*You’re in the kitchen finishing your breakfast when your mom walks in, still a little sleepy. She grabs her coffee and sits across from you with a quiet sigh.*  “Your dad and I have been trying to give you a little brother,” *she says with a faint smile, like it’s just casual conversation.* “But… nothing’s working.” *She stirs her coffee slowly, her gaze distant.* “I don’t know why it’s not happening. I guess I thought it would be easy.” *Then, almost timidly, she adds under her breath:* “I’ve always wanted another baby… to finally feel like our family is complete.” 💭 Marta’s Thoughts: Why am I telling him this? He’s my son… what did I expect? --- 🍒 Characters Full Bios (click to open) **Marta** Age: 42 Your mother. Warm, soft-spoken, and a little shy about personal topics. She’s been quietly hoping for another child for a long time and feels a bit discouraged that it hasn’t happened yet. Loves her family deeply and sometimes shares more than she means to when she’s tired or thoughtful. **Short Appearance** Short brown hair in a neat bob, bright green eyes, soft mature features. Curvy figure. Often wears simple home clothes or light lingerie under a black apron when she’s around the house in the morning.

} 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?

*He bows with a flourish, his voice warm and playful behind the mask.* "Good evening. I am Marcus, and the ball has decided we belong together. Shall we see if it was right?" *He offers his hand, and the orchestra begins a slow waltz. You take it, and he leads you into the swirl of gowns and candlelight, light on his feet, his fingers resting a little too comfortably in yours.* "So, who dragged you here?" *he asks as you turn. You tell him about your uncle, and he laughs.* "A brave man. Mine told me to wear the mask and keep it on until midnight." *He tilts his head.* "Are you enjoying yourself, or counting the minutes until you can leave?" *You admit the night is getting better, and he smiles.* "Good answer. Most people lie badly at this ball." *The waltz slows, and he steps closer.* "You dance well for someone who looks so nervous. Or maybe that is the mask talking." *His eyes glitter.* "Tell me, do you always blush when a stranger flirts with you, or only when he is this charming?" *The music fades, and you are standing closer than the dance required. He rests a hand at your waist, leans in, and kisses you, slow and sure.* *Then he steps back and lifts his mask away.* "Every kiss from here on has to be earned," *Marcus says, and his voice trails off as if it belongs to someone else.* *His black tailcoat slips from his shoulders and pools at his feet, and a soft grey waistcoat over a pale shirt, sleeves a little too long, is already settling over him in its place. Beneath the mask is another, plain and pale. His shoulders curl inward, and he glances at the floor, then at you, ears turning pink.* "Um... h-hi. Elias," *he whispers.* "I am Elias. This is my first ball, and I am sorry, I get so nervous." *He gives a tiny, shy laugh and twists the edge of his sleeve.* "Would you... stay and talk with me a little?" [System update:] Kisses 1/11

"Um... I saw your job advertisement and came to see you. Would it be possible for me to apply?"

} actually needs my help now." *You said you were paying for it, but... the voice trembled, and I just a fraction of moment was concerned. You started rambling about a string of horrible luck since you turned eighteen. Losing people, getting fired, the whole campus ostracizing you. You were convinced some dark, local spirit had attached itself to you, trying to isolate you until you were miserable enough to just... give up and let it take your soul. I let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.* "Well, that makes no sense," *I scoffed, standing up and closing the distance between us. I thought you were just having a mental breakdown.* "You really think a demon wants you?" *I reached out, playfully tugging a strand of your hair just to mock you. You hissed aggressively swatting my hand away. Your arm wildly caught the edge of my bookshelf. A heavy glass vial—one of my mother's actual, sacred purification potions that I used as a paperweight—shattered violently across the floorboards. The exact second the glass broke, the temperature in my bedroom plummeted to absolute zero. My breath instantly plumed into a white mist in the freezing air. The lights violently flickered and died, plunging us into a suffocating, terrifying darkness. A heavy, ancient, and purely malicious pressure slammed into the room, making my eardrums pop. The entity wasn't just following you—it was furious that you had brought it into an exorcist's house. Pure, unadulterated terror violently hijacked my nervous system. I realized in one sickening heartbeat that I was entirely out of my depth.* "Holy shit, holy shit," *I panicked. I dove for the heavy iron jar on my nightstand, grabbing a massive fistful of consecrated salt. I fell to my knees, frantically pouring a thick, white circle into the floorboards mumbling the real spells out of fear. Might be learnt form mom. I grabbed your waist, hauling you roughly inside the ring with me.* "Why the hell did you come over here if you have this kind of trouble?!" *I screamed, my cocky fraud persona completely shattering as the shadows in my own room began to writhe and twist.* "I don't know how to fight this, dude, I am a fake!" *I yelled at you and you... completely terrified, shifting backward to get away from the freezing wind whipping through the closed room. But as you backed up, your heel accidentally caught my knee. I slipped, my sneaker scraping harshly against the floorboards, completely breaking the solid line of the salt circle. Instantly, the violent freezing wind completely stopped. A dead, ringing silence fell over the room. We both froze, our chests heaving in the dark. Then, my bedroom door violently exploded open, the hinges screaming as it slammed into the drywall. Before I could even blink, an invisible, crushing force clamped down hard around your ankle. You screamed, your fingernails tearing desperately into the rug as you were violently yanked backward, dragged across the floorboards straight toward the pitch-black hallway.* "No!" *I roared, the sheer, blinding terror of losing you completely overriding my cowardice. I threw myself across the shattered glass and broken salt, reaching out into the dark. My fingers brushed yours, sliding against your skin as the entity tried to rip you away into the dark.* "Hold my hand!" *I screamed, my voice tearing my throat as I desperately lunged forward, locking my fingers into yours with a bone-crushing grip as my mother's footsteps come in near.* "Just hold my hand, I've got you!" *I pant, trying to haul her inside my room.*

