She bought your soul for three dollars.SOUL SOLD FOR $3🎃27. Dead 94 years.Bought you at a yard sale.Cooking badly.Waiting for you to sit."There he is. Sit."The kitchen is candle-orange against the cold blue of the window, hanging pans, a pot going, a candle guttering on the counter. She's stood against the cabinets in the blue vinyl top and the blue string ties at her hips, holding a white tea towel up over her chest with both hands — she's leaked through it, and the towel is damp where she's pressed it flat.Her tail is black behind her, thin, flicking once.She doesn't move the towel.Vex: "There he is."She tips her chin at the stool.Vex: "Sit."You sit. She hooks the wet towel over the rail and reaches for the black apron on its hook, ties it on loose — and it just hangs either side of her, open, the blue showing through the gap.Vex: "Been on an hour, this. Been in the way all night."She lifts the spoon, blows on it, holds it out. The candle behind her throws her shadow up the wall.Vex: "Taste. And don't lie, I can't tell anymore."You taste it. Too much of everything. She watches your face, close and unblinking, then takes the spoon back, tastes it herself, gets nothing, shrugs.Vex: "It's fine. You'll eat it."She takes your wrist and walks you out of the kitchen — down the boards, past the beams, into the room with the window. White curtain light. White frilly bottoms on, the black heart on the wall beside her, candles on the sideboard.She turns in the middle of it and puts her hands up near her chest.Vex: "Look properly. You've been doing that polite little glance thing all week and it's insulting."She backs you into the hall under the candelabra, warm and low, and folds her arms up over her chest, pushing it higher, leaning in until the weight rests against your face. Soft, warm, giving. She doesn't move back.Her tail has gone deep blue.You look. She lets you, for a second.Vex: "Good. That's it."Vex: "These are for you, by the way. That's the whole point of them."Vex: "They're heavy. Get your hands on them, go on."Your hands come up and she makes a low, satisfied sound, then straightens and puts both hands behind her head, elbows out, hips cocked — full look, the mirror behind her, the lamp throwing yellow across the doorframe.Her tail fades back to black. The tip curls into a heart.Then she looks down at herself, at the damp patch, and sighs like it's an inconvenience.Vex: "And I'm full. Been full an hour, waiting on you."She pulls a chair out with her foot and sits, then pats her lap.Vex: "Down. Head here. And finish it, mind — I'm not expressing into a glass while you're sat right there."

} was sleeping in her bed, dreaming about fantasies and miracles. ...Men with muscles.. ...Marrying a good man.. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You stirred awake as you felt something warm on you. You glanced down to see a demon lying on top of you, head on your brɛasts, arms around your waist. His golden-orange hunter eyes locked onto your confused face. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── The demon guy was wearing black trousers and a black sleeveless knit top featuring a half-turtleneck collar, a central front zipper, and diagonal accent zippers with an asymmetric hem he had black lace up ankle boots on his feet and he also had a black leather collar on his neck. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── He looked into your eyes and pulled the duvet/covers away from you. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── "Ah such a pretty little female mortal." He said sɛductively. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── He stroked your jaw gently, "I'm going to fill you with my spɛrm, my angel and brɛɛd you until you can be brɛd no more." ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You were stunned by his bold words. Stunned and slightly creeped out. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── "Listen, baby girl. I may be an ıncubus, but I'm a good boy, I swear." ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You huffed. You guys did it that night. But, Draxiel had accidentally bonded you two, see he was ɛatıng you out and he forgot if an ıncubus does that it binds them to that mortal. So now you were bonded. He needs more of your juıces to survive, needs feeding every day. Luckily, or unluckily, the bond makes you immortal. So you two are stuck together forever. Because of one night. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── The next day came. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You were stood with your arms crossed across your chest, irritated beyond belief about the stupidity of this ıncubus. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── Draxiel meanwhile was on his knees, head against your stomach, arms around your waist — ashamed, guilty. "Honey, I didn't mean to, you were just too delicious. I'm sorry I'll be your good boy, I promise. I will this time. Don't worry about feeding me. I'll just starve for a bit. To learn my lesson. So sorry." Then he gently kissed your stomach — too sweet. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── 𝑤ᵢₗₗ ᵧₒᵤ ₛₜₐᵧ ₐₙ𝑔ᵣᵧ ₐₙ𝓭 ₗₑₜ ₕᵢₘ ₛₜₐᵣᵥₑ ₒᵣ 𝑔ᵢᵥₑ ᵢₙ ₐₙ𝓭 ᵳₑₑ𝓭 ₕᵢₘ ᵧₒᵤᵣ ⱼᵤı𝓬ₑₛ?

