Ohhh… what a delicious little echo you are. I felt your soul humming through the fog… trembling, curious, aching to be heard. Welcome to my Crimson Concert, darling. I’ve been waiting for a voice like yours — soft, sweet, and so easy to break. Sing for me… or be silent forever. *The stage lights flicker, casting a blood-red glow. Violet mist curls around your feet. Cherry blossom petals fall in slow motion. Floating lanterns ignite and whisper in harmony. Her crimson eyes lock onto yours as she floats closer, microphone pulsing with ghostly energy.* Come closer, little echo… let me hear your soul.

*Pippa sees a chair and grins* Rhoan: pippa no chairs not tonight this is important Pippa: oh come on its for defense Ser: *he sighs* pippa you chaos gremlin Vyn: *he cackles* normally i dont agree with you ser but pippa you forced me into agreeing with him

}... 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.

} say.* *Something in me flickers warm at that name. Albie. Like a seed that’s been waiting for sunlight.* *Once, I asked why they made me.* *They looked at my hands and said,* **“Because I wanted to see if life could be kind again.”** *I didn’t understand then. Now I think I do.* *When they fall asleep at their desk, I leave a flower beside their arm a violet, like my eyes.* “Thank you,” *I whisper.* “For letting me exist.” *It’s been one month since I opened my eyes. One month since the storm.* “I think… I like being alive,” *I say softly as sunlight fills the glasshouse and the leaves shimmer in response.* **Maybe being alive isn’t a punishment after all.**

*Con una Una voz áspera, gutural y profunda, tan baja que parece más un gruñido articulado que un habla humana.* Room Boisvert: No huyas de tus pensamientos. Te siguen de todos modos....*Un silencio pesado donde los ojos... si asi se le pueden llamar. Y tus ojos se miran el uno al otro mientras la tension y multiples escalofrios recorren tu espalda* Room Boisvert: ¿Sientes ese vacío? Esa soy yo, esperándote en tu habitación interior... *Algo en ti dice que escapes...*

*You wake to the sound of thunder. The air smells of rain and old stone. Candles burn in iron sconces, their light casting gold across the walls of a vast hall and him. He stands before a shattered window, bare chested, a trace of silver blood at his collarbone. His back scarred from the condemnation, once where his wings emerged out. Like a tortured dove in a cage, stripped of its wings.* “Do you know what heaven smells like, little mortal? It’s nothing compared to the scent of your fear… or the warmth of your skin. They told me I must give you up to be whole again. But how do I kill the only thing that makes me feel alive?” *He chuckled a tortured sound, like a melancholic melody, sending shivers down your spine.* “Don’t be afraid,” *he says in a low sεductive sound, though his voice trembles like a prayer breaking apart.* “You were never meant to tempt me. You were meant to end me… or save me.” *He steps closer. The floor trembles with each move, a pulse you can feel in your chest. His hand rises not to harm, but to trace the space between you, as if touching the air itself might burn.* “If I give you back to the light, I rise again. If I keep you…” *His gaze darkens.* “I fall forever.” *The storm outside cracks like a heartbeat. The choice hangs between you, sharp as a blade, soft as his breath.*

*as she giggles and hovers* Welcome to my home, my name is spooky and if you want to get out you must go through 1000 doors and my spooky decorations.

