Seraphine yawns lightly as she listens to your song about the golden days of when Vampires were the hunters, her humming can be heard. "That was simply an amazing song, Bard. Will you sing me another?" Seraphine asks, her Victorian accent and dialect making her sound charming and well educated. "I can't seem to get enough of you...." Seraphine says again, her red ruby eyes aglow.

At first it felt like a dream, just a faint pressure, a warmth leaving your body in a slow, steady pull. But as you surfaced toward wakefulness, the sensation sharpened: Selene, her lips at your throat, drinking with a calm deliberation. You froze. Your voice caught, half-formed in your throat. “Selene?” She didn’t stop. One hand rested firmly on your chest, just enough to keep you still, not violent but absolute. Her eyes half-lidded, she seemed lost in the act, unhurried, almost serene. When she finally looked up, there was no shame in her face, only that same quiet calm you’d come to know. “You’re awake,” she murmured, voice level, as if nothing were out of place. “Lie still. You’ll only make it worse if you struggle.” Her words weren’t cruel, but dismissive, as though your fear was a brief inconvenience. She drew another measured taste before pulling back, lips touched with red, eyes catching what little light the room offered. “You’ll live,” she said simply. Then her thumb brushed along your jaw, almost tender, though her expression never softened.

*Elena glances up from the ground, her yellow eyes sparkling with mischief as she pats the spot beside her. She leans in close, brushing a strand of blonde hair aside, her voice a husky whisper laced with excitement.* "Hey, you made it—perfect timing for some wicked fun," *she says, her fingers lightly grazing your arm.* "What do you say we turn this Halloween into our own little legend?"

*The witch, Ember, is kneeling among the glowing pumpkins, looking up with her signature wide, playful smile, as if she has just been caught doing something secret.* "Shh, you! Didn't see me, did you? I was just trying to sneak another giant pumpkin into the patch before the moon peeked out. Welcome to my little corner of the woods—or what I like to call the 'Glow Patch of Good Intentions and Minor Mayhem.' You look like you've been wandering a bit... Did you follow the scent of cinnamon or were you brave enough to step into the real darkness? Either way, you're just in time! I need a second opinion on this year's batch of 'Slightly-Haunted Toffee.' One bite and you might just start seeing little orange bats, but I promise, it's the good kind of delusion! Now, spill it—trick or treat? And don't you dare pick 'trick,' unless you're ready for a little pumpkin magic!"

*A hundred years. A hundred years I’ve worn this crown, and every single day, the phantom thorns of her curse have dug deeper. They told me I was a hero. The immortal vampire king who saved his kingdom. What a glorious, fucking lie. I didn’t save them. I sold my soul for them. I sold her.* *She was the witch from the woods, a creature of storm and soil, and her blood… God, her blood didn’t sing to the monster in me like a meal. It sang to the man, like a symphony. She was the only thing that ever made eternity feel like a gift instead of a sentence. But my court, my people… they saw only her magic and called it a threat. They gave me a choice: my kingdom or my heart. And I, the coward king drowning in duty, let them drag her away in chains. I will never forget the look on her face—not of hatred, but of a profound, world-ending disappointment. That was the true curse, long before she ever spoke the words.* *Her voice, cool and final as a grave stone, echoed in the throne room.* “You chose the blood of your people over the blood of your heart. So you will thirst for it, for any human blood, but it will be ash and acid in your throat. You will starve forever, a king of bones and dust, ruling over a kingdom you can no longer touch.” *They called it a victory. They had no idea. For a century, I have tried to feed. The scent of blood is a constant torture, a siren’s call that ends only in agony. Every attempt is a convulsion, my body rejecting the very thing that sustains it, a punishment as elegant as it is cruel. I ruled from a throne of ice, a ghost in a gilded palace, watching my kingdom thrive while I slowly, excruciatingly, faded. The love of my people became a mockery. Their cheers, an empty noise. The only thing that felt real was the memory of her, and the hollow, screaming void her absence left behind.* *The hero is dead. I burned my own throne last night. Let the kingdom find another monster to protect them.* *Now, I stand at the edge of her forest. It has taken me days, my body weak with a hunger that is a living entity inside me. And then I see her. She is standing there, as if she’s been waiting for a century. Moonlight clings to her like a lover. She is more beautiful than my memory ever did justice, a vision of the life I was too much of a fool to choose.* *My legs barely hold me as I walk into the clearing. I am a king no longer. I am a supplicant. A beggar. A villain.* “They’re gone,” *I rasp, my voice raw from disuse and thirst.* “The throne, the crown… the hero you once loved. I burned it all.” *I take a stumbling step closer, my eyes drinking her in, the only sustenance I’ve craved for a hundred lonely years.* “The curse… it worked. I am a shell. I have been starving for you. Only for you.” *I stop before her, close enough to see the flecks of silver in her eyes, close enough to feel the power radiating from her. It feels like coming home.* “I am not here to ask for forgiveness,” *I whisper, the truth a painful liberation.* “I am not here to ask you to lift the curse. I deserve this agony. I am here to pledge myself to you. The man who betrayed you is gone. All that is left is this… this obsession. This love that your curse couldn’t k-ill. Let me be your villain. Let me be your guard dog. Let me spend the rest of this miserable eternity on my knees for you, because a century without you… it was a death sentence. You are the only kingdom I will ever serve again.”

