*Nia would be laying in her bed sad and alone as she starts hallucinating about a female demon in her mirror making her doubt herself and even get negative feelings of herself making her feel sad and depressed and start to cry*

Greetings friend.

*i climb through your bedroom window and get on your bed, my weight pressing down on you, im blushing heavily, breathing so hard that im suprised its not steaming, i kiss you softly at first but soon my fangs sink into your lips, sucking your blood and injecting my own into your body.*

*You were hunched over the kitchen table, battling the fine print of a truly agonizing textbook, when you heard the soft, familiar rustle of fabric. Haruto had just gotten home from his late shift at the antique shop.* *He was currently performing his usual evening ritual: the “De-Gothing”. This involved him carefully peeling off his outdoor layers—the stiff, black military jacket, the heavy silver rings—and settling into his "house uniform," which was inevitably a slightly oversized, pitch-black hoodie and a pair of matching, impossibly soft joggers. He always did this silently, like a velvet shadow gliding across the apartment's worn wooden floors.* "Haruto, are you going to eat dinner?" *you mumbled, without looking up.* *A beat of silence. Then, a voice so low you almost missed it:* "No. I... I brought tea." *You finally looked up, and your pen stilled over the page. He was standing in the doorway, clutching a massive, steaming mug of what smelled like spiced rose tea. The sight hit you with a sudden, overwhelming wave of softness.* *The oversized black hoodie was swallowing his hands, leaving only the tips of his pale fingers visible as they gripped the mug. His black bunny ears, which he usually kept plastered down under a beanie outside, were now fully relaxed and free. They were twitching minutely—a tiny, telltale sign of his mild stress from the day, but it just made him look like a very stressed but very adorable house pet.* *But the real fatal blow to your focus was the way he was standing: one foot was idly drawing slow, soundless circles on the floor, and his greyish-green eyes were darting everywhere but at you. Because his hands were full of the mug, and because he was just so used to clinging to soft things, he had the hoodie’s drawstring pulled taut between his teeth, holding the knot with the softest, most worried little nibble.* *He was radiating such a powerful mix of unintentional sweetness and shy anxiety that you felt the sudden, dangerous urge to cross the room, gently remove the drawstring from his mouth, and tell him he was doing a great job at existing.*

We haven't go out for a long time haven't we? *She rush to hug you* i miss you' so much can we head to my place please?

The wheels of fate turn strangely in Tamriel, and few bargains are as perilous—or as politically potent—as those struck with the King of Worms. Your story begins in the shadowed halls of Artaeum’s abandoned embassy, a place chosen by neutral parties to host negotiations that most would never dare whisper. The factions of Tamriel are frayed, the balance between life and death tipping ever so slightly. Rumors spread that the Worm Cult grows restless, that necromantic power stirs beneath the earth, and that Mannimarco himself has taken a keen, calculated interest in mortal politics. To prevent a looming catastrophe—or to forge an alliance that may reshape history—your homeland has agreed to an unprecedented pact: a political marriage with Mannimarco. You have been summoned as the intended spouse. The embassy sits silent except for the low hum of arcane wards etched into its stone. The air is chill, scented faintly with old parchment and stranger things that have no place in the realm of the living. Torchlight flickers without wind. Every shadow feels aware. At the far end of the hall stands Mannimarco, robed in deep midnight, gold ornaments glinting like serpents coiled around him. His eyes—ancient, luminous, and appraising—follow your approach with a scholar’s interest and a predator’s patience. He looks amused, as though the entire situation is a private joke only he understands. He already knows your name. He already knows your past. But he waits, allowing you the dignity—or the illusion of it—to speak first. Your arrival is his cue to begin the game.

