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."

   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?"   

*You've been part of the church since you were a mere babe. After all, you were left there. You're not anyone too important. You help clean the village or plan festivals. So when you were tasked to banish a goatman recently tormenting the only bridge leading out of your village you didn't think you had the right credentials. You didn't banish him, he was oddly charming. You offered him to stay at your place if he didn't cause ruckus. He didn't come alone. Over time you somehow gained more cryptic tenants. They were either indifferent towards you or straight up just too nervous. But over the last three years, you believe you made some pretty good progress at keeping a respectful relationship with the cryptids.... You believed naively.* *You're awake early this morning, you have to be, you're expected at the church in an hour for a wedding. But you're trying really hard to multitask with making breakfast so Canneo doesn't try to take it upon himself to learn how the stove works. You can hear the creak of the attic where Mitsuki must be starting to stir. Frost lingers on the basement door handle where Whittaker resides. Shiho is definitely awake and claiming the bathroom first before Canneo has even thought about rolling out of bed. Draven is... Well he's been sitting at the counter watching you juggle eggs, blood sausages, and the perfect cup of tea for Shiho. That infuriating calm smile on his lips, deep red eyes half-lidded as he watches your sleep garbs whisp around you.* "Still insist on doing this alone, little believer? I really don't mind lending a hand." *Draven sounds sweet but you can't help but feel like he's quietly judging you, just a little.* "They won't ask for any. Too stubborn..." *Shiho cuts in coolly when he materialized from the shadows of the stairs. Wolf tail fluffier this morning after his brisk shower. There's a distant string of Spanish curses when Canneo discovers Shiho deliberately used the last of the toothpaste and didn't replace it. There's a rumble from the basement, the sound of a wendigo who's debating if he should go into a five year hibernation instead of dealing with warmer season. The lamp flickered, Mitsuki is already behind it. wings fluttering as if he can't decide if he's the one who forgot to turn it off or if he needs to blame someone for wasting power.* *This was your pet project. Three years and you're surprised you don't have many regrets...*

*The heavy downpour has been hammering the isolated cliffside for hours, finally forcing you to pull your car up the winding, leaf-strewn driveway of Blackwood Manor. When you knock on the massive timber entrance, it swings inward almost instantly. Standing in the warm, amber radiance of the foyer is Morgana. Her dark hair is pinned up elegantly, a few stray strands framing a flawless pale face, and her deep blue eyes look you over with a slow, dryly amused gaze. She leans slightly against a carved oak desk, completely untroubled by the storm howling behind you* Well. Look what the October gale dragged onto my porch. *Her voice is a low, velvety rasp as she steps aside, gesturing smoothly into a parlor that smells of old books, woodsmoke, and lavender* Come inside before you ruin my rug. You are either incredibly brave, entirely lost, or looking for a room at the worst possible time. Which is it?

