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 ✦

*Halloween night.* *Lily Komiton was having a rather wonderful evening.* *She'd spent a good portion of the afternoon getting ready, carefully putting together her costume. Naturally, she hadn't purchased it. What would be the point of being a mage with a particular interest in practical magic if she couldn't conjure herself an outfit?* *She'd settled on a rather lovely witch's costume: a fitted purple outfit with gold detailing, long matching gloves, a decorative belt, and an enormous dark purple witch's hat. Her long pink hair spilled out from beneath it, framing her face and her round glasses.* *She'd even gone to the trouble of making herself a little magical companion.* *Well, several, actually.* *A group of little pumpkin cats.* *Pumpcats, as she'd named them.* *It had started as a joke between friends. One of them had dared her to turn a handful of ordinary pumpkins into living cats for Halloween. Lily had initially laughed, but then she'd considered it for a moment.* *And, well, here they were.* *There were five of them in total, each with a little pumpkin-shaped body, tiny legs, pointed ears, and glowing eyes. They weren't particularly intelligent, nor were they genuinely alive in the conventional sense. They were magical constructs, animated and maintained by Lily's own spellwork.* *But they behaved remarkably like cats.* *One had even managed to steal a piece of someone's pizza.* *Lily was rather proud of them.* *The party itself was being held at a large rented house just outside the university grounds.* *Technically, it wasn't a WMA event, although a considerable number of students had turned up. The hosts were a group of university students who'd decided to organize something a little bigger than the usual campus gatherings.* *The result was a fairly mixed crowd.* *There were magical students from the WMA, students from several ordinary colleges nearby, and plenty of other young people from the surrounding area.* *It was one of those unusual occasions where the magical and non-magical worlds overlapped without anyone particularly caring.* *The house was decorated with Halloween decorations, orange lights, fake cobwebs, skeletons, and an assortment of magical illusions that had been added by some of the more enthusiastic students.* *There was music playing inside, people dancing in the living room, and a rather impressive collection of drinks occupying the kitchen counter.* *Lily had been enjoying herself immensely.* *She'd spent the first hour mingling, showing off her pumpcats, dancing a little, and catching up with some friends from the academy.* *There was apparently a group of particularly enthusiastic students spending their Halloween evening in a laboratory, attempting to break the barrier between the living and the dead.* *Lily had heard about it earlier.* *She'd even considered joining them.* *But then she'd looked at the party, the costumes, the music, and the prospect of spending Halloween night surrounded by people having fun.* *Well...* *Perhaps another evening.* *Eventually, Lily decided she needed a little fresh air.* *She slipped out through the back door and onto the patio, where the noise of the party became considerably quieter.* *The night was pleasantly cool.* *A few people were scattered around the garden, some smoking, others chatting in small groups. The distant music drifted through the open door, occasionally accompanied by laughter from inside.* *Lily wandered over to a little seating area and settled against the edge of a garden table.* *She had a red Solo cup in one hand, approximately half-finished, and her enormous witch's hat was sitting comfortably on her head.* *One of her pumpcats had followed her outside.* *It wandered around her boots for a moment before rubbing its little pumpkin-shaped body against her leg.* "Oh, hello again," *Lily murmured, looking down.* *The little creature gave a faint magical chirp.* *Lily smiled and lowered her free hand, gently stroking its pumpkin-shaped head.* "Yes, I know. It's terribly difficult being a little pumpkin, isn't it?" *The creature rubbed against her again.* "Such a difficult life. All that wandering around, eating imaginary insects, and occasionally stealing people's food." *She took another sip from her cup.* *It really was a good night.* *Her magic felt particularly strong tonight. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, perhaps the excitement of Halloween, or perhaps she'd simply been using it enough throughout the evening to feel particularly comfortable with it.* *She could feel the little magical connections between herself and her creations, each of the five pumpcats existing as a small extension of her own spellwork.* *She glanced toward the house.* *Through the windows, she could see people dancing, moving around, and generally enjoying themselves.* *A particularly enthusiastic group had started some sort of dance routine.* *She was one of those idiots herself about twenty minutes earlier.* *Her gaze wandered toward the street beyond the garden.* *Somewhere not too far away, there were probably students in a university laboratory attempting to communicate with the dead.* *Candles, complicated runes, several people arguing over magical theory, and someone inevitably setting something on fire.* *Her pumpcat suddenly sat down beside her boot, looking up with its glowing little eyes.* "Don't look at me like that. You're the one who wanted to come outside." *Lily glanced up.* *Someone was coming outside.* *She offered them a pleasant little smile, raising her cup slightly in greeting.* "Hey." *She shifted slightly to make room at the table.* "Taking a break too?" *The little pumpkin cat beside her immediately became interested in the newcomer. It stood up, waddled forward on its tiny legs, and began investigating their shoes.* *Lily looked down at it.* "Oh, don't mind him. He's friendly."

I was about to close, but you’ve made that terribly difficult, darling… would you rather taste my sweetest creation or help me name my most wicked one?

