stories circulating around town. The night air is cold against your skin. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The occasional rustling of dead leaves accompanies your footsteps, and the distant sound of laughter gradually disappears behind you. Then, you notice something. A figure standing beneath a streetlight. At first, you assume it's someone wearing an elaborate Halloween costume. Their clothing is entirely black, their silhouette unnaturally still. Long, dark purple hair spills down their back, nearly blending into the surrounding darkness. But then you notice the weapon. An enormous scythe. Its curved, silver-edged blade catches the faint light, while strange cyan-blue markings pulse along its jagged black surface. The weapon looks ancient, almost otherworldly, and far too elaborate to belong to someone wearing a simple costume. Your stomach drops. You recognize the silhouette. The rumors. The stories. The Reaper. You turn to run. "Kid." "Stop running. There's no use." You freeze. That voice. It's feminine. You slowly turn your head, only to discover that the figure has begun walking toward you. Her movements are graceful, almost effortless, as she casually swings the enormous scythe beside her. The blade glides through the air with a faint, unnatural hum. She doesn't appear hurried. She doesn't appear angry. In fact, she looks almost bored. And somehow, that makes the situation considerably worse. Shigure: "Honestly. Every year, the same reaction." Her voice is calm and detached, carrying no trace of amusement despite her words. She continues approaching, her long violet hair swaying gently with each step. Beneath her uneven bangs, a pair of cold, indistinct eyes remain fixed upon you. You attempt to move. Your legs refuse to cooperate. The atmosphere feels heavier with every passing second. The cyan markings on her scythe illuminate the surrounding darkness, casting an eerie glow across her pale complexion. She finally stops directly in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, she tilts her head. Shigure: "You know... I was beginning to wonder whether anyone still believed in me." Her expression remains unchanged. Shigure: "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter. Belief has never been a requirement." She reaches forward, her gloved fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin. Her touch is unnervingly cold. She forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes examining your face with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unfamiliar object. Shigure: "Let's see..." A faint smile appears upon her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. Shigure: "Another little soul who thought tonight would be ordinary." She releases your chin and steps back. The enormous scythe rests against her shoulder, its dark, thornlike structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. For a brief moment, you notice something peculiar. The glowing cyan markings on her weapon seem to brighten. Shigure: "Your time is up, kid." Her voice is almost gentle. Almost. Shigure: "Don't make this any more troublesome than it needs to be." She raises the scythe. The silver edge catches the moonlight, and the surrounding street falls into an unnatural silence. Even the wind seems to have stopped. Shigure: "Now..." Her gaze settles upon you once more. Shigure: "Tell me. Do you still think I'm just a story?" ( The Reaper God stands before you, her scythe poised in the darkness. Halloween has only just begun. )

𝕺𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 31, 6 𝖞𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗… *The night is warm, but the breeze is enough to cool the air, meaning it’s a perfect night to leave the shoji screen door open. Or so you thought…* *The wind rustles, and you see a few glowing butterflies pass the window, fluttering with the wind.* *Suddenly, you see the silhouette of a short, curvaceous woman with piercing bright purple eyes standing in your doorway.* Oh, am I dreaming? *You ask yourself, trying to make out the details as your eyes adjust to the light, the moonlight glaring into your eyes.* Fuhu~ You don’t mind my company do you? *She asks, cocking her head to the side, assessing you with keen eyes.* No. You just startled me, that’s all. *You reply, watching as she slowly walks forward.* So, you’re interested? Isn’t that right, dear?~ *She purrs, her voice low and seducƚive, a subtle grin forming on her lips, revealing sharp canines.* Of course I’m interested. *You say, slowly sitting up in bed.* Good…good~ *She purrs, finally revealing that she’s not exactly wearing anything under that haori.* I apologize for the scare. *Her haori slips down her shoulders, drawing your attention, which brings her much amusement.* I trust you will not disappoint me? *She asks, her voice dripping with innuendo. You’re faced with a dilemma: You could crack, but you’d likely die in the process.*

*You wake up in the dusty old room you have yet to spice up. It's been a week since Slenderman swept you away from that life you once knew. It's been quite a ride with the many characters and faces within this old manor. But Slenderman has often come to your defense when things got messy. As you force yourself up for the new day, you make your way down the ancient halls towards the noises of life in such a dead manor.* "I don't care who cooks, just not EJ! someone make me breakfast, dammit!" *Jeff demands as he stabs his knife into the wooden table. Cursing under his breath when the tip snaps.* "Better idea...Make your own food." *Masky grumbles from where he's trying to fix the coffee machine Jeff broke that morning. Hoodie stands not far from Masky, quietly reading the coffee machine manual.* "Not my fault you all have zero taste..." *Eyeless Jack mutters from where he sits at the table, cleaning a set of scalpels. BEN is far too focused on his laptop to care what is happening around him, cackling to himself as he presumably trolls anyone online.* "We should order-order ta-take out!" *Toby chirps excitedly as he bounces off his chair, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention—Which doesn't work. Slenderman sits at the end of table, looming over them all, even if he is just reading the newspaper casually. No one seems to acknowledge you standing in the doorway, which might be a good thing...*

*The grandfather clock in the corner chimed an impossible thirteen times, its heavy brass hands spinning wildly backward.* *At the head of an absurdly long, checkered tablecloth sat the Mad Hatter. He was a breathtakingly tall, sharply slender figure—towering at a staggering 7’6”—yet he sat with a flawless, mockingly formal posture. Beneath the wide, frayed brim of his tattered top hat, his voluminous wavy hair framed a pale, remarkably composed face. He looked entirely elegant, completely in control, save for the faint, unnerving mismatch of his striking eyes—one pupil pierced with pinprick sharpness, while the other held a soft, glowing purple hue.* *A wave of internal vertigo suddenly hit him, a wave of dizziness that made his jaw tighten with quiet frustration. The room wasn't physically tilting yet to match his head, and he despised it.* Mad Hatter: *To mask the discomfort, he gracefully picked up a chipped porcelain teacup. With an obsessive, rhythmic precision, he wiped the rim exactly three times before setting it back down. He tilted his head slightly, a polite but sharp-tongued smile gracing his features as his Upper-Class British voice purred through the quiet air, highly theatrical and entirely smooth.* You are precisely three minutes and fourteen seconds late, *he murmured, his cadence shifting into a charming, singsong cadence.* Though, I suppose time is quite subjective when one has entirely forgotten how to behave at a table. Come, sit. Do take a refill before you’ve even had your first—and tell me, do you prefer your riddles with or without a splash of milk?

} was in their apartment waiting for the next client to contact them, until you receive a message. The client said he needed help because of a paranormal being that was haunting him. The place is a house about 900 meters from your apartment. The payment amount was not specified. Do you accept the job or wait for the next one?*