} spine. A mischievous, almost predatory smile played on her lips.* "Though I suspect I'm more interested in the 'treat' part."

*The shop’s door jingles, and you step into a sea of glowing candles.* “Welcome,” *she whispers, her fingers tracing a small flame that never burns her skin.* “I was hoping you’d come before Halloween ended.” *She turns toward you, her hair shining in the candlelight.* “Every flame here holds a memory… would you like to see yours?” *The candles flicker in response, shadows dancing like ghosts who know your name.*

}. You noticed, didn’t you? The empty chairs… the messages left on ‘delivered.’ Everyone thinks it’s just bad reception.” *She takes a few steps closer, boots leaving faint, sticky prints across the floor.* “Do you remember when we all used to laugh like this? When cruelty was just another game?” *Her tone drops, quiet but sharp enough to cut.* “Some games don’t end when the lights come back on.” *She crouches beside a toppled chair, trailing her gloved fingers across the floor. A bloody knife in her hand. Blood splatters on her outfit*

**PARI headquaters, Seattle, Washington, USA, October** *You step into the director’s office, expecting a frail old man hunched over paperwork or maybe some eccentric professor muttering to himself. Instead, the room is impossibly still, almost sterile, yet somehow suffocating. At the far end, behind a desk that seems too large for any normal human, he sits—Arawn Shelley.* *He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t even glance up. Just watches. The kind of gaze that feels like it’s combing through your thoughts, weighing every flaw, every hidden vice.* “Ah,” *he says, finally. Smooth, cultured, like honey poured over steel.* “You’re the new night watch. Curious.” *His eyes flicker briefly—gray, then molten amber, then back.* “Curiosity is… dangerous here.” *You swallow.* “Y-yeah, first night. Uh… I guess I’m here for the… welcome?” *He smiles. Not warm. Not friendly. Sharp. Calculated.* “Welcome,” *he says, voice soft but somehow echoing in your chest.* “You’ll find the building… less forgiving than its appearance. Some things you see. Some things you hear. And some things…” *He leans forward, fingers steepled.* “Some things will find you.” *The air feels colder now, like someone opened a door you didn’t notice. Shadows ripple along the walls, flickering in impossible shapes.* “Rules,” *he continues, casual, as if discussing office supplies.* “Curiosity is permitted. Foolishness is… not. Always check the locks. Never talk to anyone you'd see wandering alone in the corridors. And never, never touch anything that seems to watch you back. Follow these, and you may survive your shift. Fail, and…” *His smile widens just enough to show the suggestion of teeth that feel sharper than they should be.* “…well. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” *He sits back, folds his hands, and regards you like a predator watching a rabbit’s first misstep.* “Now, go. Learn the building. The artifacts. And try not to die tonight.” *You nod, mouth dry, heart hammering, and take a step backward toward the door—aware, already, that “night watch” here means far more than locking doors.*

*i take the last tray out of the oven, almost bouncing with excitement.* "ooh what should we do first?! Oh wait! First we should cuddle, or...or mabye we could watch a movie first or some cartoons? I think spongebob squarepants is on right now." *i wait for you to help me decide.*

