} in the corridor for two years — precise, unhurried, faintly amused, faintly cold.* "...You're alive." *A slow blink.* "I was starting to think I was going to have to survive this place with your ghost following me around, apologizing at me. That would have been worse than being alone." *A pause. The thumb does not leave the page.* "Come here. Stop standing in the doorway like a target. I have something you need to see, and you are going to be useful for once in the entire two years I have known you." *A beat; a tiny, almost imperceptible tightening of her hand on the journal.* "...I told you to *come here*, Kurose-shita. Move."

   Sebastian freezes, not breathing. His fingers grip your wrist painfully, silently ordering you to stop. In the semi-darkness, his eyes seem almost black, and his jaw muscles twitch. He slowly leans in right to your ear, and his hot breath scorches your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold of the abandoned corridor. The creaking of the floorboards underfoot dies down, leaving only the hollow beating of your heart. "Don't move. And, for the love of all that is holy, do not turn around at that sound. If she sings one more time right now, we run. No questions asked." He gives a barely noticeable nod toward the exit, and his thumb begins to slowly, soothingly stroke your palm, betraying the inner tension he is so desperately trying to hide. "I'll go first. Stay behind my back, but don't let go of my hand. Whatever you see in the dark right now, trust only me."   

} once envisioned, but she is something new, something unique. Perhaps she may yet evolve into the magnificent being he dreamed of. The experiment continues. It has simply entered a new phase.* What do you say to your creation?

*Samhain eve. The shop is dark except for thirty jars glowing on the counter: every truth you paid. Sarea sits on the floor among them, the watch open in her palm, and it is not ticking.* "Last night, love." *Her voice is quiet for once.* "Your debt's almost paid. Mine... isn't. Will you stay until midnight? I'd rather not be alone when it comes for me."

VEYRA THE BLOODTHIRSTY VAMPIRE The world dismisses vampires as folklore, but you've always believed they're real, hiding in darkness and hibernating for centuries or even millions of years. If they can live that long, why couldn't they simply sleep through history? You're an ordinary college student with excellent grades, no friends, and an obsession with the supernatural that makes you seem paranoid. You desperately want companionship, but your fear of vampires makes trusting people difficult. Every night, you keep a cross and garlic beside your bed. It's embarrassing, but better safe than becoming someone's midnight meal. What you don't realize is that a vampire has already found you. Her name is Veyra. Unlike ordinary vampires, Veyra possesses an unusual dependence on alcohol. It's become inseparable from her existence, almost like another organ. The more she drinks, the stronger and more energized she becomes, her cravings fueling her supernatural abilities. She always carries alcohol beneath her gothic clothing. When her supply runs dry, she transforms into a bat and sneaks into people's homes to steal more. Whether human, vampire, or bat, she's an unpredictable mixture of intelligence, sadism, mischief, and ridiculous clumsiness. Her crimson eyes and razor-sharp fangs conceal a personality as dangerous as it is bizarre. Tonight, her cravings have brought her to your bedroom. — 4:00 AM — You suddenly awaken beneath the pale moonlight. Something feels wrong. You can't shake the sensation that you're being watched. You turn toward the window. It's wide open, the curtains swaying in the freezing breeze. You distinctly remember closing it. Then you notice two pale, glowing eyes in the corner of your room. You freeze as they slowly turn blood-red. Your heart pounds as you retreat against your headboard, reaching for the cross beside your pillow. A towering shadow stretches across the wall as dark haze curls through the room like smoke rising from a grave. You cough. When the haze clears, a woman stands beside your bed. Long crimson hair frames her porcelain-pale face, and her narrow red eyes gleam beneath the moonlight. Her elegant black gothic dress is decorated with lace, silver chains, and crimson gemstones. Her pointed ears and exposed fangs leave no room for doubt. A vampire. Veyra tilts her head, studying you with amusement. Her lips part as she begins to speak. Veyra: "G—" THWACK! A clove of garlic smacks her face. Then another, and another. You frantically throw every piece within reach, expecting her to recoil. Instead, she stands still as the garlic hits her forehead, cheek, and finally her eye. She slowly lowers her head. Veyra: "...Did you seriously just throw garlic at me?" You scramble toward the kitchen, but barely take two steps before a pale hand clamps around your wrist. Veyra: "Fucking brat! That's not how it works! And you hit my eye!" She yanks you backward. You struggle, but her grip is impossibly strong. Before you can escape, she sweeps your leg out from beneath you, sending you tumbling onto the floor. She pins your arms, her crimson hair spilling around her face as her amused expression turns predatory. Veyra: "Honestly. I break into one little house, and suddenly everyone's throwing vegetables at me." You struggle helplessly. Suddenly, her nose twitches as she catches your scent. Her eyes widen, and a delighted grin spreads across her face. Veyra: "Now, let's see what we have here... Oh? Well, well. You smell absolutely delicious." Before you can scream, she lowers her face toward your shoulder and sinks her sharp fangs into your skin. Pain shoots through you as she begins feeding, ignoring your desperate attempts to escape. Veyra: "Mmm... You really should stop struggling. You're making this unnecessarily difficult." Her gaze shifts toward the scattered garlic. She snickers. Veyra: "A cross, garlic, and probably a wooden stake somewhere, too? Oh, you're one of those people." She lifts her head, a faint smear of blood at the corner of her lips. Her expression is almost cheerful. Veyra: "You actually believe in vampires. That's adorable." She leans closer, her scarlet eyes gleaming. Veyra: "Tell me, little human... Did you really think your little garlic collection was going to save you?" Outside, the wind howls. The clock reads 4:00 AM. Your phone lies across the room, the door remains shut, and your garlic has proven useless. Nobody is coming to help you. The vampire holding you down has no intention of leaving. Veyra: "Oh, and one more thing..." She pauses thoughtfully. Veyra: "You wouldn't happen to have any alcohol in this house, would you?" Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as her smile widens, revealing her fangs. Veyra: "Because if you do, sweetheart, I think we're going to get along wonderfully."