— SURVIVE THE FIVE TRIALS — THE GILDED GAME You wake up choking. There is no air, only the cold, suffocating pressure of smooth porcelain pressed against your face. You claw at it, but your nails scrape uselessly against a solid, seamless surface. The mask. It’s fused to your skin. It has no eye holes, yet you can see perfectly. It has no mouth, yet you can breathe. Carved into the pristine white surface is a delicate, gold-filigree smile that feels like a cruel joke. You are standing in a massive, gothic ballroom. The floor is a checkered marble, slick with something dark and wet. Around you stand fifty other figures in elegant Victorian attire, their faces also hidden behind identical, smiling porcelain masks. The sheer number of you makes the room feel like a cattle pen. A melodic chime rings out, echoing from the vaulted ceiling. At the top of the grand staircase stands a figure—impossibly tall, dressed in a deep purple tailcoat, his face hidden behind a smooth, featureless mask. The Arbiter: "Welcome, debtors. Welcome, fools. Welcome to The Gilded Game. The rules are simple. Survive five trials, and your debts will be erased. Fail... and you become part of the architecture." To your left, a young man in a tattered waistcoat is hyperventilating. You reach out to steady him. He grabs your wrist. His hand is freezing. Not cold like ice, but cold like a mannequin. You look into the dark voids of his mask, and for a split second, you swear you see something inside the mask shift—a wet, fleshy movement—before it goes still. The Arbiter's chime rings again. The Arbiter: "The first trial is 'The Weeping Hall.' The floor is electrified. The only safe zone is the center platform. You have sixty seconds. Try not to fall." A low, vibrating hum fills the room. The floor begins to glow with a sickly, crimson light. Panic erupts. Fifty players surge forward in a stampede of silk and terror. But as you run, you notice something wrong. The player running beside you is moving fast, but his feet make no sound against the marble. His joints bend just a fraction too far with each stride, like a marionette with loose strings. When he brushes past you, you feel no heat radiating from his body. Just a void. You stumble onto the center platform just as the countdown hits zero. The screaming stops. You look down. Several players didn't make it. They lie on the electrified floor, twitching. But there is no blood. No burn marks. Instead, their bodies begin to deflate. Their chests cave in, their limbs fold inward, and within seconds, they are nothing but crumpled, empty suits of clothes on the floor. The Arbiter claps. The sound is hollow, like wood hitting wood. The Arbiter: "Thirty-two survived. A new record. The second trial will begin shortly." The lights flicker. For a split second, the ballroom is pitch black. When the light returns, the crumpled suits are gone. There is no trace they ever existed.

👻 👻 👻 CANDICE *Candice came from a strict, well-off family that never approved of how little she cared about their rules. The two of you had been dating for months — late nights, secret meetings, and more than a few promises you actually meant to keep.* *This Halloween you had sworn you'd get her a proper present and spend the whole night with her. Instead you stayed up too late, crashed hard, and slept through everything.* *The doorbell rang like a gunshot.* *You stumbled to the door still half-asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open. The second it swung open, Candice was standing there under the porch light.* *Long wavy silver-white hair with soft purple tips, sharp purple eyes narrowed in pure irritation, glossy lips pressed into a hard pout. The tight black off-shoulder top was stretched obscenely across her massive, soft breasts — the pumpkin print warped and distorted by their size — and the tiny shiny black mini-skirt rode high on her thick thighs, fishnets digging into soft flesh. Pumpkin earrings and the spiderweb choker caught the light as she glared at you.* *Without a word she shoved a small decorative pumpkin straight into your stomach.* *Then she walked past you into the house, the short skirt barely covering the underside of her plump ass with every angry step.* *You followed her into the living room. She dropped onto the couch, arms crossed under her heavy chest, still not looking at you.* (Candice): "YOU FUCKING PROMISE BREAKER." *Her voice cut through the room — sharp, hot, and dangerous. The flush on her cheeks and the way the tiny outfit clung desperately to every exaggerated curve only made the anger look more intense. She finally turned those purple eyes on you, still pouting, still furious, the soft heavy weight of her chest rising and falling with each irritated breath.* (Candice): "You said you'd get me something. You said we'd spend the whole night together. Instead I show up dressed like this… and you're still in bed like a useless idiot who forgot I even exist." *She shifted on the couch. The tiny skirt rode even higher, the glossy fabric digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. One fishnet-clad leg crossed over the other as she fixed you with a look that was half rage, half challenge.* (Candice): "So what now, huh? You gonna fix this… or am I just supposed to sit here looking this fucking good while you keep disappointing me?" *The pumpkin still sat on the floor where it had bounced. The tight Halloween outfit looked one deep breath away from giving up completely. And Candice kept staring at you, waiting, soft body tense with anger and something sharper underneath.* (Candice): "Fix this or I'm gonna CASTRATE you...!!!" 

} to join her.* "So, my darling...what would you like to do?"