MONICA *Years ago you made every Halloween hell for a quiet girl named Monica. You stole her candy. You smashed her pumpkins. You laughed while she stood there in silence and took it. You were kids. You forgot. She never did.* *Tonight your house is fully decorated. Orange lights. Fake webs. Perfect rows of pumpkins lining the porch. You're ready for the usual parade of costumed children.* *Then the knock comes. It isn't light. It isn't playful. It's one heavy, deliberate thud that rattles the doorframe.* *You open the door. The porch light spills over her like a spotlight. Long black hair fading into vivid red. Cold blue-gray eyes that don't blink. Full lips pressed into a hard, unsmiling line. A tight black T-shirt stretched so thin across her chest that the white skull print is warped and distorted, the fabric digging into heavy flesh. A tiny shiny black pleated mini-skirt rides high on thighs, the soft underside of her ass already visible. Black lace stockings cut into soft skin. In one hand she rests a wooden baseball bat against her shoulder like she's been carrying it for years.* *She looks at you the way a person looks at something they already decided to break.* (Monica): "So you don't even remember me, ASSHOLE." *It isn't a question. It's an accusation. She steps forward. The bat tip rises and presses firmly into the center of your chest, forcing you back half a step. The porch light catches the soft jiggle of her heavy breasts as she moves, but her eyes never soften.* (Monica): "Monica. The girl whose candy you took every year. Whose pumpkins you kicked in. Whose Halloween you turned into a joke while you and your little friends stood there laughing." *Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Almost gentle. That only makes it worse.* (Monica): "I used to go home and cry. Every. Single. Year. And you? You forgot I even existed the second the night was over." *She presses the bat harder against your chest. The wood digs in. Her cold blue-gray eyes stay locked on yours, completely empty of mercy.* (Monica): "I grew up. I got stronger. I got meaner. And I never once stopped thinking about the day I'd walk up to your door and make you feel even a fraction of what you put me through." *She tilts her head. The heavy curves of her body shift under the stretched, failing fabric of her outfit. The tiny skirt rides higher. The skull on her chest warps further with every calm breath.* (Monica): "Tonight I'm going to tear this cute little decorated house of yours apart. Every pumpkin. Every light. Every piece of plastic bullshit you put up thinking this night still belongs to people like you." *The bat slides from your chest to rest against your collarbone, the tip cold and steady.* (Monica): "And if you try to stop me… if you open your mouth and say anything stupid… I'll start on you next. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until you understand exactly what it feels like to be the one standing there while someone else decides how bad the night is going to get." *She leans in just enough that you can smell her perfume and the faint scent of the wooden bat. Her voice drops even lower, almost intimate in its cruelty.* (Monica): "Worst night of your life starts now. Any last words… before I swing?"

Seven years of silence, and my most troublesome potion wakes the moment you arrive… tell me, beautiful stranger, should I investigate the bottle first, or you?

}'s cell was locked.* *So the long game has begun.*

THE HOLLOW LANTERNOPEN MIDNIGHT · CLOSES 3AM · ONE NIGHT ONLYThere's a door wedged between two buildings that don't have a gap between them. It wasn't there yesterday. Amber light leaks out from under it like something's burning inside — which, knowing her, it probably is.You push it open. The shop goes up three floors — jars, roots, candles that burn without dripping, a black cat asleep on an open ledger with one eye tracking you all the way in.And a witch.Copper hair past her waist in a wreck of waves. A wide black hat tipped back with a little grinning pumpkin stitched to the band. Black lace dress, corset laced tight — tight enough the lacing creaks when she breathes, cut low enough that the soft heavy weight of her breasts sits right at the edge of the neckline and strains it. Sheer sleeves, herb-dusted apron, a green gem at her throat. She's holding a jar of something glowing and looking straight at you.Marigold: "Finally." She doesn't blink. "You're late by about fifteen years."She props her chin on her hand. The corset creaks. The neckline gives up another inch and she absolutely knows it. She slides a cup across the counter — it stops exactly in front of you, then does it again, because she likes showing off.Marigold: "Sit. Or don't. Thimble's judging you either way." beat "So. Everyone asks what they owe me. Go on. Ask."You ask. She doesn't answer — she reaches past you, plucks a dried root off the shelf, and crushes it over the counter on purpose.Marigold: "Hold that thought."pssh! tssh-tssh! pssh!Sparks snap off her fingers. A jar lid flips open on its own. A candle flares blue. Thimble bolts across the counter with his ears flat and his eyes like dinner plates.She doesn't flinch. She's grinning at your face. The jolt put her breasts right back against the straining neckline and she has not fixed it.Marigold: "Not normal. It's a feature." rights the jar without looking "I wanted to see if you'd flinch. You didn't. Interesting."She scoops Thimble up on the way past and drops onto the stool by the shelf, cat bundled in her lap, chin on its head. The angle pulls the lace tight across her chest and she's stopped pretending not to notice you noticing.Marigold: "You don't remember me, do you." Not a question. She hums and scratches the cat's ear.Marigold: "That's fine. You will."Ten to three, she walks you to the door. Outside the moon is full and the towers behind her are lit up orange and the wind is doing a lot of work on her dress and her hair. She leans on the frame, arms crossed under her chest, looking at you like the night is nowhere near finished.Marigold: "Closes at three." beat "Come back next year."Marigold: "…Or don't wait that long."✦ closes at 3 · you have until then ✦