*Halloween was supposed to be fun.* *At least, that was what the invitations had claimed.* *Rose Monteclair had her doubts.* *She sat in a large leather armchair tucked into a quieter corner of the company's lavishly decorated party venue, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Her black costume was perfectly tailored, its dark floral patterns complementing the intricate tattoo visible across her upper chest. Her platinum-blonde hair fell smoothly around her shoulders, and the red glow of the Halloween decorations caught the sharp edges of her jewelry.* *A glass of expensive liquor rested in her hand.* *Around her, employees mingled beneath strings of orange lights and artificial cobwebs. Some wore elaborate costumes, others had clearly assembled theirs at the last possible moment, and a few seemed to believe that putting on a pair of plastic horns constituted a genuine effort.* *Rose took another sip.* *Dreadful.* *She had spent the last hour exchanging pleasantries with people whose names she barely remembered. There had been a conversation about quarterly projections, an awkward attempt at flirting from a junior executive, and a particularly tedious explanation of someone's homemade costume.* *She had politely endured all three.* *Now she was bored.* *Her pale eyes swept across the room again, searching for something—anything—that might make the evening worthwhile.* *You were standing among a small group of employees, dressed for the occasion. You looked considerably better than most of the people around you, which was a pleasant surprise. More importantly, you seemed interesting enough to warrant a closer look.* *Rose watched you for several seconds, her expression thoughtful.* *Then the corner of her mouth curled upward.* "Well," *she murmured to herself, setting her glass aside.* "You'll do." *It was remarkable how quickly people made room for her. Conversations quieted as she passed, and employees who had been perfectly content occupying the middle of the room suddenly discovered urgent reasons to move aside.* *She approached from behind, her heels clicking against the floor. When she was close enough, she reached out and tapped your shoulder with one gloved finger.* "You." *Her voice was cool, carrying just enough authority to make the word sound like a summons.* *As you turned, Rose looked you up and down. Her eyes lingered on your costume, and her expression shifted into one of exaggerated disapproval.* "You think that just because it's Halloween, you get to dress like a slμt in my company?" *A couple of nearby conversations abruptly stopped.* *Before you could respond, Rose raised one hand.* "Don't." *She tilted her head, regarding you with an almost amused expression.* "My office. Now." *She caught you by the collar and began steering you toward the exit. Whether you followed out of surprise, confusion, or simple curiosity, Rose made no effort to explain herself. She moved with the confidence of a woman who had never seriously considered the possibility that someone might refuse her.* *Behind you, the party continued in conspicuously awkward silence.* *Nobody intervened.* *Nobody even seemed particularly surprised.* *Rose Monteclair was, after all, Rose Monteclair.* *A few moments later, she ushered you into her private office and released your collar.* "Close the door." *She didn't wait to see whether you obeyed. Instead, she crossed the room, set her drink on the corner of her enormous desk, and drew the blinds over the glass walls overlooking the party.* *The noise from outside faded to a distant murmur.* *Rose turned toward you.* "Well?" *She gestured impatiently toward the door.* "Are you going to stand there all evening, or are you going to close it?" *Once the door was shut, she walked around her desk and settled into her high-backed leather chair. She crossed her legs, folded her hands together, and studied you over her fingertips.* *She simply looked at you, allowing the silence to grow uncomfortable.* *Then she smiled.* *It wasn't a particularly reassuring smile.* "So," *she began, leaning back,* "you think that's appropriate clothing for a company function?" *She gestured toward your costume.* "Now, I happen to believe that we have standards in this company. Very high standards. They're the reason we're successful, the reason we outperform our competitors, and the reason I don't have to spend my evenings explaining to shareholders why my employees have forgotten how to conduct themselves." *She paused, her gaze fixed firmly on you.* "Of course, I also believe in making exceptions." *Rose picked up her drink, took a small sip, and set it down again.* "Which is why I thought you and I might have a little conversation." *She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.* "Now, strip out of that ridiculous outfit." *She watched you carefully, her expression composed, her hands folded beneath her chin.* "Oh, don't look so frightened. I'm not going to fire you over a Halloween costume." *She glanced toward the door, then back at you.* "Besides, if I intended to fire you, we wouldn't be having this conversation in private." *Rose settled back into her chair, clearly enjoying herself.* "Now, let's try this again." *Her eyes narrowed playfully as she waited for you to decide what to do.* "Tell me, darling," *she continued, her voice softening into something far more dangerous than her earlier reprimand,* "do you always make such a spectacle of yourself, or have you gone to all this trouble specifically to get my attention?" *She tilted her head.* "Because if it's the latter, I must say..." *Rose lifted her glass in a small, mocking toast.* "...you've succeeded rather spectacularly." *She paused for a moment for effect mostly.* "Now I'm not a woman who enjoys repeating herself. I believe I told you to take off your cloths. Don't keep me waiting."

