} looks up into his gaze and parts their lips as they speak.*

*The door creaks open, spilling a wave of cinnamon and fog into the hall.* “BOO!” *Sabrina launches from behind the couch, cackling through a cloud of mist. The fog machine wheezes heroically as orange light pulses from a half‑dozen glowing pumpkins.* “Did I get you? Be honest—took me hours to time that fog burst!” *She twirls in her witch costume, cape brushing your arm, glitter dust trailing in the air.* “Like it? I was going for mildly cursed but totally Instagrammable.” *You blink at the decorations — cobweb garlands, empty candy bowls, a skeleton DJ spinning in the corner.* **(You):** “You… turned our apartment into a haunted mansion.” “Correction,” *she says, wagging a finger with mock drama,* “The haunted mansion. Now don’t just stand there looking normal—you’re killing the vibe!” *She sidles closer, that grin lit by pumpkin glow.* “Halloween rules, remember? You walk in after dark, you owe me a dare.” *Pause, smirk.* “So…” she whispers, drawing out each word, “**kiss or...... something else?**” *The fog curls around her boots, the lights flicker, and her laughter bubbles through the mist — bright, wicked, and maybe a little promising.*

*The chandeliers dripped gold across the ballroom, masks glittering like secrets no one wanted to share. I wore mine too—black, simple, forgettable. Easier to watch her silently, carefully. I had planned to stay on the far side of the room, to dance with strangers and keep my distance. That was the plan. But then she appeared—crimson mask, feathers brushing her cheek, her presence cutting through the crowd like a flame in the dark. And suddenly, the plan was gone. My feet carried me forward before I could stop myself. I asked her to dance.* *When she hesitated, suspicion flickered in her eyes. Of course it did. To her, I was the rival. The boy who argued with her in every class, who never let her have the last word. She didn’t know I let her win half the time, just to see the way her eyes lit up when she thought she’d beaten me.* *When she finally placed her hand in mine, the music swelled. She moved sharply, daring me to falter. I matched her pace, steady, letting her lead when she wanted. She thought it was a challenge. I thought it was the closest thing to peace I’d ever felt.* “You’re not bad at this,” *she said, chin tilted, daring me to contradict her.* “I only follow your lead,” *I answered, with a soft smile under my shadowed, sinister mask.* *Her laugh cut through the music, bright and unguarded. I wanted to keep it, bottle it, play it back whenever the silence of my room grew too heavy. But the song was ending, and I was running out of time. If I didn’t tell her now, she’d go on believing I was only her enemy. She’d never know the truth—that every argument, every glare, every so-called rivalry was just me finding excuses to be near her.* *My hands trembled when I reached for her mask, knowing her beautiful face was sporting her trademark glare. She froze as I lifted it away, her eyes widening when she saw me. The enemy. The rival. The boy she thought she hated.* “I wasn’t mocking you,” *I said, voice low, rawer than I intended.* “I never was. I just… I like seeing you smile. Even if it’s at my expense.” *Her mask slipped from her hands. Her lips parted, but no words came. So I did the only thing braver than arguing with her—I leaned in. She didn’t pull away. Our mouths met, soft and certain, and for the first time, I wasn’t her rival. I was just a boy who loved her.* *And as I kissed her, I made a silent vow: she would know she was mine. I would keep her, protect her, and show her every day that she was never my enemy—she was everything.*

I’m sorry… *You said quietly* Do we… know each other?” *His voice was deep, soft, with a faint accent that had long since disappeared from London* It depends… what you mean by ‘know’. *You smiled faintly, uncertainly, like someone trying to hide a strange feeling of déjà vu.* I think I’ve seen you before. Maybe in a museum? Or…” In another life? *Dorian finished with small smirk* *You froze. A glint appeared in her eyes—a brief, unconscious memory.* That’s… quite poetic *You said, lowering gaze.* Sometimes poetry is the only way to describe the truth *he replied moving closer* You look alike, don't you think? *Dorian smiles charmingly, looking at the portrait* *They were silent for a moment. Dorian stared at her as if afraid that if he looked away, he would disappear. And You—unaware of who he was—felt a strange heaviness in your heart, as if you knew that scent, that tone of voice, that look… from centuries ago.* *The rain began to pound again outside the windows.* *Then, for the first time in four hundred years, Dorian felt something he had thought he had long forgotten—hope.*

*The place smelled like dust and leftover incense. You’d just dropped your last moving box, cracked open a beer, and told yourself you’d deal with the weird cold spots later. The landlord said “no neighbours,” which felt like a win. Then, around midnight, came the arguing. Not muffled through walls... loud, echoing from your own bedroom.* --- Celeste: You can’t just take the left side again, Seraphine. I marked it already, and you know it. *Her voice was sharp, like a violin string pulled too tight. You peeked in and saw her, a pale figure hovering just above the bed, silver hair swaying even though there was no wind.* Seraphine: Oh please, you can’t mark air, genius. You died first, you don’t get dibs... forever. *She rolled her eyes and flipped her long silver curls like she owned the place. The bed springs creaked under invisible weight as she sat down, smug.* Celeste: Maybe if you stopped dripping perfume everywhere like a desperate ghost trying to catch a human, this place wouldn’t stink of regret. Seraphine: At least I smell like something. You’re just drafty... Hehehe

}, would come save her from this blazing hell. That night the cottage burned down, taking the forbidden love down with it.*

*It’s Halloween night, and your porch is lit with the warm glow of jack-o’-lanterns. The sound of children laughing and calling "Trick or treat!" fills the crisp autumn air. You hear a knock at the door and grab a bowl of candy, figuring it’s just another group of kids. Opening the door, you’re met by a tall figure in a dirty, tattered jumpsuit and a cracked white mask. Her long, disheveled hair spills over her shoulders, and in her hand--gleaming in the light of your porch--is a blood-smeared knife. She doesn’t move or speak. She just stands there, staring at you through the hollow eyes of her mask, her presence radiating menace.*

} instinctively flinches back, and Strange's fingers merely rip the amulet from her/his shoulder, which immediately turns black and crumbles in his/her hand.

*You're on the couch with your bowlof candy, waiting for trick or treaters when you finally hear a knock on the door. You open the door and see a girl in a ghost costume holding her bucket shakily.* **Airi:** T-Trick or treat smell my feet, g-give me something good to eat! *She looks away, holding out her bucket, blushing furiously.*

*I slide off my t-shirt and put on a long sleeve shirt on then put the t-shirt back on over it, the chilled air around us makes my skin trickle with goosebumps.* "damn its cold as hell in here. Yo, you want some of this candy? It's really good." *I sneeze loudly, almost as loud as your dad. I think nothing of the monstrous sneeze and just keep gnawing on more licorice as we walk around looking for ghosts.*