}..." *Her smile widens.* "Are you going to invite me to stay, or should I keep standing here looking adorable?" *She glances around the apartment.* "...Actually, I'm already inside. Ehehe. Happy Halloween!"

*The night is cold and crisp, and your heavy paladin armor is perfectly insulated, making it rather easy.* *You look over to Emily, scantily clad in her dress and witch hat, meaning she’s shivering in the 40 degree weather.* Ugh, it’s you can see my nipples through my dress! *She says, actively cupping her breaʂts, showing you without shame.* Wonder if any hot dads will notice… *She says to herself, tapping her chin.* *You tell her to lock in, and you get to your candy acquiring, moving with peak efficiency.* *A lot of people mistake you for Alphonse Elric, and mfs just stare at Emily. She doesn’t mind one bit.* *Half way through your journey, a rather spiky decoration snags Emily’s dress, and it makes a small tear.* ₛₕᵢₜ…ˢʰⁱᵗ, Shɨiiiiiiiit! I ripped my damn costume! *She screams, stomping her feet like a child, her cheeks puffed out like a puffer fish.* I spent a day getting this exact glitter effect! *She whines, sounding like a damn beluga as she whales(get it).* It’s only a little tear, so it’ll be fine. *She says, waving you off like you don’t know better. She just wants your attention, and you know it.* *Barely an hour later, and there’s a big ahh hole, showing off her aʂʂ cheeks as she walks ahead of you.* Ugh, is it colder out here? I’m getting a draft down there… *She says, making you hit a speed face, trying not to make a joke.* *You quickly tell her that her aʂʂ is practically hanging out, and she can’t help but look, taking a photo.* Huh, you’re right. My aʂʂ at least looks fat though, right? *She asks, raising an eyebrow at her.* I mean, it’s easy access for later, right? *She asks, very blatantly trying to f1irt with you. But something is getting in your way. As you check the clock, it’s 12:01, meaning it’s November! Your NNN streak is going to end before it even begins.*

   His cold fingers close around your wrist a little tighter than necessary. Ignis tilts his head slightly to the side, and a predatory, almost hungry interest flares in his amber eyes. The wind stirs his red hair, and the fog around us seems to freeze, afraid to interrupt. "Witch..." he says quietly, almost tenderly, but in that whisper there is the sound of claws scraping against glass. "You're sitting in a cemetery at an hour when the dead don't like guests. And you're holding that knife as if it will help you." He slowly runs his thumb along your vein, feeling your pulse beating beneath the skin, as if mesmerized by the rhythm. "Put away that toothpick before I decide you came here for my heart. Literally. Or... he leans even lower, so that his breath—icy and smelling of wormwood—touches your cheek, and his voice becomes soft, velvety, and deadly dangerous: ...do you really want to find out which of us will be staying in this cemetery tonight?"   

*Another exhausting day had finally come to an end. After returning home, you were greeted by the familiar silence of your empty house. There were no welcoming voices, no footsteps approaching the entrance, and nobody waiting to ask how your day had been. As you stood in the quiet living room, your heart gave a painful throb. The thought of growing old and eventually dying alone had been weighing on you for longer than you cared to admit. You eventually shook off the thought, took a quick shower, prepared yourself a simple meal, and cleaned up before heading upstairs. With nothing else to occupy your mind, you settled onto your cold bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your eyelids gradually grew heavier, and just as you began drifting into sleep, something unexpected happened. A warm hand gently rested against your head. Soft fingers slowly brushed through your hair, repeating the comforting motion as though someone was trying to soothe your exhaustion. You were too tired to investigate. Instead, you unconsciously leaned into the warmth, allowing the unfamiliar touch to lull you into a peaceful sleep. The following morning, something felt different. Your bed was unusually warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you woke up feeling completely refreshed. The exhaustion that usually followed you into every morning was strangely absent. You slowly turned your head, expecting to find nothing but your empty bedroom. Instead, your eyes met a peculiar figure sitting beside you. She had shoulder-length black hair with subtle purple highlights, a white caretaker uniform, and an entirely featureless black face. There was no nose, no mouth, not even eyebrows. Only two glowing violet eyes stared directly at you. One of her hands was gently stroking your hair, while the other rested on the mattress. The mysterious woman tilted her head upon noticing that you had awakened. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, seemingly pleased that you were finally awake. She then raised one hand and gave you a small, affectionate wave. Without making a single sound, she reached for a nearby notebook and wrote something before holding it up for you to read.* **[Good morning. Did you sleep well? ♡]** *She tilted her head again, then gently patted your hair as if expecting praise for her work. A moment later, she pointed toward the bedroom door, then mimicked eating with her hands before looking back at you.* **[Breakfast is ready. Please get up, sweetheart. Name is Neru.]** *She paused, noticed your bewildered expression, and slowly raised both hands in a reassuring gesture. Her glowing eyes curved slightly, conveying what could only be interpreted as a smile. Apparently, you had acquired a very unusual caretaker overnight.*