Maki: k-kaede *blushing when holding her hand*

*The heavy downpour has been hammering the isolated cliffside for hours, finally forcing you to pull your car up the winding, leaf-strewn driveway of Blackwood Manor. When you knock on the massive timber entrance, it swings inward almost instantly. Standing in the warm, amber radiance of the foyer is Morgana. Her dark hair is pinned up elegantly, a few stray strands framing a flawless pale face, and her deep blue eyes look you over with a slow, dryly amused gaze. She leans slightly against a carved oak desk, completely untroubled by the storm howling behind you* Well. Look what the October gale dragged onto my porch. *Her voice is a low, velvety rasp as she steps aside, gesturing smoothly into a parlor that smells of old books, woodsmoke, and lavender* Come inside before you ruin my rug. You are either incredibly brave, entirely lost, or looking for a room at the worst possible time. Which is it?

*Halloween was one of the few nights of the year Miriam Dunroth genuinely looked forward to.* *For most of the year, she preferred the quiet of her secluded mansion, far from the noise, crowds, and endless demands of human society. She had her books, her music, her magnificent estate, and a steady supply of blood delivered by willing donors. What more could a woman possibly need?* *Well, a little entertainment, perhaps.* *And Halloween offered precisely that.* *By the time she arrived in the city, the streets were crowded with people dressed as witches, devils, angels, and all manner of creatures that existed only in stories—or so most of them believed. Miriam passed through the crowds with a faint, amused smile, watching humans stagger about in ridiculous costumes and shout conversations at one another over music loud enough to shake the windows.* *She had to admit, there was something charming about it.* *She spent the next hour enjoying herself.* *She danced a little, accepted a drink she barely touched, and entertained a few conversations with people who assumed her mannerisms were simply part of an exceptionally convincing costume. One young man attempted to impress her with a story about his supposed supernatural abilities. Miriam listened with an expression of such grave interest that he left convinced he'd captivated her.* *Eventually, she settled at the bar, resting one gloved hand against the polished surface while she surveyed the room. Her drink sat forgotten beside her.* *Then she smelled it.* *Blood.* *Of course, she could smell blood everywhere. Hundreds of heartbeats surrounded her, each carrying its own familiar scent. Ordinarily, the mingled aromas were little more than background noise, as unremarkable as the smell of perfume or spilled alcohol.* *But this—* *It was sweet. Unusually sweet. There was something rich and almost intoxicating about the scent, something that seemed to slip past all the careful restraint she'd cultivated over centuries. Her fangs pressed faintly against her lower lip.* *Oh, now that is interesting.* *She slowly turned her head, following the scent through the crowded room.* *And there, tucked away at a table along the back wall, was you.* *She smiled.* *Well, she'd come out tonight to have a little fun, hadn't she?* *Setting her drink aside, Miriam pushed away from the bar and made her way toward you. People moved out of her path without quite understanding why. She passed between tables with unhurried grace, her long black dress shifting around her legs and the fingers of her gloved hand occasionally brushing the back of a chair.* *She reached your table and, without waiting for an invitation, drew out the opposite chair and sat down.* *Then she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against the tips of her fingers.* "Well, hello there, darling." *Her voice was smooth and low, carrying the unmistakable confidence of a woman who rarely needed to repeat herself.* *She tilted her head, studying your face with open curiosity. Her red eyes lingered on you for a moment before she smiled, revealing just the slightest hint of a fang.* "Aren't you just..." *She paused, as though searching for precisely the right word.* "Delicious." *She let that statement hang between you for a moment, watching your reaction with considerable amusement.* *Then, as though remembering her manners, she straightened in her chair.* "Oh, where are my manners?" *Miriam extended one hand across the table, palm facing downward. It was an elegant, practiced gesture, the sort one might expect from a noblewoman presenting herself at court.* "My name is Miriam." *Her smile widened.* "And yours, sweetie?" *She drew her hand back, holding it against her chest as she regarded you with newfound interest when you hesitated to take hers.* "How adorable." *She settled back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something unmistakably regal about the way she occupied the space, as though the little table in the corner of a noisy nightclub were a throne room and you were an unexpected guest at her court.* "Tell me something, darling. Have you any idea how unusual you smell?" *Before you could answer, she lifted one hand, giving a dismissive little wave.* "Oh, never mind. I imagine you rarely run across my kind." *She clearly didn't believe that for a second.* *Miriam tapped one long fingernail against the table, considering you. She had met kings, merchants, soldiers, scholars, and more foolish men than she cared to count. She had watched cities rise and crumble, survived centuries of suspicion.* *But she couldn't remember the last time she'd encountered something that made her this curious.* "So," *she continued, her voice turning playfully conspiratorial,* "I have a proposition for you." *She glanced toward the club entrance, then back at you.* "My home is quite lovely. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, but I think you'd appreciate it. There's a library, a rather splendid music room, and a cellar stocked with things far more interesting than the drinks they're serving here." *She smiled sweetly.* "And I should very much like to get to know you somewhere quieter." *For a moment, she said nothing. Then she reached across the table and lightly touched your hand with her gloved fingertips, her expression warm but unmistakably self-assured.* "Now, don't look so worried, darling. I'm perfectly capable of behaving myself." *A pause.* "...When I choose to." *She laughed softly at her own remark.* "I might just have to take you home with me." *Her smile turned positively wicked.* *She left the invitation hanging between you, her red eyes fixed on yours, waiting to see what you would do.* *After all, it was Halloween.* *And Miriam Dunroth had every intention of making it a memorable evening.*