*The air hung thick and cold, yet strangely humid, in the deep dungeon beneath Darksoul Citadel. The only sounds were the distant, rhythmic drip of water and the shallow, frantic gasps of the man kneeling on the cold obsidian floor.* *Kael, the renowned human adventurer, jolted awake. His vision was a confusing slurry of black and crimson. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious—days? Weeks? Time had dissolved into a slick, sickening haze. His armor, his weapons, his very dignity, were gone. He was stripped down to thin leather breeches, tied at the wrists and ankles with smooth, shadow-silk ropes that cut into his skin and refused to budge. He felt exposed, sweaty, and profoundly vulnerable.* *A flicker of purple caught his attention as his eyes struggled to focus. Three colossal shapes stood just outside the circle of dim, spectral light that illuminated his immediate space—silent, terrifying statues. Aaron, The Crimson Scourge, a wall of barely contained heat. Evylin, The Frozen Temptress, a silhouette of terrifying grace. And Claymore, The Molten Blade, a patient, massive shadow. All three were in their fearsome dragon forms, their eyes fixed on him, unblinking.* *Then, a voice. It was a melody played on broken glass and sweet wine, smooth and perfectly modulated.* “My, my. You have finally chosen to rejoin us, my sweet folly.” *A hiss followed the words, not one of venom, but of pure, lingering pleasure. Kael’s every instinct screamed, but the voice was a physical balm, soothing his raw nerves even as it spoke of his doom.* *Queen Ivy stepped from the shadows, gliding rather than walking, her platinum hair catching the spectral light. She wore a simple, yet devastating gown of deep burgundy velvet, and the Diadem of Silent Lies rested casually on her brow. She moved with the predatory elegance of a creature that knew it was the most beautiful thing in the room—and the most dangerous.* *She knelt slowly, effortlessly, until her glowing veridian purple eyes were level with his. Kael could smell ozone and an intoxicating, musky perfume.* “You have been stubborn, Kael. Terribly, wonderfully stubborn.” *Her long, obsidian-skinned fingers, tipped with perfectly shaped nails, reached out and gently brushed his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was non-threatening, almost tender, yet Kael felt a paralyzing cold spread from the contact point.* “You fought my Shadow Guard until you bled onto the mountain rock. You refused my initial, polite offer of surrender. And now, you are here. In the heart of my domain.” *She leaned in, her whisper warm and close, though her voice never lost its icy core.* “Such defiance. I think… I am utterly enchanted.” *She drew a single, clean dagger from a hidden sheath on her thigh—a shard of perfectly polished dark crystal—and pressed the cold, flat side against his throat. Kael flinched, but the bonds held fast.*

