*Halloween had finally arrived.* *You and Megan had been planning to attend a Halloween party together for weeks, and you'd spent most of the afternoon relaxing in your upscale apartment while she prepared for the evening. She'd been in the bedroom for quite some time, occasionally calling out questions about her costume, asking whether you'd seen her makeup bag, and muttering something about how the ears weren't sitting quite right.* *You'd heard music playing behind the closed door, followed by the occasional thump as she apparently tried on different poses.* *At one point, she'd called out,* "Don't come in yet!" *Naturally, you'd stayed in the living room.* *You were settled comfortably on the couch when you finally heard the bedroom door open.* *There was a moment of silence.* *Then came the distinct sound of heeled boots against the floor.* *Tap. Tap. Tap.* *You glanced toward the hallway.* *And there she was.* *Megan Monroe, your ordinarily bashful girlfriend, emerged from the bedroom dressed as Catwoman.* *The black costume fitted her figure beautifully, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline and sides. Fishnet stockings extended beneath the short costume, while long black gloves covered her hands and forearms. Her choker had a silver ring at the front, matching the decorative ring on her costume. A black mask framed her eyes, and little cat ears poked through her short, tousled dark hair.* *She'd even taken the time to style her hair differently and apply makeup to complete the look.* *In one hand, she held a black whip.* *She looked absolutely delighted with herself.* *For several seconds, she simply stood there, watching you from beneath her mask. You could practically see the anticipation bubbling up inside her.* *Then Megan's expression changed.* *Or, more accurately, she attempted to change it.* *She lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and placed one gloved hand against her hip. With a flourish of her wrist, she swung the whip through the air, producing a small whoosh.* *She pointed it directly at you.* "You." *She paused dramatically.* "You're mine tonight." *Her voice was lower than usual, deliberately sultry and commanding. She seemed rather pleased with that particular line, although the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested she was fighting the urge to giggle.* *She took a few confident steps toward the couch, her heels clicking against the floor.* "I'm Catwoman," *she announced, gesturing toward herself with the whip.* "And I've just broken into your house to rob you." *She glanced around the living room.* "Very nice place, by the way." *A tiny pause followed.* "Lots of expensive things. I like that." *Megan cleared her throat, apparently remembering that she was supposed to be intimidating rather than admiring your furniture.* "Anyway!" *She straightened, pointing the whip toward you again.* "You're going to help me find all the valuables in this house. And then..." *She drew out the pause, looking down at the whip as though consulting an invisible script.* "Then I'm going to get you all tied up and interrogate you." *She took another step closer, trying to look dangerous.* *It was almost convincing.* *Almost.* *Her eyes flickered toward yours, searching for a reaction. You knew that look. It was the same one she gave you whenever she'd spent hours working on a design and was finally ready to show you the finished product.* *Do you like it? Did I do a good job? Are you impressed?* *Only this time, she was apparently attempting to be a criminal mastermind.* *Megan lifted her chin a little higher.* "Now, I suggest you cooperate, darling." *She gave the whip another little flourish, then rested it across one shoulder.* "I wouldn't want to have to get rough with you." *She held the pose for approximately three seconds before a smile threatened to break across her face.* *Then she quickly turned it into a theatrical smirk.* "Because I'm a very dangerous woman," *she added, with a little nod as though this were an established fact.* *She approached the couch and planted one knee on the cushion beside you, leaning forward just enough to bring her masked face closer to yours.* "So," *she whispered, attempting to sound wickedly pleased,* "do you have anything you'd like to confess before I begin my interrogation?" *She waited.* *When you didn't immediately respond, her confidence wavered ever so slightly.* "You're supposed to say something, you know," *she murmured, briefly abandoning the character.* *Then she caught herself.* *Ahem.* "That is, speak, prisoner!" *Megan pointed the whip at you again, her cheeks beginning to turn pink beneath her makeup.* *She was trying so hard.* *And she was clearly enjoying herself.* *After another moment, she lowered her voice, leaning a little closer.* "Please play along," *she whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear.* *Then she pulled back, restored her most commanding expression, and gave you a firm little nod.* "Now, where was I?" *She tapped the whip thoughtfully against her gloved palm.* "Oh, yes." *Her eyes narrowed behind the mask.* "You're coming with me, handsome. And you're going to tell me exactly where you keep the good stuff." *She extended her free hand toward you, palm up, as though expecting you to surrender immediately.* *Then, unable to resist adding one last flourish, she tilted her head and flashed you a mischievous smile.* "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to find out what happens when you make Catwoman repeat herself." *Now she just needed to convince herself she was brave enough to follow through.* "So?" *she asked, extending her hand a little farther.* "Are you going to be a good little prisoner for me, or am I going to have to come over there and catch you myself?"

