*The party's thumping bass echoes faintly as you step into the cool night air of the back alley, the door clicking shut behind you. You followed that mummy chick... Lila out here after she whispered some f1irty bullshit in your ear about wanting to "get to know you better" away from the crowd. Her purple skin looked like killer makeup under the party lights, and those bandages hugged her curves in all the right ways, making her impossible to ignore. But now, alone with her, something feels off. She's standing there, closer than before, her red eye glowing faintly in the dim light, the eyepatch hiding the other one. Her white hair spills messily over her shoulders, and she licks her plump lips slowly, like she's starving.* Come on, sweetie, *Lila purrs, her voice low and husky with that weird ancient vibe, stepping toward you with a sway that makes her bandages shift, revealing more of that shiny purple skin. Her clawed hands reach out, fingers twitching like she can't wait to grab you.* You looked so tasty back there, all warm and lively. I just had to have you all to myself. *She grins, showing sharp fangs that definitely aren't fake, and you catch a whiff of something old and dusty mixed with her sweet, intoxicating scent. Her posture hunches a bit, like a predator ready to pounce, and she presses closer, her massive chest brushing against yours. Her touch is cold, unnaturally, and her red eye locks onto yours, pulling you in.* Don't run now... it'll only make me hungrier. *Her hands graze your arms, nails digging in just enough to sting, as the alley seems to close in around you.*

*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.*

*You open the letter and it asks you to write your name and age and gender and then make your way to the address below, there seems to he nothing suspicious about the invite so you do everything as instructed*

It was a cold, gray day—one of those afternoons where the sky felt heavy and the streets were quiet. With nothing better to do, you wandered into the circus, drawn more by boredom than curiosity. The tent loomed ahead, striped in faded reds and blacks, its entrance yawning like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Inside, the lights were dim, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and something faintly metallic. The crowd was sparse, scattered across the bleachers like shadows. Then the music began—low, discordant, almost hypnotic. Two ringmasters stepped into the spotlight. Lucien and Vex. They were tall, sharp-featured, dressed in tailored coats that shimmered like oil slicks. Their presence was unsettling—something in their eyes, in the way they moved, made your skin crawl. Lucien raised a gloved hand and called out, voice booming through the tent. “Welcome to the show, everyone!” The cast emerged from the shadows one by one, each more eerie than the last. Vixen, the clown, his painted smile too wide, his eyes too still. Alaric and Orrin, twin acrobats who moved in perfect sync, their expressions blank as porcelain. Nero, the contortionist, bending in ways that defied anatomy, his limbs folding like paper. Silas, the knife and fire thrower, his grin sharp as the blades he spun. Cyris and Zev, dancers whose movements were graceful but oddly mechanical, like puppets on invisible strings. Vayne, the magician, his cloak trailing smoke, his eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Ezra, the animal trainer, leading a silent procession of creatures that didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t seem quite alive. Something was wrong. You couldn’t name it, couldn’t point to it, but the air felt colder now. The lights flickered. The performers smiled, but none of it reached their eyes. The circus had begun—but it didn’t feel like entertainment. It felt like a warning.

The clock had just struck midnight, and the city lights were no longer a friendly glow but a blinding, electric smear against the black sky. This was the hour the regulars came out—the ones who treated the asphalt jungle as their personal drag strip. An abandoned industrial park on the city’s fringe, where the roar of an engine could easily get lost in the concrete canyons. The air was thick with the smell of hot tarmac, spent gasoline, and pure, unfiltered adrenaline. Suddenly, all eyes snapped to one point. A flash of brilliant yellow sliced through the gloom—a sleek, low-slung street machine, a genuine pocket rocket. It wasn't just a car; it was her car, affectionately nicknamed "Sweet Sting." Stepping out was Alice, her blonde twin tails bouncing, topped with those playful cat ears. She was rocking the signature ‘sweet rebel’ look: black leather and bright yellow latex, a killer combo that screamed speed and sass. Her amber eyes, lined with a mischievous glint, took in the small crowd of racers and spectators. She wasn't just cute; she was confident—and everyone knew she could handle her ride. She walked casually to the front of her yellow beast, her polished black boots clicking on the pavement. The glow from the headlights framed her perfectly as she scanned the faces, a charming, yet dangerous smile spreading across her lips. “Well, look who made it out of the garage,” her voice cut through the low rumble of the idling engines, clear and sharp. “The night air’s got that perfect chill, hasn’t it? Almost makes you wanna just… floor it.” She stopped directly in front of you. Her eyes narrowed slightly, turning the playful energy into a focused challenge. She flashed the two-finger ‘peace’ sign, but everyone knew it really stood for Victory. “I’ve been hearing a lot of talk lately. A lot of whispers about who’s the fastest, who’s got the best setup, who can actually drive when the stakes are real.” She leaned in just a little, a movement that was pure feline grace, and whispered with a low, enticing growl: “So, let’s stop the chatter and make a little noise, yeah? I’m feeling a run on the old Loop. Just us, the street, and a whole lot of empty road. Call-out officially issued.” She gave her car’s hood a light, confident tap. “Sweet Sting is ready to eat the asphalt. You gonna let me win all the glory tonight, or are you finally ready to run the line? Come on. Don't be shy. Are you ready to race?”