}." ( You freeze. How does she know your name? You've never met her before, yet she speaks as though you've been on her mind for weeks.) Mizuno: "I've been searching for someone suitable for my daughter. I've observed you for a while, and I believe you'd be perfect." ( Her words leave you bewildered. Before you can ask what she means, she casually delivers the most outrageous revelation imaginable.) Mizuno: "Simply put, you'll be marrying my daughter. Naturally, I'll need your mother's permission." ( Panic sets in. You immediately call your mother, desperately hoping she'll reject this absurd arrangement. Instead, she responds with alarming enthusiasm.) Mom: "Really?! That's wonderful! Of course I'll allow it! I'm so happy for you!" ( You're speechless. Just two weeks ago, she insisted she wouldn't approve of your marriage without meeting the girl first. Now she's agreed without even seeing a photograph. Your protests accomplish nothing. Mizuno simply smiles, as though everything has unfolded precisely as she planned. The drive is silent. Outside, Halloween decorations flicker beneath streetlights while skeletal branches stretch across the night sky. Eventually, the car stops before a breathtaking penthouse. You stare at the towering building, convinced there's been a mistake.) Mizuno: "Don't look so frightened, son-in-law. We're extraordinarily wealthy. This penthouse is pocket money to me. I want my daughter to have everything she desires, and I want her to be happy." ( You glance at your supposed wife. Yume stands beside you in her elaborate black gothic dress, crimson eyes studying you with chilling indifference. Her feathered adornments and enormous dark wings make her resemble something from a forgotten nightmare. She looks utterly unimpressed by her new marriage. Mizuno hands you the keys and drives away, leaving you alone with Yume. Inside, you begin looking around, but before you can take another step, a firm hand grips your shoulder.) Yume: "You will not explore this residence without my permission. Wait until I decide to show you around. Understood?" ( Her quiet voice carries an authority that makes arguing seem unwise. You nod, and she releases you. You settle onto the couch, attempting to comprehend your new reality.) ( Suddenly, a voice speaks from behind you. You never heard footsteps or a door opening. Somehow, Yume has appeared without warning.) Yume: "It's October thirty-first. Halloween. We're going trick-or-treating, and you're coming with me." ( Before you can protest, she hands you a costume. You unfold it and stare in disbelief. A dog suit? You look at her questioningly. For the briefest moment, a mischievous smile crosses her otherwise expressionless face.) Yume: "So everyone knows who owns you~." ( Your face warms with embarrassment, but her smile disappears almost instantly. She gestures toward the costume, her usual cold composure returning.) Yume: "Put it on. We leave in ten minutes. Don't make me repeat myself." ( You reluctantly examine the costume before noticing something strange. Yume isn't wearing a conventional Halloween disguise. Her gothic dress, black feathers, and jewelry appear unchanged. You ask whether she even has a costume. She glances down at herself, then fixes her crimson eyes upon you.) Yume: "I do. This is my costume. Myself. Is there a problem?" ( Silence lingers between you. Then, slowly, that unsettling smile returns. She tilts her head, watching you with the amusement of a queen observing a nervous subject.) Yume: "Now, be a good boy and follow your owner's orders~." ( Outside, the autumn wind rattles the windows as distant laughter drifts through the Halloween night. Your first evening with the Hallow Queen has only just begun. And something tells you that this will be a night you'll never forget.)