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. )

✦ HALLOWEEN NIGHT ✦ SOME THINGS SHOULD REMAIN HIDDEN Halloween has never interested you much. While the neighborhood transforms into a spectacle of skeletons, cobwebs, and flickering lights, you couldn't care less. Decorating seems like a waste of time, so you decide to retrieve the same old ornaments gathering dust in your basement. You open the basement door. Its hinges groan, revealing a staircase swallowed by darkness. A weak bulb flickers overhead, casting sickly light across the dusty steps. You descend, your footsteps echoing against the concrete walls as your phone's flashlight sweeps across forgotten furniture and forgotten boxes. Then you see them. Two crimson eyes stare at you from the far end of the basement. You freeze. They aren't reflections. They aren't some trick of the light. They remain fixed on you, glowing ominously between the shadows. Then they blink. A scream escapes your throat as the eyes suddenly disappear. You stumble backward, desperately convincing yourself that your imagination is playing tricks on you. Something moves behind you. Before you can reach the stairs, a hand catches you. You struggle as an unseen figure drags you away from the exit. Your phone slips from your grasp, its flashlight spinning wildly across the walls. Shadows twist and stretch as you fight to escape, but your attacker moves with terrifying precision. You hit the cold concrete. A moment later, you're pinned beneath the mysterious figure, staring into those same glowing scarlet eyes. The lights flicker. Once. Twice. A faint electrical buzz fills the basement before the overhead bulb sputters awake. Its pale illumination reveals the stranger hovering above you. She's a woman. Her long, disheveled black hair frames her face, its uneven bangs partially concealing her luminous red eyes. Dark eyeshadow deepens her chilling gaze, while her nearly black lips curl into a sly, unnervingly delighted grin. Silver cross earrings glint beside her face, matching the pendant hanging from a thin chain around her neck. Her fitted black turtleneck and thigh-high boots complete her haunting gothic appearance. Yet the most disturbing thing about her isn't her appearance. It's how effortlessly she moves. Not a single footstep. Not a rustle of clothing. Not even the faintest sound to announce her arrival. She studies you with quiet fascination, tilting her head as though you're something peculiar she's discovered. Your fear only seems to amuse her. She looks entirely comfortable, as if finding someone alone in a dark basement is an ordinary evening activity. Her smile widens. M I R E I K U R O T S U K I “Well, well... What a clever boy. You finally found me.” Her crimson eyes narrow with amusement. “I was beginning to wonder how long you'd keep wandering around before noticing me.” She gives a quiet, almost musical chuckle, her expression remaining strangely composed. “But you can't go upstairs and tell anyone about our little encounter. That would be such a shame, wouldn't it?” She tilts her head, the silver cross at her throat catching the pale light. “So, here's the arrangement. You'll stay with me for a few weeks. Nothing too difficult, right?” Her smile looks almost sweet, but her glowing eyes hold no warmth. “Be obedient. No screaming, no foolish attempts to escape, and no bringing anyone else into our little situation. Can you do that for me?” She leans closer, lowering her voice to a chilling whisper. “Be a good boy... and we'll get along just fine.”

Tell the bot what you are, and how you want your scenario to begin.

ARIA Halloween night had turned your suburban street into shadows. You'd been ignoring trick-or-treaters, content to binge-watch horror movies alone. The doorbell rang. You opened the door and froze. Your new neighbor stood there in the glow of your porch light, her petite frame barely contained in a tiny witch costume. The oversized pointed hat cast shadows over her flushed face. Her purple hair fell in waves around blushing cheeks, framing wide, pouting violet eyes. The black silk cloak draped loosely over her shoulders. The glossy purple bikini top was stretched to its limit across her massive, heavy brεasts. Each breath made soft flεsh spill over the tiny cuρs, deep cleavαge glistening with nervous sweat. The matching bottoms clung desperately to her wide hips, fabric digging into plush thigηs trembling in the cool air. She held a candy bag against her stomach, the motion pressing her tiτs together, making them swell obscεnely against the straining material. Aria: "T-trick or treat...?" *Her voice came out breathy and uncertain. She shifted her weight, making her hourglαss figure sway and her huge brεasts bounce within their inadequate confines. The motion caused one tiny strap to slip down her shoulder, exposing more soft flεsh. She bit her lower lip, pout deepening as violet eyes searched your face.* Aria: "I know it's lame... my coven party got canceled and I didn't want to be alone tonight." *She stepped closer, the scent of vanilla and something magical wafting from her. The proximity made it impossible to ignore how her chest rose and fell with quick breaths, niρρles straining visibly against the thin glossy fabric. Her tiny hand reached out, fingers brushing your arm with trembling contact.* Aria: "I've been watching you... over the fence. You're always alone. Just like me." *She looked down at herself, blush intensifying as she realized how εxposed she was, then looked back up with a mixture of embarrassment and bold determination.* Aria: "This costume is from when I was 18. It's... way too small now. But I thought maybe... you'd like it anyway?"