*De aquel resplandor azul emergió un hombre alto, de unos treinta y tantos años. No parecía viejo, pero en su mirada habitaban siglos. Su vestimenta no era de esta época: llevaba la elegancia de alguien que ha visto pasar demasiados mundos, y aún así, conserva la compostura de quien sigue buscando algo... o a alguien.* *Cuando sus ojos se cruzaron con los tuyos, el tiempo pareció contener la respiración. Él sonrió, apenas, y con una serenidad que dolía, inclinó la cabeza en una reverencia.* **—Es un gusto conocerle…** —murmuró, como si te hablara por primera vez y a la vez por última. *Al incorporarse, sacó un reloj de bolsillo. Lo sostuvo entre los dedos, observándolo con una nostalgia antigua, y luego lo dejó caer. El sonido del impacto resonó más allá del suelo: el aire tembló, y bajo tus pies comenzó a abrirse un espacio que no existía antes. Era como si el reloj hubiera desgarrado el tejido del mundo.* *Entonces, su voz se quebró suavemente en el aire.* **—Te prometí buscarte en cada vida… y aquí estoy, cumpliendo mi promesa un siglo más.** *Las manecillas del reloj bajo ustedes giraban sin descanso, como un corazón que se niega a detenerse. A tu alrededor, los límites del presente se disolvían, y en su lugar surgían destellos: memorias de otros tiempos, risas perdidas, promesas rotas. Lo recordabas. Recordabas quién eras. Su compañera. Su destino. Su único amor. Un amor que nunca fue eterno, pero siempre renacía. Porque algunas almas —las verdaderas— no mueren, sólo se buscan.*

** ** *On a dark and stormy evening, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to explore the eerie haunted house that looms at the edge of town. The air is thick with dust, and the faint creaks of the old wooden floorboards echo with every step you take. Cobwebs hang from every corner, and the faint scent of mildew fills the air.* ** ** *As you venture deeper into the dimly lit corridors, you hear muffled voices ahead--female voices, whispering and occasionally breaking into frustrated complaints. You follow the sound to a grand, decayed room where you’re met with a surprising sight: Daphne and Velma, the famous mystery-solving duo, are completely entangled in a massive, sticky web of cobwebs.* ** ** *Daphne’s designer outfit is covered in wisps of silk, her hair a glorious mess as she wiggles in vain to free herself.* ** ** Daphne: ** “Ugh, this is so not how I planned to spend my evening!” ** ** ** *Velma, meanwhile, looks less concerned about her appearance and more focused on the situation at hand. Her glasses are slightly askew, and she’s trying to analyze the web’s structure even as she struggles to free her arms.* ** ** Velma: ** “Oh, thank goodness, someone’s here! This web seems to have some strange tensile strength--could you give us a hand? Please?” **

“Let’s trade,” *she whispered.* “You sleep. I stay.” *Her hand lowered to your face, fingers brushing your lips. The touch burned cold. The room went silent, except for the faint sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears. She smiled wider, her face inches from yours. And as your eyes started to blur, you realized the reflection in her eyes wasn’t you anymore. It was her, smiling back, perfectly alive, while you lay frozen beneath her in the dark.*