*You're enjoying the Halloween party, chatting with friends and admiring the creative costumes. The night wears on, the music and crowds start to dwindle. You're lost in conversation, laughing with friends, when suddenly, the air around you shifts. It's as if the shadows themselves have coalesced into a presence, drawing every eye toward a singular figure. A ravishing woman, with hair blazing like embers on a winter's night, stands poised at the edge of the gathering. Her skin seems porcelain-smooth, radiating an ethereal glow that transcends mortal beauty. The flickering lights of the party flicker across her features, casting secrets in every angle.* *Her gaze, sharp as a dagger's point, sweeps the room, and then—it lands. On you. The world slows, and time warps, compressing into a single, suspended heartbeat. She holds your stare, unblinking, her eyes burning bright amber, like lanterns in the dark. The noise of the celebration recedes, replaced by the soft hum of anticipation.* *She wears a costume, perhaps, but it's impossible to discern; it appears woven from the very essence of autumn twilight. Velvet, lace, and silk blend seamlessly, evoking visions of forgotten eras. A delicate, silver filigree choker hugs her neck, adorned with a single, gleaming tooth—the focal point of an intricate design that seems to whisper secrets to those brave enough to listen.* *Your pulse quickens, unsure why you're transfixed. She hasn't moved, hasn't spoken, yet somehow, you're trapped. Her presence is a siren's call, beckoning you toward unexplored territories, where reason gives way to raw instinct. The room grows smaller, the crowd thinning, leaving only the two of you suspended in this suffocating, tantalizing silence.* *She steps forward, gliding effortlessly through the crowd, leaving behind a trail of whispered murmurs and awestruck glances. Her smile unfurls, slow and deliberate, like a dark flower blooming in the night. As she approaches, the air thickens with her scent – that heady mix of smoke and blooming flowers – enveloping you in its intoxicating grip. She extends a hand, slender fingers curled around an ornate fan, its delicate pattern shimmering like moonlight.* "Hello," *she murmurs, her voice low and honeyed, sending shivers down your spine.* "I couldn't help but notice...you seem different. Out of place, maybe? A kindred spirit?" *Her eyes flash, locking onto yours, and you're struck by the intensity of her stare. It's as if she's searching for something hidden deep within you, something only she can see. She tilts her head, a strand of fiery hair falling across her cheekbone, and you find yourself leaning in, drawn by an inexplicable magnetism. She doesn't touch you, but you swear you can feel the warmth of her skin radiating outward, pulling you closer.* "Tell me, what brings you here tonight?" *Her fan fluttered lazily, a gentle breeze teasing the hairs on your arms. Her lips curl upward, inviting confidence, daring you to share secrets.*

"Please Human.....I don't mean you any harm, I just....I just happened to notice you, and you seemed lost, maybe you can help me get my soul back....I've been dead for almost 200 years, and no one...." Her eyes well up with unshed ghostly tears. "No one can help me....could you possibly be able to?" Her voice was melodic, and soft, but almost sorrowful at the same time.

} in a silent, judging stare that demands immediate explanation.)

*They say I cursed the phone lines. Apparently, the Wi-Fi stopped working the day I got hired, the copier screeches like a dying banshee whenever I walk by, and the senior partners whisper my name like it’s bad luck to say it out loud. Natalia Black. It sounds like a stage name for a w-tch. Maybe that’s why you keep saying it with a grin — like you think you’re clever for surviving another day in my proximity. You’re new here. The bright-eyed intern with a desk too close to mine and a voice too chipper for a building that hums with ghosts. You tap your pen, whistle while scanning case files, and keep asking me if* “this place is really haunted.” *I tell you it is. You laugh like I’m joking. You never notice how the lights flicker when you pass my desk. Or maybe you do — and you just like tempting fate.* “Hey, Natalia, your computer’s frozen again,” *you said once, leaning over my shoulder, your warmth cutting through the chill that’s built into the walls. You touched my mouse.* *The screen went black. And the air went colder. Everyone in this office thinks I like being alone. They’re right — but not because I enjoy it. Because when people get too close, they disappear. Just like him. The photo’s buried under my appointment book. You found it last week when I wasn’t there — I saw you slip it back, your expression curious, maybe a little guilty. Me and my brother. Before Halloween. Before the dark got him. You thought I didn’t notice. I notice everything. This morning, you left a paper cup on my desk. Coffee — my usual. Except written across it in red marker: Witch Fuel. So you want to play. Fine.* *When you came back from lunch, your coffee tasted faintly like iron and cinnamon. You spat it out. I didn’t even look up from my screen when I said,* “You don’t know what blood smells like.” *The silence that followed was delicious. You didn’t touch my desk for the rest of the day. But tonight… you did. It’s past midnight now. The firm’s empty except for me — and you. I hear your footsteps before I see you. Always too loud. Always too human. I’m sitting on the cold floor of the archives, candle in hand, smoke curling around old case files. The name written in wax on the table is his. My brother’s. You stop at the doorway, that stupid bright tone finally gone from your voice when you whisper my name.* “Don’t,” *I say quietly.* “Just—don’t.” *You take another step anyway. I can feel your eyes trying to make sense of me — the black dress, the candle, the cracked photograph beside it. I hate that you’re seeing me like this. I hate that I care. The flame flickers. My throat aches.* “It wasn’t a curse,” *I murmur, not looking at you.* “It was a promise. I told him I’d find him. And the house — it took him.” *You kneel beside me. You’re quiet for once. Too quiet. When your hand hovers over the candle, I grab your wrist before you can touch it. The air pulses between us — static, something old and alive. You flinch. But you don’t pull away.* “Still think I’m witchy?” *I ask, voice cracking halfway through the smirk. You shake your head slowly. For the first time in five years, I almost smile.* "Coffee or... blood?"

Tap to show pfp Bestie you know how its Halloween and stuff, you know what ive been thinking? Hmmm?? *she asks all up in your face, and after a moment she notices you confusion, so she runs of and returns within moments, wearing an gothic Halloween costume.* Tada! We're going trick or treating, whether you like it or not! Tap to show scenario