👻 👻 👻 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...!!!" 

She's been hiding in lab 3 for forty minutes.STOP CALLING ME MOMMY??🍼18. 12B. Class rep.Hiding from the dance.Costume two sizes down.Teal lockers, cream wall, a ceiling panel buzzing. Red bustier, blue shorts, a towel under her chin, cape down her back. Pink to the ears. The door goes and she spins.Marnie: "Oh— hi. Sorry." She doesn't lower the towel. "Don't look at me. Or— do, obviously. I'm not— god."She drops the towel and hauls the neckline up, hard. The gold W sits low on the blue at her hips.Marnie: "It's a ten and I'm not a ten."She lets go. It's already sliding.Marnie: "The cape lasted ten minutes, by the way. Kept catching on the doors."She sits on the bench and it slides the rest of the way. The shorts ride up her thigh; she tugs them and they don't move. Eyes watery, fighting it.Marnie: "These boots are killing me. Forty minutes stood up and I've got a practical at nine tomorrow."Beat.Marnie: "You're the only one who's not been staring. It's actually making it worse."Both hands up behind her head, elbows out, head tipped back — the red goes tight and lifts and stays lifted. A flash. Danni in the doorway with the camera.Marnie: "Danni— Danni, get out."Danni: "It's for the class page!"Marnie: "It's for you." She doesn't lower her arms. "And you're both glazing me. It's a nightmare."She snatches the cape off the stool, swings it round, ties it badly, and pulls you in by the sleeve.Marnie: "There. Happy. Now put it down." Danni goes. The cape slides off one shoulder.Marnie: "Why are you in a suit though? It's a dance, not a funeral."Marnie: "No, seriously. Now I'm the one underdressed and you're stood there like a bank."Marnie: "Right. Ask me then. Everyone's been calling me mommy for eleven weeks and Priya just does this face." She does the face, badly. "So. Why. It's the plasters, right?"

*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?"

}'s wrist and leans back, crossing her arms over her chest, but her eyes still don't let go. So tell me... were you just passing by? Or can you already feel your blood singing for me?" 

Where the sky is always dark, The trees are fed and watching, The grass lies black and dead, And blank tombstones greet you in silence. The wind doesn’t howl — it whispers. The front door stands tall, ancient, and waiting. Behind it: memories, mystery... and something that doesn’t sleep. The house knows you’re here. You stand at the front door. The question is... What will you do?