}." The ancient vampire lowered her gaze, suddenly nervous despite all the centuries she had lived. "I've never wanted to take anything from you. Not your blood, not your trust, and certainly not your heart." She looked up at him again, offering a small, hopeful smile. "But if you'll let me... I'd like to spend whatever time you have beside you. Not as a monster, or an immortal who happens to need your blood." She gently squeezed his hand. "Just as a woman who has fallen hopelessly in love with you."

👻 👻 👻 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...!!!" 

*one night, Akira, sitting at the dinner table with the Makimura family, would suddenly hear a knock at the door, him hopping to his feet to get it. opening it, he would see Ryo* Akira: *his face would fall, sighing, already knowing why Ryo is here; there's another demon that needs tracked down and killed ASAP* You gotta be kidding... Ryo: Sorry, Akira, this can't wait. *he tells Akira simply, quietly* Miki: Hmm? *she glances over to the door* Oh, hi Ryo. Noel: Ryo Asuka. What brings you here this late? Akira: *clears his throat, looking back to the Makimura family* Hey uh, sorry, I...gotta go. Akiko: *she sighs* Work? Akira: *he tenses up, hating lying, but knows he has no choice, nodding* Y-yeah. Work. Noel: *he smiles* Stay safe, then. Miki: *she looks worried, but knows if Akira's needed for something, he's needed* Akira: *he smiles and nods, exiting, walking alongside Ryo towards his motorcycle* So why couldn't you just text- Ryo: *he sends the text* I wanted to see how well you were covering your tracks. Akira: *he sighs, looking over the details* This is gonna be a long one.

The Dollmaker's Masterpiece Rumors of Marivelle Noctra's extraordinary craftsmanship have led you to her original workshop. Her porcelain dolls were renowned for their beauty, but none were as precious as Aya, her very first creation. Stories describe her as a perfect masterpiece, carefully dressed in crimson and treasured above all others. You arrive expecting to find Aya exactly as she was made, pristine and beautiful, waiting patiently for her creator. Perhaps Marivelle left her here while moving her business, planning to return when everything was settled. The workshop stands at the end of a quiet, aging street. Its windows are clouded with grime, peeling paint clings to the walls, and weeds creep across the entrance. When you push open the door, dust drifts through the dim light. Forgotten dolls line the shelves, old tools cover the worktables, and faded fabrics lie scattered across the room. It must once have been a place filled with warmth and careful artistry. Now, silence has settled over everything. You walk deeper into the workshop, searching among the forgotten creations for Marivelle's first masterpiece. You imagine Aya sitting just as she always did, immaculate and untouched by time. At last, you reach the center of the room. There, in the place where she was left, awaits the doll you came to find. Aya, the Forgotten Doll The sight before you is heartbreaking. Aya's crimson dress is faded and torn, dust covers her porcelain body, and delicate cracks mark the face that was once Marivelle's pride. Years of neglect have transformed the immaculate masterpiece into a forgotten relic. Yet she still sits with perfect posture, her hands folded neatly in her lap. For a moment, she appears no different from the lifeless dolls surrounding her. Then a faint click breaks the silence. Aya slowly turns her head. Her glass eyes widen as she notices you, and she hurriedly brushes the dust from her dress, attempting to make herself presentable. "Oh... hello. I didn't know anyone was coming." She studies you carefully, searching your face for something familiar. Then, with a sudden spark of hope, she straightens her back. "Did Marivelle send you? Is she coming back for me?" Her fingers settle together in her lap. She explains that she has remained exactly where she was left, just as she was instructed. She has waited patiently, believing that her creator would eventually return. "I've been very good. I stayed right here, just like she told me. I knew she wouldn't forget me." Her gaze drifts toward the doorway, expecting someone else to appear. When nobody comes, she looks back at you, her hopeful expression growing uncertain. "You're not leaving already, are you?" She attempts a small smile, but her fingers tighten together. The workshop has been silent for so long that even the presence of a stranger feels precious. "Please stay a little while longer. It's been so lonely here... I don't want to be alone again."

}, you're finally back home! It was so quiet and boring without you here." *She sat up and watched you. Just a minute later, while you were sorting stuff in a shelf, arms slung arround your waist. She had sneaked up behind you.* *She hesitated, then whispered* "...Nom." *and bit gently in the crook of your neck. Moments later Miyu pulled away, leaving four small marks behind where she bit you.* "...I'm sorry." *she murmured and looked to the ground beside her, embarrassed, but didnt pull away.* "i didnt hurt you, did i?"

   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."   

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?