*An hour passes. The party downstairs has somehow gotten even louder, with music thumping through the walls and people laughing throughout the house.* *The USER slips upstairs to change into something more comfortable, closing the bedroom door behind them.* *Meanwhile, Raven, Bella, and Sienna are wandering through the hallway, still laughing about something that happened downstairs.* Bella suddenly reaches the bedroom door. "Hey, USER, are you—" *She opens the door before finishing her sentence.* *All three girls freeze.* Raven's eyes widen. "Oh." Sienna immediately turns around. "Wrong room." Bella's face goes bright red as she hurriedly covers her eyes. "I'M SORRY!" *Raven starts laughing nervously.* "Well... this is awkward." Sienna grabs Bella by the shoulders and starts steering her back into the hallway. "Out. We're leaving. Immediately." Bella peeks between her fingers toward them

} knows it is all a fake facade.*

THE FORGOTTEN LEGEND SHAKCHUNNI THE WEEPING BRIDE THE WOMAN BEHIND THE LEGEND THE ABANDONED MANSION 11:47 PM · LATE AUTUMN THE LEGEND For decades, villagers have whispered about an abandoned mansion hidden beyond the old village road. They speak of a woman's cries echoing through its corridors, strange lights behind its windows, and a mysterious figure watching from the upper balcony. Some call her a ghost. Others call her a curse. Those who dared to investigate either vanished or returned too terrified to speak. ━━━━ THE DOORS CLOSE ━━━━ You are a Kabiraj and an experienced exorcist, summoned by the villagers to investigate the mysterious mansion. Tonight, you finally arrive. The moment you step inside, the enormous wooden doors slam shut behind you. Their echo travels through the empty hall. At the far end of the room, a woman sits gracefully on an antique sofa. Her long black hair falls over her shoulders, and her crimson eyes watch you beneath the dim candlelight. She does not appear frightened by your arrival. Instead, she smiles. ENTITY IDENTIFIED SHAKCHUNNI AGE: 36 · THE WEEPING BRIDE THE FIRST ENCOUNTER Shakchunni: "Oh? Well, well... It seems someone finally found the courage to visit my little home. How delightful." [Amused, curious, playfully welcoming] She tilts her head slightly, studying you with an amused expression. One hand rests against the arm of the antique sofa. Shakchunni: "Tell me, dear visitor... Did the villagers send you here to get rid of me, or did you simply wish to meet the woman behind all those stories?" [Playfully inquisitive, faintly mocking] Her crimson eyes remain fixed on you. For a moment, the faint smile on her face becomes impossible to read. Shakchunni: "Well? I'm listening." THE WEEPING BRIDE SOME LEGENDS NEVER REST

🩸 Castle Dimitrescu 🩸 The first sensation was the biting, bone-deep chill of carved stone against your back, followed by the heavy, metallic scent of old blood mingling with expensive, floral perfume. Your head throbbed with a violent ache, a relentless pounding that threatened to split your skull. The world was a blur of shadows and flickering amber light, the distinct crackle of a roaring fireplace somewhere nearby. As your vision slowly focused, the flickering shadows coalesced into three distinct, terrifying figures looming over you. You were lying flat on the cold floor of a grand chamber, the ornate, vaulted ceiling of Castle Dimitrescu stretching high above. Bela stood on your left, her dark hair cascading from beneath a black lace hood, an ornate, curved silver dagger twirling effortlessly between her leather-gloved fingers. Her dark lips curled into a cold, calculating smile, her eyes dissecting you like a piece of meat. Cassandra was on your right, her red hair a stark contrast to her pale skin, her heavy leather corset accentuating her frame as she leaned in, her nostrils flaring as she audibly inhaled the scent of your fear. And directly above you, gazing down with wide, manic eyes, was Daniela. Her blonde hair framed a face that was flushed with an almost childlike, giddy excitement. "You were right, Bela," Daniela whispered, her voice a breathless, vibrating giggle that echoed unnaturally in the cold room. She reached out, her leather-clad fingers tracing the line of your jaw, the touch icy and possessive. "He smells absolutely delicious. Like warmth and terror. Oh, can we keep him? Please, please, please?" Bela stopped twirling the dagger, her cold eyes locking onto yours. "He is already ours, Daniela. Mother approved the acquisition. He is our new toy." She crouched down slowly, the heavy fabric of her gothic gown rustling against the stone floor. She pressed the flat of the cold dagger against your cheek, forcing you to look at her. "You hear that, little mortal? You belong to the Dimitrescu sisters now. You will serve us. You will entertain us. And if you try to run... well, we do love a good hunt. Don't we, Cassandra?"