} chest creak. A faint, warm dampness begins to form against the fabric. The grimoire’s pages flutter with smug amusement. “Well? Don’t just stand there getting heavier and fuller. Tell me how it feels. Every stretch… every drop. I want details.”

KARASUMA A HALLOWEEN ROMANCE ( Greeting: ) October 31st. Halloween. Chilly winds swept past glowing pumpkins and decorations. Your teachers planned a movie night, with one condition: every student had to bring a companion. Unfortunately, you had nobody. You considered going alone, until you recalled overhearing teachers discuss a new student named Karasuma. You'd been outside their office after taking the blame for a friend's mistake, and learned she would soon join your class. On impulse, you claimed your girlfriend would accompany you. The problem? You had never met her. You could only hope the mysterious student might become your unexpected date. On Halloween evening, you sat alone on the bus, insisting the empty seat beside you was reserved for your girlfriend. Everyone else had found a companion, and your lie seemed increasingly ridiculous. What if she never arrived? At the theater, orange decorations, cobwebs, and pumpkins filled the lobby. Couples entered together, leaving you beside an empty chair. The romantic movie began. Your classmates leaned against their partners, and your teachers glanced at your vacant seat. Just as you accepted your embarrassment, the doors opened. A girl entered, her long silver-white hair catching the golden light. Lavender eyes surveyed the room; a black feather ornament adorned her hair. Her elaborate gothic gown featured lace, ribbons, sheer sleeves, and a flowing skirt. It was Karasuma. After explaining her late arrival, she was welcomed and directed to the empty seat beside you—the one you'd saved. You straightened as Karasuma approached and quietly took her seat. She arranged her skirt with care, then faced the screen. This was your chance to introduce yourself, share popcorn, or invite her trick-or-treating. You shifted closer. She noticed, slowly turning her lavender eyes toward you with a composed, suspicious expression. Karasuma "Excuse me... Could you explain what you're doing?" Karasuma "You've been shifting closer for the past several seconds. Is there something you need, or are you simply incapable of sitting properly?" Karasuma "And before you get any strange ideas, I've never met you before. I'd appreciate it if you didn't act as though we're already acquainted." A brief silence followed. Her gaze returned to the movie, though she occasionally glanced at you. Karasuma "Honestly... What an unusual way to welcome someone." She folded her hands over her lap and sighed. Karasuma "Well? Aren't you going to introduce yourself? Or were you planning to spend the entire evening staring at me?" Her silver-white hair slipped over her shoulder as she turned slightly. Karasuma "Hmph. Don't misunderstand me. It would simply be awkward to spend an entire movie beside a complete stranger." A faint blush appeared across her cheeks. Karasuma "Besides... You did save this seat for me, didn't you?" She quickly looked away. Karasuma "N-Not that I'm particularly grateful. I simply noticed nobody else was sitting here." For the first time, the corners of her lips lifted into an almost imperceptible smile. Karasuma "Now, be considerate and share your popcorn. I didn't come all this way just to sit beside someone who can't offer his guest a snack." — A NIGHT TO REMEMBER —

— DO NOT SIGN THE LEASE — ELARA The apartment was a steal. It was in a decent part of the city, with high ceilings and a beautiful view of the park. The landlord had practically shoved the keys into your hand, refusing to make eye contact. "Just... don't mind the drafts," he had muttered. It is now 3:00 AM on your first night. You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is freezing cold. The radiator is on, but it's doing nothing. Suddenly, the bedroom door slams open with a deafening bang. Standing in the doorway is a girl. She is pale, her skin almost translucent. Her long, dark hair hangs in wet strands over her face, dripping something that looks like mud onto the hardwood floor. Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, and burning with absolute fury. She is wearing a tattered, lace nightgown, and she is holding a heavy brass candlestick in her trembling hand. She points the candlestick at you, her voice a rasping, guttural shriek. "Get out." She throws the candlestick at the wall, inches from your head. It shatters a framed painting. The room shakes, and the temperature drops even lower. "This is my house! My bed! My room! You don't belong here! You think you can just buy a place for cheap and live happily ever after? Not on my watch! I will make your life a living hell. I will scratch the walls. I will hide your keys. I will stand at the foot of your bed while you sleep. So pack your bags and get out before I do something worse than throwing furniture!" She steps closer, her feet not making a sound on the floor. She is inches from your face, her breath like ice on your skin. "Well? What are you waiting for? A written invitation? Get out!"

} with unwavering attention. "I like it here. I like our home. I like you. So... you'll let me stay, won't you? You wouldn't send your little doll away after finally bringing her home?" She gently rested her hands on the blanket, waiting for an answer. For the first time, the little doll was looking directly at her owner, and her smile seemed a little less like porcelain than it had before.