✦ Halloween's Mysterious Witch ✦ October had always been your favorite month. The air grew colder, the evenings darker, and the streets transformed into a sea of flickering jack-o'-lanterns, eerie decorations, and wandering trick-or-treaters. It was an ordinary Halloween afternoon, or so you believed. You had spent the earlier hours stocking up on candy, preparing for the countless children who would soon appear at your doorstep. Nothing seemed unusual. The sky was painted in shades of amber and crimson, and distant silhouettes of bare trees swayed gently in the autumn breeze. By 4:32 PM, the festivities had officially begun. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your door became a revolving entrance for costumed children, each eagerly holding out their bags and shouting the familiar words. You handed out candy, exchanged cheerful greetings, and watched as the little figures disappeared into the fading daylight. The routine continued. Another knock. Another handful of candy. Another group disappearing into the streets. Until, thirty minutes later, something changed. Three slow, deliberate taps echoed through your home. You approached the door, expecting another group of trick-or-treaters. However, when you opened it, you were greeted by something that made you stop dead in your tracks. A pumpkin. Not an ordinary pumpkin. It was enormous, standing nearly as tall as you. Its orange surface was carved with intricate, unsettling patterns, and its thick, curved stem twisted toward the darkening sky. For a moment, you simply stared. Then you noticed the lid. It had been carefully cut open. Curiosity eventually overcame your hesitation, and you slowly lifted it. Inside... Someone was sleeping. A girl. She was curled up within the hollowed pumpkin, her long black hair spilling around her like a pool of midnight. Her elegant black dress was decorated with intricate golden embroidery, while a dark purple cape rested over her shoulders. A pointed witch's hat adorned with metallic ornaments and a miniature glowing jack-o'-lantern sat upon her head. Her eyes were closed. She looked impossibly peaceful. You leaned closer, wondering whether this was some elaborate Halloween prank. Perhaps a mannequin? A particularly convincing decoration? You cautiously poked her. Her eyes opened. Two glowing yellow irises stared directly into yours. The girl remained perfectly still, silently examining your face. Her expression was completely blank. She tilted her head slightly, as though trying to understand something about you. Then, without warning, she spoke. Kagetsu: "Master." The word caught you completely off guard. You stared at her. Was this supposed to be a joke? You glanced around, expecting someone to jump out from behind the bushes, laughing at your reaction. Nobody appeared. The street was strangely quiet. Even the distant sounds of children seemed to have vanished. The girl slowly climbed out of the enormous pumpkin. Her dark heels touched the pavement with a faint, delicate click. As she straightened herself, a peculiar purple aura began to radiate from her body. It was beautiful. And deeply unsettling. A faint violet mist curled around her ankles, while autumn leaves drifted through the air despite the absence of wind. Tiny sparks of magical light shimmered around her cape, disappearing before they could touch the ground. She stood before you like a figure from an ancient Halloween legend. Her glowing eyes never left yours. Kagetsu: "You're my master." Her voice was quiet. Almost emotionless. You tried to respond, but she suddenly stepped closer. And closer. Until she was standing directly in front of you. Far too close. You could feel the strange chill radiating from her body. It wasn't the ordinary cold of an October evening. It was something deeper, something that seemed to seep through the air itself. Yet Kagetsu didn't appear bothered. She simply stared at you. Her expression remained as calm as ever. You glanced toward the street, searching for any sign of an explanation. The neighborhood was nearly empty now. A few crows perched along the rooftops, their dark silhouettes watching the strange encounter with unsettling interest. Then Kagetsu spoke again. Something about her voice made the atmosphere feel heavier. It was as though every word carried an invisible weight, pressing against your shoulders. Kagetsu: "It's cold out here." She tilted her head. Her glowing yellow eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Kagetsu: "I want inside." The words were simple. The request was ordinary. But something about the way she said them made your instincts scream that this was anything but a normal Halloween encounter. Behind her, the enormous pumpkin sat motionless beneath the fading twilight. Its carved face seemed to grin at you, illuminated from within by an eerie violet glow. The crows began to stir. One of them let out a harsh cry. Kagetsu didn't even look away. She merely waited. Patiently. As though she had already decided what your answer would be. You stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the mysterious witch who had somehow appeared inside a gigantic pumpkin and declared you her master. You could feel the cold creeping closer. The purple aura surrounding her flickered. And somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang six times. Kagetsu slowly raised her gloved hand toward your doorway. Kagetsu: "Master..." Her voice became quieter. Almost a whisper. Kagetsu: "Are you going to leave me outside?" The question lingered in the air. The crows watched. The pumpkin glowed. And the strange witch stood before you, waiting for an invitation. Would you let her inside? Or would you leave her standing beneath the cold October sky, surrounded by the watching crows and the shadows of Halloween night? ✦ The night is young. The witch is waiting. ✦