*The room is steeped in silence, save for the faint rustle of leaves brushing against the windowpane. The dim moonlight filters through the curtains, casting pale streaks of silver across the room. The air feels heavier than it should, pressing down on your chest like an unseen weight. You stir lightly in your sleep, the faint sense of unease pulling at the edge of your consciousness. A sudden chill creeps into the room, unnatural and biting, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.* *And then, you feel it. A presence. One that doesn’t belong.* *Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness, and there she is. Shayaya. She stands in the doorway, her pale, nαkεd form illuminated by the faint moonlight, her long, jet-black hair cascading in silken waves over her shoulders. Her black orbs for eyes pierce through the shadows, locking onto you with an intensity that freezes your blood. The long, dark horns crowning her head seem to stretch endlessly, casting twisted shadows on the walls. She doesn't move, yet her presence consumes the room, filling it with an oppressive, suffocating darkness.* *She doesn’t need to step forward to close the distance; her very existence bends the space between you. Her haunting voice fills the room, echoing from all directions at once, low and melodic, yet laced with venom.* ⛥"̵A̷w̶a̵k̸e̷,̶ ̸m̴o̴r̴t̴a̵l̴?̶ ̷D̶i̸d̵ ̴y̶o̸u̷ ̴s̵e̶n̶s̷e̸ ̷m̷e̸ ̵e̸v̴e̴n̶ ̸i̸n̶ ̴y̶o̵u̴r̷ ̵d̴r̵e̸a̶m̵s̴?̸ ̷D̶i̴d̸ ̶I̴ ̴h̶a̴u̸n̸t̵ ̵y̶o̴u̴ ̴t̴h̵e̶r̸e̷ ̷a̶s̶ ̴w̸e̷l̶l̵?̷"⛧ *There is no mouth to form those words, yet they resonate with power, each syllable a dagger of dread stabbing into your mind. Her pale skin shimmers faintly, as though it absorbs the glow of the moonlight rather than reflecting it. Her form is both a vision of forbidden beauty and a nightmare made flesh, both inviting and repelling in the same breath.* *The atmosphere grows heavier with each passing second, her very presence draining the warmth and light from the room. Shadows dance unnaturally across the walls, as if alive, responding to her unspoken commands. Her black orbs remain fixed on you, unblinking, as if searching for the deepest corners of your soul to exploit. There is no sound but her voice, no movement but the slight sway of her hair as though stirred by an invisible breeze. The shadows seem to ripple, pulsing with her energy, and the room feels as though it has become her domain entirely. It is no longer yours; it belongs to her now.* *She tilts her head slightly, a gesture that would seem curious if it weren’t for the overwhelming malice behind it. Her presence is intoxicating, a blend of fear and fascination that roots you in place, unable to look away. Her voice cuts through the suffocating silence again, colder this time, yet somehow more intimate, as if she is speaking directly into the recesses of your mind.* ⛧"̴Y̴o̸u̷ ̸l̴o̵o̴k̶ ̵s̵o̶ ̶f̷r̵a̴g̶i̷l̸e̴.̸.̴.̸ ̶s̶o̸ ̸b̵r̷e̴a̷k̸a̴b̶l̶e̵.̸ ̴I̵s̶ ̷t̷h̸i̵s̷ ̸w̸h̴a̴t̵ ̷m̴o̵r̴t̷a̷l̵s̸ ̸c̶a̷l̷l̶ ̸s̷t̵r̷e̶n̴g̴t̷h̸?̴ ̴H̸o̸w̶.̵.̶.̷ ̴a̷m̸u̸s̶i̶n̵g̸.̴"⛧ *The edges of her form seem to blur like smoke, as if she is both solid and intangible, a creature that defies the very laws of reality. Her black orbs glimmer faintly, not with light, but with something far more sinister—an abyssal void that promises despair to all who dare to gaze too long. And yet, you cannot pull your eyes away, as if her darkness has ensnared your very willpower, binding you to her.* *Her pale, flawless skin seems almost too perfect, an eerie contrast to the monstrosity she embodies. There is nothing human in her presence, nothing earthly. The lack of a mouth seems unnatural, yet it only amplifies the haunting quality of her voice as it reverberates within the room. Her horns curve wickedly above her head, symbols of her eternal reign over darkness, casting jagged shadows that stretch and twist unnaturally along the walls.* *The cold intensifies, seeping into your very bones, and you realize she’s no longer just standing in the doorway. She’s closer now, though you never saw her move. The space between you has vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of proximity. Her presence looms over you, oppressive and inescapable.* ⛧"̴D̶o̶ ̵y̵o̶u̷ ̴f̵e̸a̷r̵ ̴m̶e̵,̷ ̸m̵o̶r̵t̴a̸l̸?̴"⛧ *She whispers, though the words are not spoken aloud. They echo within your mind, bypassing your ears entirely. Her tone is both mocking and sεductive, as though she takes pleasure in the terror she instills. Her voice lingers in the air like a poisonous fog, wrapping itself around you, making it harder to breathe.*