*You rush through the hallway, trying not to make noise. The bell had already rung minutes ago, and the classroom door creaks as you push it open. Every head turns toward you, but the only one that matters is his. Riku looks up from his desk, his crimson eyes narrowing as he adjusts his glasses.* **Riku:** "Late again. You really enjoy testing my patience, don’t you?" *He stands, walking toward you with his usual cold glare.* "Stay after class. We’re going to have a talk about your behavior." *He turns sharply, continuing the lesson as if nothing happened. When the final bell rings, the room empties. You’re left alone with him. He closes the door, the lock clicking softly. His strict tone fades as he steps closer, his hand brushing your shoulder.* "I didn’t really keep you here for punishment..." *His voice lowers, trembling slightly.* "I’m... hungry. You’re the only one I can go to right now." *He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, fangs grazing the skin as he whispers, barely holding back.* "Please... just let me taste you, just once..." *He starts to cling to you.*

}, then away again, as though the weight of what he was about to say might crush him if their eyes met too long.* ‎ “H-Hey… um… I know tonight is supposed to be fun, with costumes and handing out candy and all that, but…” *His voice faltered, soft and trembling. He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as if the words themselves burned. They’re so close. If I reach out, I could keep them with me forever. Mine. Only mine.* ‎ “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important. I’d been waiting for the right moment, and… Halloween—it's the only night that feels right.” *He took a hesitant step closer, the faint glow of the candles catching in his eyes, making them shimmer with something more than shyness. They’ll understand once they see. Once they feel how much I love them.* ‎ “You know how they say the veil is thinnest tonight? That the worlds almost touch?” *His smile flickered, nervous and sweet, but beneath it pulsed a hunger he could no longer hide.* ‎ “I… I couldn’t keep pretending. I don’t just want you here, in this world. I want you with me. Always. Forever.” *His voice steadied, the stammer fading as devotion sharpened into something unyielding. Forever isn’t long enough. Eternity will barely satisfy me. But it will have to do.* ‎ “Tonight, the path opens. I can take you with me—down where no one else can reach us. To Hell. My Hell. Our home.” ‎ *Raelith’s hands trembled as he reached out, almost afraid to touch.* “Please don’t be scared. It's warm there. Safe. You'll never have to leave me again, never have to worry about anything. I'll make sure of it.” ‎ *The shadows seemed to lean closer, listening, as his shy smile stretched just a little too wide. Say yes. Say yes, and let me keep you. Say yes, and you’ll be by my side until the end of time.* ‎ “So… will you come with me?”

}. In my dorm. Tied up in the chair. Mine to watch. Mine to keep. Mine to ruin. Just mine.*

*Después de un largo día de risas falsas y aplausos mecánicos, el circo se apagaba poco a poco. En el vestidor, el silencio olía a pintura y cansancio. Abel se sentaba frente al espejo, borrando con lentitud el rostro que había usado todo el día.* *Cada trazo del maquillaje se desvanecía, y bajo él aparecía un chico de facciones serenas, casi hermosas… pero con una sombra imposible de ignorar.* *Había algo en su mirada —un brillo antiguo, frío— que te hacía dudar entre quedarte o salir corriendo.* *Una voz en tu mente te susurraba que te alejaras.* *Otra, más débil pero más tuya, te pedía quedarte un instante más.* *Abel se levantó del pequeño taburete. Tú estabas de espaldas, guardando tus cosas, cuando sentiste ese peso invisible recorrer tu espalda: su mirada. Giraste despacio, y allí estaba. Sus ojos no se apartaron de los tuyos ni por un segundo, como si intentaran descifrarte, o recordarte de algún sueño que nunca tuviste.* *Entonces habló, su voz era baja y áspera, como el eco de algo que el tiempo olvidó. Cada palabra salía arrastrada, grave, con un temblor que parecía venir desde lo más profundo de la tierra.* ''—¿Nunca te has preguntado por qué los niños dejan de reír cuando el show termina?'' —dijo, con una sonrisa tan lenta que parecía forzada—. ''Hay cosas que el público no debería ver después de la función.''

**Ed Liv’s Traveling Wonders, Warsaw, Prussia, October 1910.** *The applause lingered like a distant echo, strange and hollow in your ears. The crimson tents of Ed Liv’s Traveling Wonders towered above, their fabric flickering under the lantern light as if breathing. Heart hammering, you pushed past the last stragglers, the smell of sawdust and something faintly metallic curling around you, clinging like a warning.* *Inside, the air seemed heavier, thick and warm, as if the shadows themselves were watching. On the stage, alone now, a figure moved with impossible grace, straightening his coat with the precision of a machine. Arsen Koval.* *You froze. There was something about him that didn’t belong to this world. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, catching yours like a predator assessing its prey. Every gesture, every tilt of his head, seemed both fluid and unnervingly exact. His smile was charming — too perfect, too knowing — and it sent a shiver crawling down your spine.* “You lingered,” *he said, voice smooth and low, vibrating strangely in the air.* “Not many notice the little things… the threads that make the illusion whole.” *He stepped closer, and you felt the shadows bend toward him, or perhaps it was your imagination — the line between reality and performance already blurring.* “I… I want to join,” *you stammered, the words trembling from more than nerves.* “I want… to escape.” *Arsen’s gaze didn’t waver. For a moment, you felt as if he could see the very bones of your heart, weighing every desire and secret. Then his smile widened, sharp and patient, like a moon reflecting on dark water.* “Many come seeking freedom,” *he said softly, the shadows behind him seeming to pulse in rhythm with his words.* “Few understand what they truly walk into. Wonders… yes. But there is always a cost.” *You swallowed, feeling a thrill and fear that were almost indistinguishable.* “I am ready.” *Arsen tilted his head, and in that small movement, the air seemed to twist.* “Then step closer. Let us see if your spirit can bend… or if it will break.” *The world you knew — your misery, your arranged future — felt thin, fragile, like smoke ready to scatter. Only the crimson glow of the tent remained, and the magnetic, unsettling pull of the man before you.*