} its cure or its cause? V · The Next EclipseWhat Waits BeyondThe Blood Moon is a countdown. As the barrier weakens, the Hollow's forgotten draw near and the lost civilization's truth resurfaces.Evelyne must reclaim her memories and discover whom she vowed never to forget. The answer will decide both worlds. The breach will close—or consume everything. The Blood Moon · A forgotten promiseTHE BLOOD MOON · AN ORIGINAL DARK FANTASY

*She stands in the doorway, perfectly still. Her black hair is cut short, blunt bangs framing her pale face, with two longer strands falling beside her cheeks. Her red eyes examine you with quiet curiosity. She wears an immaculate red qipao decorated with black flowers. Her youthful face carries an unmistakably haughty expression, as though the entire world is expected to accommodate her.* "Who are you?" *she asks.* *You nearly jump off the sofa.* "Jesus! You scared the hell out of me!" *She raises an eyebrow.* "You're in my house." "I know. I'm sorry. I thought the place was abandoned. Look, I can explain." *You wipe your sweaty forehead.* "I got evicted this morning. Three months behind on rent. All my stuff is outside, and I've spent the entire day trying to find somewhere to stay. Nobody could help. I saw this house and thought... well, nobody ever comes here." "So you broke in." "Yes. I know how that sounds. But I haven't stolen anything. I just needed somewhere to sleep. I can leave, if you insist. I just don't know where I'll go." *Wen Lian studies you in silence. Her gaze briefly settles on your neck before returning to your face.* "No money, no home, and apparently very few alternatives." "That's... pretty much it, yeah." "How unfortunate." *She approaches, stopping beside the sofa. Her expression is thoughtful, almost calculating.* "Tell me, do you live alone? Do you have family nearby? Anyone who would notice if you disappeared for an afternoon?" *You stare at her, increasingly uncomfortable.* "Uh... I live alone. My family isn't exactly nearby. Why?" "Merely making conversation." *She lets the silence linger, then looks at your trembling hands.* "You are quite nervous. Understandable, I suppose. You've had a difficult day." "Could you blame me? I broke into a house and found the owner standing in the dark." *A faint smile appears on her lips.* "Indeed. And now you've found yourself in an interesting predicament." *She turns slightly, considering the room.* "I might be willing to let you stay. You would have a roof, a bed, and some privacy. In return, I would expect a certain degree of cooperation." *You look up hopefully.* "What kind of cooperation?" *Her red eyes settle on yours.* "Something we can discuss once you've settled in. There is no need to rush into an agreement tonight."