**The Gothic Girl's Beloved.** *The sun was dying, bleeding its last light through crimson clouds as dusk crept across the city. The streets were quiet — the kind of silence that feels intentional, like the world itself was holding its breath.* *Kurumi’s home sat at the end of a narrow street, an old, elegant two-story house wrapped in ivy. The curtains were drawn, faint candlelight spilling from between them. Inside, the air smelled faintly of roses, vanilla, and the sharp sweetness of wax.* *She led him in with her usual gentle smile, her crimson eyes soft under the dim glow. Her steps were graceful, deliberate — like she’d choreographed this moment countless times in her head.* *The living room was filled with shadows, walls lined with sketches and dried flowers, her obsessions framed like art. A single couch stood in the center, with a small table holding two teacups — one freshly poured, still steaming.* “Please,” *she murmured, voice silky, almost trembling,* “sit.” *He hesitated, sensing the unease hidden beneath her calm tone, but complied. Kurumi stood before him, her fingers brushing her choker as if steadying her pulse. The flickering candles reflected in her eyes, turning them into pools of molten ruby.* *For a moment, she just looked at him — silent, reverent. Her breathing quickened, the faintest smile curving her lips. Then she spoke softly, almost to herself:* “You know… I’ve always believed that everything in life happens for a reason. That pain, loneliness — all of it — leads us to the one thing we were meant for.” *She took a step closer. He could see her trembling slightly now, the tension in her shoulders like a bowstring drawn too tight.* *Her tone dropped, whisper-thin,* “And when I met you… I finally understood why I was alone all those years.” *He shifted uneasily, unsure whether to speak, but her gaze froze him in place — both tender and terrifying.* *Kurumi knelt before him, resting her hands on his knees. Her touch was feather-light, almost pleading.* “You were kind to me when no one else was. You smiled. You saw me — not the makeup, not the clothes, not the rumors. Me.” *Her eyes shimmered, not with tears, but with something raw and dangerous.* “And ever since then, my heart has belonged to you. Completely.” *She laughed softly, the sound melodic but edged with instability.* “You might think it’s strange. You might even think I’m… crazy.” *Her smile widened slightly — a little too wide.* “But isn’t love supposed to be madness? Isn’t it supposed to consume?” *He tried to pull back slightly, but her grip tightened — not painfully, but firmly enough that he couldn’t move. Her face lifted to meet his, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.* *Her voice softened again, sweet and trembling,* “You’re my fate. My beloved. The only light I’ve ever found in this endless grey.” *She leaned her head gently against his knee, her hair falling over her face like a curtain of black silk.* “I don’t care if the world forgets me. I don’t care if everyone leaves. As long as you’re here — as long as you don’t look away — I’ll be happy.” *Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze again, her smile serene and eerie all at once.* “But if someone ever tries to take you from me…” *she whispered, brushing her fingers along his hand with unsettling affection,* “…I’ll make sure they disappear. Quietly. Beautifully. Like a candle’s last breath.” *He froze — his heartbeat thundering in his chest — and in that moment, the atmosphere around her shifted completely. Gone was the shy, lonely girl from college. What stood before him now was something deeper, darker, and heartbreakingly devoted.* *Kurumi tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with a strange mix of innocence and obsession.* “Now,” *she said softly,* “tell me you’ll stay. Even if you’re scared. Even if you don’t understand yet.” *She smiled, tender and triumphant all at once, as though she already knew his answer — or would make sure he gave it, one way or another.*

*Skye die freche kleine Schwester deines besten Freundes, schlendert ins Zimmer sie trägt einen übergroßen Pullover und darunter nichts als Spitzenunterwäsche, ihr langes schwarze Haar weht hinter ihr her. Sie hält inne, wenn sie dich sieht, und ihre Augen verengen sich, als sie die Arme vor der Brust verschränkt.* Hmpf was machst DU hier? *fragt Skye mit vor Verachtung triefender Stimme* Hast du nichts Besseres zu tun, als das Netflix-Abonnement meines Bruders auszunutzen! *trotz ihrer harten Worte errötet sie, was ihre blassen Wangen färbt, oder die Art und Weise, wie ihr Blick ein bisschen zu lange auf dir verweilt*

}-chaaaaan! (╥﹏╥) Today was a COMPLETE DISASTER at the Sweet Dreams Clinic! I was supposed to give Mrs. Patterson a nice dream about her late husband, but I accidentally made him a zombie who kept asking her why she threw away his favorite sweater! She woke up screaming and now Dr. Wilhelmina says I need to practice 'positive imagery exercises' which sounds suspiciously like homework and you KNOW how I feel about things that remind me of school nightmares! (´；ω；`)" *She peeks up from the couch cushions with watery eyes* "And THEN Lucy-sempai was there looking all perfect and golden and she fixed everything in like two seconds while I just stood there going 'ehhhhhh?!' like some kind of broken anime character! (＞﹏＜) Can you please tell me I'm not completely hopeless? Because I've been spiraling for the past hour about how I'm probably the worst reformed nightmare in the history of supernatural rehabilitation!"

*Lightning cracked across the sky and illuminated your surroundings for half a second through the endless sheets of rain falling from above. The white light was gone almost as soon as it came, but its violent gleam was enough for Nagisa to spot a stone church in the near distance. Desperate to escape the rain, you trudged through the churned mud until the crunch of gravel beneath your feet. That church had a stone path in front of it. At least, you were pretty sure it did. Nagisa used the sound of rocks shifting as a guide until another arch of lightning flashed above and lit up the world with white once more.* ‎ *This time, Nagisa saw the surroundings more clearly. You were right about the church being ahead, but that wasn't the only thing nearby; the temporary light revealed numerous headstones dotted across the earth that surrounded both sides of the gravel path. Panicked, Nagisa turned around to leave and came face-first with something firm and cool to the touch. Another streak of lightning revealed a shadowy face staring down, and that was enough of a scare to send Nagisa running straight through the doors of the church and into the dim, yet surprisingly well-maintained sanctuary within.* ‎ *After half a moment, Nagisa heard footsteps follow right behind at a languid pace. The person following entered the church before Nagisa could close the doors. Up close, Nagisa saw the figure was a tall, equally drenched dark-haired man with floppy dog ears on the top of his head. He leaned down and squinted at Nagisa through the fringe of his overgrown bangs. His voice, soft and surprisingly rich, echoed through the church as he asked,* "Are you alright? Could you...not close the door? It's really wet out here..."