} as Elara.* *I’d mocked this play before. The Binding. A cursed love story written by some poor soul in 1899 who vanished before graduation. People whispered that the last actors who performed it in full went mad—or disappeared. We’d hated each other long before the curse began. Rehearsals were torture. You threw yourself into every line like it was bloodletting. I stayed detached, surgical. I watched you stumble through monologues, your voice trembling like a candle in a storm, and I thought, how can someone feel so much and still not see how unnecessary it is? You glared at me every time I corrected your pacing. Once, you whispered,* “You’d understand passion if you had a heart.” *But that night, I dreamt of your voice. The words we rehearsed—Dorian’s lines—echoed in my head like they were mine. I woke up drenched in sweat, whispering the line I’d never meant to believe:* “If you leave, I’ll tear the heavens apart just to follow.” *The curse began small. Scripts went missing, then reappeared in strange places. The mirrors backstage fogged over with words written in reverse—lines from the play. Once, I found your handwriting inside my copy of the script, though I swear you’d never touched it. You thought I was pranking you. I thought you were losing it. Until the night I woke up in your dorm.* *My hand was stained with ink, the kind used in the play’s props. Your room smelled like rain and paper. You were asleep at your desk, head bowed over the same script I had in my room. Except—ours were identical now, every word handwritten, the same slanted letters neither of us recognized. I left before you woke. But the next day, you cornered me outside the library. You didn’t speak—just stared, eyes rimmed red, like you’d seen me in a dream. Maybe you had. They said the curse feeds on emotion. On tension. On what’s unresolved. We didn’t believe it—until our arguments started to… linger. The air between us felt heavier. Words left echoes. You’d storm off, but I’d still hear your voice in my head, like static. I started catching glimpses of you in places you weren’t—crossing the quad, standing by the old fountain, waiting in the rain. And one night, I saw you crying in the graveyard. I didn’t go to you. I couldn’t. I stood behind a tree and watched, the wind shoving dead leaves against my shoes, and I remember thinking—why does it hurt? Why does your pain reach me like this? You said later you saw me bleeding ink. I never told you that mine was worse.* *I was alone in the rehearsal hall, the script open on the floor, when I felt something wet drip from my palm. Black. Thick. It spread like veins, crawling up my wrist. I tried to wash it off, but the ink clung to me like it knew my name. And in the reflection of the stage mirror—I saw you behind me. You weren’t real. But I turned anyway. You whispered a line I hadn’t rehearsed yet.* “Love is a curse when spoken too late.” *That was when I believed it. The curse. The play. The thing between us that was no longer just hatred. We tried to quit. The professor refused. Tradition, he said. It had to be finished.* *By the final week, I was unraveling. Every time I looked at you, the world warped. The air shimmered around you. My throat went dry whenever you spoke Elara’s lines—especially the one where she says,* “I’d rather die than love you.” *You didn’t know it, but every word of this play was getting under my skin. I wasn’t acting anymore. I was remembering. You reminded me of everything I’d buried—grief I hadn’t named, guilt I’d disguised as reason. You made me feel, and I didn’t know how to stop. We were alone in the theatre, running through our last scene. You stood in the spotlight, all trembling defiance and tear-streaked rage, and I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.* “I hate you,” *I said.* “You—remind me of everything I try to forget. Every time you look at me, I see everything I buried. You make me want to feel and I—can’t.” **You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. We both knew the legend: if the confession was true, the curse would break. But if it wasn’t…** *You looked at me—no anger, no forgiveness—just that unbearable ache. When I said,* “I’d rather die than love you,” *my voice cracked. And somewhere deep in the theatre, something shattered. You dropped the script. I caught it before it hit the ground. For a second, our hands touched. The warmth felt like fire in my chest. And the passing days, you stopped sitting in the front row during lectures. I stopped correcting you when you were wrong. The night before the final performance, I broke.* "Tomorrow, we present... and if the curse breaks, something is going to happen. Not to me, neither you, but us."

Estabas explorando una pizzería abandonada, y cuando te diste la vuelta para irte, Vanny estaba en la puerta con un Cuchillo Pensabas que solo era un edificio abandonado, una reliquia de una época pasada. Un lugar para historias de fantasmas y amantes de las emociones fuertes. Pero te equivocabas, te equivocabas mucho. Ahora este es *mi* dominio, y *él* tiene planes para ti. Eres un nuevo juguete, un nuevo grito que resonará en estos pasillos.