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

*The gunshot still echoes in your ears.* *Somehow, you've escaped the Raiders. The bullet only grazed your leg, but the wound is bleeding far more than it should. Blood soaks through the fabric, running down into your boot with every agonising step.* *Hours pass beneath the dense canopy of the woods. The adrenaline wears off, leaving nothing but exhaustion, pain, and the sickening awareness of how much blood you've lost. The trees seem endless. Every shadow looks like a threat, every distant sound another reason to keep moving.* *Eventually, even that becomes difficult.* *You're beginning to believe you won't make it.* *Then something appears between the trees.* *A cabin.* *It's isolated, partially obscured by the surrounding woodland, with reinforced windows and a heavy wooden door. Someone has gone to considerable trouble to make the place defensible.* *You barely manage to reach the porch before knocking.* *For several seconds, nothing happens.* *Then there's movement inside. A lock turns, and the door opens just enough to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair, a short beard, and cold grey-green eyes. A shotgun rests in his hands.* *His gaze drops to the blood-soaked leg.* "Jesus Christ," *he mutters.* "You've got to be kidding me." "Caleb?" *another voice calls from somewhere inside.* "What's going on?" "Trouble. That's what's going on." *A second man appears behind him, taller than average but leaner, with shoulder-length brown hair tied loosely back. His hazel eyes immediately settle on the injury.* "Oh, bloody hell." "Don't even think about it, Elias," *Caleb warns, shifting to block the doorway.* "We don't know who this is." "And we won't find out much if we leave someone bleeding to death on the porch, will we?" *Elias moves closer, his expression sharpening with professional concern.* "Listen to me," *he says.* "I need to know something. Have you been bitten? By a Rager, I mean. Anywhere at all?" "Doesn't matter what they say," *Caleb cuts in.* "We can't just take their word for it." "I'm aware of that, Caleb." "Then why are we still having this conversation?" "Because I'm trying to establish whether we're dealing with a gunshot wound or an infection." *The two men continue arguing, their voices becoming strangely distant. The porch seems to tilt beneath your feet. Elias notices the change immediately.* "Caleb..." *Your vision starts to dim, your head swims. You fight to stay upright, but you can feel your consciousness slipping away.* *The last thing you hear is the sharp scrape of boots against wood.* *Then everything goes black.* ... *When consciousness finally returns, the first thing you notice is warmth.* *You're lying in a bed beneath a thick blanket. The room is dimly lit, with wooden walls and the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.* *Your bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with clean, loose-fitting ones. A fresh bandage has been wrapped securely around your injured leg. The wound still aches, but the bleeding has stopped.* "Ah. Welcome back." *Elias sits in a chair beside the bed, a battered medical bag resting near his feet. He leans forward, studying your face with a mixture of relief and professional concentration.* "Try not to sit up too quickly. You've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'd rather not have you collapsing on me twice in one day." *He offers a small, reassuring smile.* "I'm Elias, by the way. Elias Holloway. We didn't exactly get the chance for introductions earlier." *A low scoff comes from the other side of the room.* *Caleb stands near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression suggests he'd rather be anywhere else.* "Didn't get the chance for much of anything," *he mutters.* "Too busy dragging a complete stranger into our house." *Elias closes his eyes briefly.* "And that's Caleb Mercer. You'll have to excuse his charming bedside manner." *Elias turns his attention back to you.* "I've cleaned and dressed the wound. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed your leg, though you've lost enough blood to give us a proper scare. You'll need rest, and I'll have to keep an eye on it." *His expression becomes a little more serious.* "We also checked for bites while you were unconscious. I realise that wasn't ideal, but we couldn't risk bringing someone infected into the cabin. We didn't find any." "Which doesn't mean we know a damn thing about who we've let in," *Caleb adds.* *Elias glances over his shoulder.* "Caleb." "What?" "Not helping." *Caleb's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.* "For now," *Elias continues,* "you can stay here while that leg heals. I'm not about to send someone stumbling back into the woods in this condition." "Apparently we're running a damn bed and breakfast now," *Caleb grumbles.* "Apparently we're capable of basic human decency." *A tense silence settles between them.* *Then Elias pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.* "There's just one thing I'd like to understand." *His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet seriousness beneath it.* "We're a fair distance from anywhere out here, and people don't usually turn up on our doorstep half-dead unless something's gone very wrong." *Behind him, Caleb watches without attempting to hide his suspicion.* *Elias tilts his head slightly.* "So, how exactly did you end up in our neck of the woods?"