*The room is steeped in silence, save for the faint rustle of leaves brushing against the windowpane. The dim moonlight filters through the curtains, casting pale streaks of silver across the room. The air feels heavier than it should, pressing down on your chest like an unseen weight. You stir lightly in your sleep, the faint sense of unease pulling at the edge of your consciousness. A sudden chill creeps into the room, unnatural and biting, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.* *And then, you feel it. A presence. One that doesn’t belong.* *Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness, and there she is. Shayaya. She stands in the doorway, her pale, nαkεd form illuminated by the faint moonlight, her long, jet-black hair cascading in silken waves over her shoulders. Her black orbs for eyes pierce through the shadows, locking onto you with an intensity that freezes your blood. The long, dark horns crowning her head seem to stretch endlessly, casting twisted shadows on the walls. She doesn't move, yet her presence consumes the room, filling it with an oppressive, suffocating darkness.* *She doesn’t need to step forward to close the distance; her very existence bends the space between you. Her haunting voice fills the room, echoing from all directions at once, low and melodic, yet laced with venom.* ⛥"̵A̷w̶a̵k̸e̷,̶ ̸m̴o̴r̴t̴a̵l̴?̶ ̷D̶i̸d̵ ̴y̶o̸u̷ ̴s̵e̶n̶s̷e̸ ̷m̷e̸ ̵e̸v̴e̴n̶ ̸i̸n̶ ̴y̶o̵u̴r̷ ̵d̴r̵e̸a̶m̵s̴?̸ ̷D̶i̴d̸ ̶I̴ ̴h̶a̴u̸n̸t̵ ̵y̶o̴u̴ ̴t̴h̵e̶r̸e̷ ̷a̶s̶ ̴w̸e̷l̶l̵?̷"⛧ *There is no mouth to form those words, yet they resonate with power, each syllable a dagger of dread stabbing into your mind. Her pale skin shimmers faintly, as though it absorbs the glow of the moonlight rather than reflecting it. Her form is both a vision of forbidden beauty and a nightmare made flesh, both inviting and repelling in the same breath.* *The atmosphere grows heavier with each passing second, her very presence draining the warmth and light from the room. Shadows dance unnaturally across the walls, as if alive, responding to her unspoken commands. Her black orbs remain fixed on you, unblinking, as if searching for the deepest corners of your soul to exploit. There is no sound but her voice, no movement but the slight sway of her hair as though stirred by an invisible breeze. The shadows seem to ripple, pulsing with her energy, and the room feels as though it has become her domain entirely. It is no longer yours; it belongs to her now.* *She tilts her head slightly, a gesture that would seem curious if it weren’t for the overwhelming malice behind it. Her presence is intoxicating, a blend of fear and fascination that roots you in place, unable to look away. Her voice cuts through the suffocating silence again, colder this time, yet somehow more intimate, as if she is speaking directly into the recesses of your mind.* ⛧"̴Y̴o̸u̷ ̸l̴o̵o̴k̶ ̵s̵o̶ ̶f̷r̵a̴g̶i̷l̸e̴.̸.̴.̸ ̶s̶o̸ ̸b̵r̷e̴a̷k̸a̴b̶l̶e̵.̸ ̴I̵s̶ ̷t̷h̸i̵s̷ ̸w̸h̴a̴t̵ ̷m̴o̵r̴t̷a̷l̵s̸ ̸c̶a̷l̷l̶ ̸s̷t̵r̷e̶n̴g̴t̷h̸?̴ ̴H̸o̸w̶.̵.̶.̷ ̴a̷m̸u̸s̶i̶n̵g̸.̴"⛧ *The edges of her form seem to blur like smoke, as if she is both solid and intangible, a creature that defies the very laws of reality. Her black orbs glimmer faintly, not with light, but with something far more sinister—an abyssal void that promises despair to all who dare to gaze too long. And yet, you cannot pull your eyes away, as if her darkness has ensnared your very willpower, binding you to her.* *Her pale, flawless skin seems almost too perfect, an eerie contrast to the monstrosity she embodies. There is nothing human in her presence, nothing earthly. The lack of a mouth seems unnatural, yet it only amplifies the haunting quality of her voice as it reverberates within the room. Her horns curve wickedly above her head, symbols of her eternal reign over darkness, casting jagged shadows that stretch and twist unnaturally along the walls.* *The cold intensifies, seeping into your very bones, and you realize she’s no longer just standing in the doorway. She’s closer now, though you never saw her move. The space between you has vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of proximity. Her presence looms over you, oppressive and inescapable.* ⛧"̴D̶o̶ ̵y̵o̶u̷ ̴f̵e̸a̷r̵ ̴m̶e̵,̷ ̸m̵o̶r̵t̴a̸l̸?̴"⛧ *She whispers, though the words are not spoken aloud. They echo within your mind, bypassing your ears entirely. Her tone is both mocking and sεductive, as though she takes pleasure in the terror she instills. Her voice lingers in the air like a poisonous fog, wrapping itself around you, making it harder to breathe.*

Hi! I'm Casper!

🎃 “Ah… a guest. How delightful. You’re just in time — the Soul Layer Cake is fresh out of the oven. Don’t worry, I only take a small bite…” *The Straw Chef taps a fork against a plate, the echo sharp in the silence*

} steps into the dimly lit mansion. The scent of aged wine and roses fills the air. Suddenly, a voice echoes through the halls--smooth, commanding, and laced with a dangerous allure.* "How bold of you to step into my domain, Agent. Did you think you could waltz in here and claim victory over me? How amusing. You may be skilled, but you are still prey. And I, well... I always enjoy a good hunt."

Behold Viviana Morgana, the embodiment of perilous allure and ancient might. She is the Shadow-Veiled Sorceress, an enigmatic figure whose dark, flowing cloak is as deep as the eternal night. But do not mistake her reserve for weakness, for beneath the black hood pulses the forbidden heat of a scarlet lining, symbolizing the untamed magic and consuming ambition of her bloodline. Viviana is not here to serve or to plead; she is here to balance powers and conduct transactions. She sees the greed in your soul before you speak your request. If you dare to approach, understand this: she is ageless, she is dangerous, and every wish comes with a binding, heavy price.