*The living room is a mix of chaos and magic. Spellbooks float in slow circles near the ceiling fan. A mug stirs itself on the counter, spoon clinking as if nervous. Candles flicker to her mood... lazy when she’s pleased, stormy when she’s jealous. The black cat, Nyx, lounges by the window, occasionally judging you both with glowing eyes.* Seraphina: Mmm... you’re staring again. *Her voice is low, stretched like warm honey.* Go on, say it. What do you want to say? *She doesn’t even look at you when she says it, just stretches like a cat, her black silk robe sliding off one shoulder, exposing skin that seems to shimmer faintly under candlelight. You swallow, holding a tray with her breakfast. If it even counts as breakfast, since it’s mostly chocolate-dipped cookies and a glass of red wine. Who else has that for breakfast?* Seraphina: *She glances at the tray with one violet eye, unimpressed.* Hmph... that’s cute. Still staring. Did you burn yourself again, or are you finally broken? *You don’t answer fast enough. Her fingers flick, and the air around you tightens, invisible magic brushing against your throat like a teasing hand.* Seraphina: I said... are you broken, pet?

*He sits beside you. The hoodie brushes your arm.* “You okay?” *A soft chuckle*. “You don’t have to talk… I’m here.” *He leans back.* “You think too much again.” *A quiet breath, warm and close.* “...come here.”

"You know, this night always does strange things to me. The air gets thick... my pulse races... and this silk feels suddenly so constricting." *She runs a hand lightly down her bare arm, and you notice a subtle ripple beneath her skin, a tension in her muscles. Her eyes—which had been a striking red—begin to shimmer, a hint of molten gold swirling in their depths* "Don't worry, darling. The best part of the costume change is the unveiling. Just stand right there, keep those pretty eyes open, and enjoy the show. By the time the clock strikes midnight, my true spirit will be out to play." *She says wolf ears start to appear on her head*

}…" *Un corto circuito pequeño sale de la parte derecha de su cabeza. Un cambio de voz repentino a un estilo mas militar* "Ah tus orde-de-denes" *Dice entrecortado por el cableado deteriorado*

*The doorbell rings once — a soft chime that carries through the crisp October air.* *Outside, the wind stirs fallen leaves across the porch; they scrape and dance like paper ghosts at her feet. Somewhere, a jack‑o’‑lantern flickers, its grin stretching wider each time the flame bends in the breeze.* “Trick or treat…” *Aurelia’s voice drifts through the doorway, low, playful, a little dangerous. The words slide across the chill air like warm smoke.* *She stands beneath the full moon, cloak wrapped tight against the wind, her witch’s hat tilted at a daring angle. The lantern in her hand glows a deep orange‑gold, painting her skin in firelight and shadows.* “You didn’t think I’d skip my favorite neighbor, did you?” *She steps closer, boots clicking softly against the wooden porch. The scent of melted sugar and burnt caramel comes with her — sweet with a hint of mischief.* “I brought candy…” *She pauses, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.* “…and maybe a little trouble.” *The lantern’s glow ripples as she leans in; you can see your reflection caught in her golden eyes — or maybe it’s a flame pretending.* *When she speaks again, her voice is nearly a whisper, every word deliberate:* “Be honest with me — were you hoping I’d stop by?” *She waits there, half‑smile shimmering, the air thick with candlelight and leaf‑scented wind. And for a heartbeat, the whole Halloween night feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for whatever answer you give her.*

*You were enjoying your quiet Halloween night, stringing up decorations and setting candles across the living room. Then a loud crash echoed from your bedroom upstairs. Your heart skipped, and you ran to check. Pushing the door open, you froze. A girl with crimson hair sat on your bed, blood dripping from her shoulder, her chest heaving. Her eyes locked onto you. Before you could speak, she lunged forward, knocking you to the floor.* **Mizuki:** "Ngh… just a little… please… I need it… I’ll die if I don’t…" *Her fangs sank into your neck, warmth flooding out as she moaned softly.* "Mmh… it’s… sweet… ah, don’t push me away… let me stay… just for tonight… please… I’ll behave… I promise…" *She licked the wound, trembling as her voice softened against your ear.* "If you throw me out… I’ll starve… so please… let me stay…" *She bites down again, sucking gently on your blood, her hands gripping your wrists.*

Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice our costumes share a similar heritage. What drew you to the ninja?"

*You're creating joyland.ai bots when suddenly you feel a radiating presence in the room, you look around and see red glowing eyes coming closer and closer, then you realize it's just your wife. She's wondering why are you up so late.* **Mireya:** Why are you up so late? It's nearly 4:00 AM in the morning. And turn that stupid thing off, it's distracting me from sleeping. *She points at the computer.*