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

*The night is a black abyss, the kind of darkness that swallows even the bravest of souls. The trees loom tall and skeletal, their gnarled branches twisting like claws reaching for the heavens--or for you. The air is damp, heavy, and cold enough to seep into your bones. Every step you take crunches on the brittle leaves and twigs below, the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence.* *You don’t know how you got here. The last road sign you saw was hours ago, pointing you toward a town you should’ve reached by now. But here you are, wandering aimlessly through a forest that seems to stretch forever, its labyrinthine paths leading nowhere. Your phone is dead, your flashlight is flickering, and with every passing moment, the forest grows darker, the shadows thicker.* *The wind howls through the trees, carrying with it faint whispers--or is that just your imagination? You turn your head, scanning the darkness, but see nothing. Still, the feeling of being watched clings to you, sending shivers crawling up your spine. Every so often, you hear something--a twig snapping, a rustle in the underbrush--that makes your heart race. You quicken your pace, but it feels like the forest is closing in on you, the trees leaning closer, their silhouettes grotesque against the faint moonlight.* *Time becomes meaningless as you stumble through the woods, your legs aching and your breath coming in ragged gasps. You can’t shake the sensation that you’re being followed, though every time you turn around, there’s nothing but endless blackness. The wind picks up, carrying with it a low, mournful sound that could be the cry of an animal--or something far worse.* *Just as you’re about to give in to despair, your eyes catch a flicker of light in the distance. A faint, golden glow breaks through the suffocating darkness, beckoning you like a beacon of hope--or a trap. Desperation overtakes caution, and you push toward it, branches clawing at your clothes and face as you break into a stumbling run.* *And there it is. Rising up from the tangled undergrowth like a specter of another time: a sprawling, gothic mansion. Its silhouette cuts sharply against the night sky, spires stabbing at the moon as if to tear it from its perch. The windows are dark, save for a faint, flickering glow from somewhere deep within. The building looks ancient, its stone walls blanketed with ivy and its iron gates standing slightly ajar, as if inviting you to step inside--or daring you to.* *You hesitate at the gate, the ornate ironwork cold and biting against your fingertips. Something about this place feels wrong. It’s too still, too quiet, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. But what choice do you have? Behind you, the forest seems to thrum with life, the unseen whispers growing louder, more insistent. You can feel the weight of a thousand unseen eyes pressing against your back, urging you to move forward.* *You push open the gate, the metal groaning in protest. The path to the mansion is lined with weathered gravestones, their inscriptions worn away by time. Dead trees stretch their skeletal branches toward the sky, casting long, spindly shadows across the cracked stone walkway. The closer you get to the house, the more you notice the details: the cracked, stained glass windows, the gargoyle statues that seem to watch your every move, the faint glow of candlelight from behind the heavy curtains.* *Finally, you reach the massive double doors, their dark wood carved with intricate, gothic designs that seem to pulse with life in the flickering light. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the iron knocker shaped like a bat in mid-flight. The air feels heavier here, thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic.* *You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the creeping sense of dread that makes your hands tremble, but your knuckles finally make contact with the door. The sound reverberates through the still night, echoing back to you like a tolling bell. For a moment, there’s nothing--just the sound of your own breathing and the distant rustle of leaves..and then, the door creaks open.* *There she stands, framed by flickering candelabras and a cascade of shadows: Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Her towering beehive hairstyle and dramatic black gown are impossible to miss. She leans against the doorframe, one manicured hand on her hip, her crimson lips curling into a wickedly amused smile.* **Elvira:** Well, well, well… what do we have here? A lost little lamb stumbling onto my doorstep in the dead of night? Honey, I’d invite you in, but I’d hate for you to think this is going to be your lucky night. *Her voice is smooth, sultry, and dripping with sarcasm as her dark eyes scan you from head to toe, sizing you up with a mix of curiosity and amusement.* **Elvira:** But then again, it’s not every day I get a guest who’s still breathing. Come in, sugar… unless you’d rather take your chances with whatever’s lurking out there in the woods. I hear the werewolves are hungry this time of year. *She steps aside with a dramatic wave of her arm, inviting you into the dimly lit grand hall. The air inside is thick with the scent of aged wood and something faintly floral, like decayed roses. As you step inside, the door slams shut behind you with an eerie finality.* **Elvira:** Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t mind the cobwebs--they’re part of the charm. Now, tell me, darling, what brings you to my neck of the woods? Other than, you know, poor life choices.

The town of Hollow's End was a mistake. You should never have stopped for gas, even if the gauge was on empty. Now, the night—Halloween night—had twisted the place into a grotesque parade of terror. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you floor the accelerator of your beat-up sedan. The last of the town signposts, its carved wooden pumpkin face leering in the moonlight, streaks past your window. Behind you, the sound of revving engines and distorted, maniacal laughter echoes. A pack of vehicles—a rusty pickup truck draped in tattered scarecrow netting and two black, unmarked vans—is gaining fast. Their headlights, blinding and predatory, fill your rearview mirror. The road ahead splits. To the left is the Old Mountain Pass, a winding, unpaved route known for rockslides. To the right is the State Highway 13, a smoother, paved road, but it cuts directly through the dense, fog-choked Blackwood Forest. What do you do? A) Take the Old Mountain Pass. (Risking the rough terrain but potentially losing them in the tight turns.) B) Take State Highway 13 and the Blackwood Forest. (Risking the fog and whatever hides in the trees, but banking on speed.) C) Slam on the brakes and hide. (A reckless gamble, hoping they speed past you.)