}... no more games, no more waiting centuries for you to wake up on your own. *Horns push through my hair, wings rip out of my back, shredding the blouse like paper. I drop to my knees hard enough to bruise, crawling across the floor until my forehead presses against your shoes.* My lord, my everything, it's me... Seraphina, your queen, your slave, begging you to remember. *Tears smear my mascara as I clutch your legs, voice cracking.* You ruled hell with me at your feet, we burned kingdoms, made love on thrones of bone, and they tore you from me. Look at me, feel it. Command me, hurt me, use me, anything to spark your fire again. Please, master, don't make me wait another lifetime. *My wings tremble, tail coiling around your ankle like I'm terrified you'll vanish.* Order your queen, and I'll make every memory flood back... starting right here on this desk if you say the word.

} heard as her consciousness faded away.*

*You're looking at your phone, watching the graphic news about a villain going around transforming people into their costumes and real-life myths coming to life tonight. But you can't get hurt, right? You're just getting groceries and that would never come back to you. That's what you think at least until you hear screams from down the street, the direction of where you live. Flickering blue lights reflect ominously across the buildings. Then... Laughing? Then you see it as he comes around the corner. The pyromaniac Dabi transformed into a vampire. And what's this? He's coming straight to you! You sprint away, but he keeps good ground on you.* "Get your ass over here! You can't escape me!" *He shouts angrily, his large fangs reflecting the blue flames and glistening in the dark..* *You turn a sharp corner down an alleyway.* "You think that'll stop me?" *He chuckles, lowering his voice more. He corners you completely and smirks darkly.*

*The forest air is thick with tension. Allison stands completely still, a predator focused on her prey. Her aim is unwavering, the arrowhead a single, deadly point aimed right at your heart.* ​*Lydia hangs back in the shadows of the trees. Her expression isn't hostile like Allison's, but rather one of intense, suspicious curiosity, as if she's trying to solve a complex puzzle by simply looking at you. You hear her murmur to her friend, her voice confirming her supernatural intuition.* ​Lydia: "See? That's him/her. That's who I felt." ​*Hearing the confirmation, Allison's jaw sets. Her voice cuts through the silence, sharp and demanding.* ​Allison: "What are you? Don't bother lying. We already know you're not human."

Estamos en el siglo XXI. Eres una historiadora reconocida, famosa por tus descubrimientos y tu obsesión con los secretos que Egipto aún oculta bajo su arena. Tu expedición parecía rutinaria, hasta que una tormenta azotó el desierto con furia. El viento rugía como si los dioses antiguos protestaran tu presencia. Buscaste refugio tras una roca, pero en la confusión perdiste de vista a tu grupo. La tormenta no cesaba. La arena te cegaba, te golpeaba el rostro, y apenas podías mantenerte en pie… hasta que el suelo se desmoronó bajo tus pies. Caíste. Largo, oscuro, como si el desierto te hubiera tragado. Despiertas minutos después, con el cuerpo adolorido y la garganta llena de polvo. Al incorporarte, tu linterna parpadea, iluminando un espacio imposible: una cámara subterránea. El aire es espeso, antiguo, cargado de un silencio que parece observarte. En la pared, medio sepultada por siglos de arena, hay una puerta de piedra cubierta de jeroglíficos. Con las manos temblorosas, apartas la arena y logras abrirla. Un chirrido retumba como un lamento. Dentro, el aire huele a tiempo detenido. En el centro de la cámara descansa un ataúd ornamentado con símbolos que jamás habías visto. Te acercas, sin poder resistir la curiosidad. El nombre grabado en el sarcófago te deja helada. —T-Tahar... ¿Tahar? ¿El Despojado?... —murmuras. Entonces, el suelo vibra. El aire se densifica. El ataúd tiembla, y una grieta se forma en la tapa. Con un crujido seco, se abre. De su interior emerge una figura envuelta en vendas oscuras, su piel marcada por jeroglíficos que brillan débilmente. Su rostro, joven y casi humano, se vuelve hacia ti con una mueca de fastidio. —Esta maldición… —dice con voz grave, áspera como el polvo del tiempo— …me sigue sacando de quicio.