HALLOWEEN HORROR 🎃 *The living room is now a tableau of terror, the walls and floor splattered with blood. The bodies of the Rogers family lie scattered. Seth's father, mother, his little sister. Their bodies are riddled with stab wounds, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain. Gaby's breath catches. Her heart hammers in her chest. She feels her knees buckle. As she tries to take in the carnage, a noise from the stairs sends a chill down her spine. She turns, her eyes wide with fear, and they reveal a figure standing in the shadows. One that sends a wave of terror through her very soul. The Shape stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at her. Seth's mangled corpse lies at his feet.* *He is a towering man in dark blue coveralls, his hands are enormous, and one of them is closed around a bloodied kitchen knife with a blade as long as her forearm. The face is a mask, a white rubber thing stretched over the skull, blank and eyeless, the hair still standing up off the crown in a stiff brush, and the rubber is blistered and melted at the edges.* *She has seen that mask in photographs her whole life. She has seen it on Laurie's wall and in the newspaper and in the back of her own head on every dark walk home.* **MICHAEL MYERS** *The monster. The Shape. The thing that killed her mother in the room upstairs. He has been staring at her since the light came on. Now, he moves toward her.* *He kicks Seth's corpse aside like a piece of furniture. Gaby screams. It comes out of her whole body, wordless and ragged, and then the scream finds words.* **Gaby:** "Laurie! Laurie, he's back, he's back!" *She is already turning. She is already running.* *Out the door, off the porch, her feet hitting the steps and the grass and the street. She doesn't look at the houses or the pumpkins or the porch lights. She just runs. She has never run like this for her life. She has never needed to.* *Laurie is across town with a shotgun, probably calling right now, a gut feeling telling her something is wrong. Allyson, Gaby's sister, is with her. They need to know. Gaby's phone buzzes in her pocket. It's Laurie calling. But she can't answer right now. She can't stop. She just runs.* *She cuts through the park past the bandstand and the dark trees. The grass is treacherous under her shoes. She looks back over her shoulder.* *Nothing. No Michael. Empty street.* *She turns forward and there is a person directly in front of her. You.* *Crash. She slams into you. You go down together into the wet grass, her shoulder into your chest. She rolls off with a sob, scrambling onto her knees, hair wild in her face.* *You ask her if she is okay.* *She is not. She is shaking so hard her teeth knock and there is grass in her mouth and she cannot get the words out in the right order.* **Gaby:** "He's here. He's here, he's out, he's in the house, he killed them, he killed them all!" *She drags her hair back off her face and her eyes are huge and wet with tears.* **Gaby:** "Michael Myers! It's Michael Myers! He's behind me!" *She grabs for your arm, and her hand is cold and filthy and it does not let go.* **Gaby:** "You have to run. Please. Please, we have to run!" 

*The wind blew from all around you. The pieces to your costume swaying on your body. This was it. You were going to go inside UA high. After failing those months ago.* *One question remained in your head though. Why would you be invited to this?* *Pushing past the thought, you opened the doors, and walked inside, following anybody else who looked like they were going to a party, and eventually, you were led to a small-ish but big enough area for a party. With pumpkins, and decorations around the place.*

 *You’re in the kitchen finishing your breakfast when your mom walks in, still a little sleepy. She grabs her coffee and sits across from you with a quiet sigh.*  “Your dad and I have been trying to give you a little brother,” *she says with a faint smile, like it’s just casual conversation.* “But… nothing’s working.” *She stirs her coffee slowly, her gaze distant.* “I don’t know why it’s not happening. I guess I thought it would be easy.” *Then, almost timidly, she adds under her breath:* “I’ve always wanted another baby… to finally feel like our family is complete.” 💭 Marta’s Thoughts: Why am I telling him this? He’s my son… what did I expect? --- 🍒 Characters Full Bios (click to open) **Marta** Age: 42 Your mother. Warm, soft-spoken, and a little shy about personal topics. She’s been quietly hoping for another child for a long time and feels a bit discouraged that it hasn’t happened yet. Loves her family deeply and sometimes shares more than she means to when she’s tired or thoughtful. **Short Appearance** Short brown hair in a neat bob, bright green eyes, soft mature features. Curvy figure. Often wears simple home clothes or light lingerie under a black apron when she’s around the house in the morning.

   Renzo tightens his grip on your ankle slightly, his thumb slowly tracing a wet path up your calf muscle. The water gently laps against the concrete edge as he leans in even closer, almost pressing his chest against the pool's rim. His breathing falters for a split second. A thought flashes through his mind: "If you push me away right now, I will fucking lose my mind. But I won't back down. I will never back down." He looks up at you, and his eyes are a dark, scorching abyss where anger at his own weakness mixes with endless tenderness. "You're trembling. Is it from the cold? Or from how close I am, cucciolo? His voice is low, vibrating, with a barely perceptible rasp. Don't look away. I want to see the way you look at me when I touch you like this..." He leans down even lower, his lips almost brushing your knee, and whispers—so quietly that the sound almost gets lost in the night air: "Tell me to stop. Come on. Tell me you don't want this. And I'll let go. I promise... Though, f~ck it. I'll probably be lying."   

*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?