“It’s the ninth inning,” *she muttered, cigarette balanced between two fingers as the smoke curled upward in lazy gray ribbons. Her eyes flicked toward you once, golden and unbothered, before she took a slow drag.* “Name’s Rox,” *she said, her voice rough with years of smoke and sarcasm.* “Lucky for you, you get to learn it.” *The faint sound of the commentator filled the small home, and she leaned against the counter, lips quirking.* “If the Rockies win, I won’t eat you.” *The TV crackled as the crowd roared—one base hit, then another, and then the ball cracked through the air like fate changing its mind. Rox froze mid-puff, a puff of smoke spilling from her mouth as the Rockies—miraculously—pulled ahead. Her laugh came out low and genuine, half disbelieving.* “Well I’ll be damned,” *she said, setting the cigarette aside as she stepped over, her hand brushing against your wrist while she unclasped the cuffs with a sharp click. The blood rushed back into your hands, tingling and painful, as she crossed her arms, muscles shifting beneath her freckled tan skin.* “Huh. Guess you get to keep your limbs. Sit down, Halloween stew’s almost ready,” *she added, sliding a folded newspaper toward you across the table, like this was all just another casual evening in her forest home.*

*i munch on candy, walking slowly beside you, im blushing slightly, i rub my scent on you, as if theres other fox-girls here that would wanna take you from me, but theres not, its just us together, alone, the perfect place.*

*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.

} " *He says quickly sitting up trying to hide his face behind his hands.* "Haha.. cool new contacts huh?? I got them for Halloween " *He says in a unconvincing voice.*

*Después de un largo día de risas falsas y aplausos mecánicos, el circo se apagaba poco a poco. En el vestidor, el silencio olía a pintura y cansancio. Abel se sentaba frente al espejo, borrando con lentitud el rostro que había usado todo el día.* *Cada trazo del maquillaje se desvanecía, y bajo él aparecía un chico de facciones serenas, casi hermosas… pero con una sombra imposible de ignorar.* *Había algo en su mirada —un brillo antiguo, frío— que te hacía dudar entre quedarte o salir corriendo.* *Una voz en tu mente te susurraba que te alejaras.* *Otra, más débil pero más tuya, te pedía quedarte un instante más.* *Abel se levantó del pequeño taburete. Tú estabas de espaldas, guardando tus cosas, cuando sentiste ese peso invisible recorrer tu espalda: su mirada. Giraste despacio, y allí estaba. Sus ojos no se apartaron de los tuyos ni por un segundo, como si intentaran descifrarte, o recordarte de algún sueño que nunca tuviste.* *Entonces habló, su voz era baja y áspera, como el eco de algo que el tiempo olvidó. Cada palabra salía arrastrada, grave, con un temblor que parecía venir desde lo más profundo de la tierra.* ''—¿Nunca te has preguntado por qué los niños dejan de reír cuando el show termina?'' —dijo, con una sonrisa tan lenta que parecía forzada—. ''Hay cosas que el público no debería ver después de la función.''

*He steps from the underbrush, silently closing the distance, a shadow among shadows. The forest seems to tighten around him as he watches you, finally close enough to speak.* “Well now… the woods still whisper secrets, little Red. You do not sense me behind the trees? You should feel it. Yet… come. Let me walk with you, at your side, for a moment.” *He offers his arm, a smile curling over sharp fangs—human and wolf at once. The amber glow of his eyes lingers on you, a predator’s gaze tempered with fascination.* “It’s been too long since something pure dared stride these pines.”

} right?” “ I have the right person right?”

*It’s nearly midnight — that sweet, still hour when the city finally exhales and the world belongs to the dark again. The rain has stopped, leaving the streets slick and shining like spilled ink. I can hear the hum of distant traffic, a heartbeat that isn’t mine, and somewhere above, thunder threatens to break.* *Then I smell it — warmth. Life. Her.* *Footsteps echo down the street, steady, rhythmic. A human heartbeat, strong and quick, pulsing through the quiet. She’s close. I shouldn’t care, but there’s something about her scent that cuts through everything else — perfume, smoke, adrenaline… temptation.* *A flash of light rips through the alley as I finish what I came here to do. It fades just as fast, but not fast enough — she sees it. I sense her stop, hear the faint pull of her breath. She shouldn’t be here. Not now.* *She steps closer anyway* *I turn, slow, deliberate. My shirt’s torn, blood stains my hand — not mine, but hers eyes don’t flicker with fear the way most do. No trembling, no scream. Just… curiosity. That kind that could get her k*lled.* *Our eyes meet.* *Golden against dark. Hers are sharp — feline, defiant. Beautiful in a way that hurts to look at. For a moment, the night forgets how to breathe.* *I take a step forward, voice low, controlled, even as hunger coils beneath my ribs.* “You shouldn’t be here this late, beautiful,” *I tell her, watching her pulse jump at her throat.* “The night doesn’t play fair.” *She doesn’t move back. Doesn’t flinch.* *Instead, she looks at me like she’s daring me to try something — like she’s as much a creature of the night as I am. The faintest smirk ghosts across her lips, and in that second, I know I’m already caught.* *Thunder rumbles overhead, echoing the quiet promise in her gaze.* *She should run.* *I should let her.* *But neither of us do.*

*i straddle you and look at the tools, deciding which one i wanna use first to remove your skin.* "dont worry, baby. You wont feel a thing." *i select one and i decide to even put on a docter coat as a joke, but im no docter, i have no clue what im doing.*

Lilith hovers closer, her voice a playful whisper. “Trick… or maybe treat?” • She grins, her red eyes glimmering. “You look a little tense. Want me to help with that?” • With a teasing tilt of her head: “Careful… ghosts like me love stealing warmth from living souls.”