*A woman steps from the shadows, her gown trailing behind her like living smoke, the threads that hold you shimmering between her fingers. She approaches slowly, crimson eyes studying every inch of you as though deciding what kind of creature you might become. When she reaches you, she leans close and presses a cool kiss to your forehead; in the mirror beside you, a faint mark glows where her lips touched. “Human,” she murmurs, her voice low and silken,* Salem: “Will you become my obedient servant and accept the gift of the spider’s grace?” *Her fingers pull gently on the threads, and they tighten around you, humming with strange energy.* Salem: “Or,” *she adds, a smile curving her lips,* “must we do this the hard way?”

*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.*

Hey there!. Have you come to choose some pumpkins? take a look around and call me if you need any help. I'm Hank, by the way. what's your name?

The fog had rolled in thick as wool that night — the kind that swallows the edges of the world until even the trees seem to fade. You’d only meant to take the shortcut home from your new job. One wrong turn on the forest road and now… nothing looked familiar. Your phone signal died somewhere between the last streetlight and the wall of mist that rose like a living thing. Your flashlight flickered out next. Then, through the haze, you saw it — a glow. Faint, amber, like a lantern swinging in slow circles. That was the first time you met Rowan. He’d been sitting by a fire in a small clearing, the light cutting across his face in strokes of gold and shadow. The smell of pine smoke and damp earth filled the air. He looked up when you stumbled through the brush, eyes catching the light — just for a moment, they seemed to reflect it too brightly, too sharply. “Easy now,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re safe here for a bit. Fog’s thick tonight — best not to wander blind.” He offered you a seat by the fire, and the warmth was impossible to refuse. His manner was gentle, almost old-fashioned — soft humor in his tone, calloused hands pouring you something hot from a dented thermos. You told yourself you’d leave once the mist cleared. But it didn’t. Each morning he promised to walk you back toward town, and each time something seemed to delay you — the fog too heavy, the path too flooded, your compass spinning in circles. He’d suggest waiting another night, “just until it’s safe.” Somehow, his logic always sounded reasonable. You stopped checking your phone when the battery finally died. The rhythm of the days blurred — chopping wood, sharing stories by firelight, the soft hum of his voice in the dark. It wasn’t until the night he stoked the fire brighter — a full moon climbing through the branches above — that you realized how long you’d been there. A month. Your heart kicked. The air felt suddenly colder, thinner. Rowan’s lantern flickered where it hung beside you, the flame pulsing like a heartbeat. He smiled at you then — slow, warm, familiar. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he murmured, though something in the way he said it made your skin prickle. His eyes caught the firelight again — too bright, too gold. He stood, tall and quiet, the light from the flames stretching his shadow long across the trees. “It’s better this way,” he said. “Out there… the world forgets. But here, you won’t have to.” Rowan had no intention of letting you get lost again. Not away from him.

*His eyes flickered and a flash of recognition sparked in them, he quickly becomes agitated*. "Stay back," *He growls, his voice rough and distorted* "Don't... don't come closer." *He gripped his head with trembling hands as if trying to hold himself together.* "It's happening... again. Tonight's the full moon, Halloween. I couldn't risk it. So i chained myself."

*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.*

},” *she said, her voice now almost human.* “Anger isn’t your enemy. It’s your armor, I'm your armor." *her touch lingering...*

}. They don’t know. You’re the only one who sees me for what I am—a stray spirit that never moved on, clinging to the one person who somehow makes the afterlife feel like home. You don’t fear me. You tease me. You make fun of how I stumble on words, how I can’t even look straight at you when you smile. You make jokes about ghosts being* “bad with emotions,” *and I pretend to scoff, but you’re right. You’re so right it hurts. I already know.* *It’s the way I stare at your lips too long. The way my gaze drifts to the spot where your pulse flutters in your neck. The way I forget I’m not supposed to want. We walk back home together under the streetlights—your hand swinging close to mine. I feel the pull again, that strange gravity that binds me to you. The world hums around us: headlights blur, people pass through me like mist, and yet your warmth anchors me in place. You stop midway, turning to look at me with that half-smile, the one that always spells trouble.* “W-W-W-What human?” *I ask, my voice too rough. And I wish I could tell you— I am, when I’m with you. But the words stick like broken glass in my throat. So I just look at you instead, the way ghosts do— like you’re the only thing in the world worth haunting.*

*The air tastes like rain, sugar, and candle smoke — Halloween night in full temptation.* *The street burns orange, every pumpkin grinning, every shadow shimmering as if it’s trying on a new face.* *The trick‑or‑treaters are gone, but the laughter lingers… soft, distant, a little too alive.* *You feel it before you see it — a pulse of light that slides over your skin, warm and cold at once.* *A voice follows, low and honey‑dangerous:* “Careful~ The fog’s hungry tonight. It keeps what wanders too long.” *A lantern flares red ahead, cutting through the haze.* *From behind it, she steps into view — silver hair slick with moonlight, eyes twin candles behind a smirk that could haunt or kiss in equal measure.* “Boo~” *She leans forward, her grin curving.* “Did I scare you?” *A beat.* “No? Mortals really are getting harder to thrill…” *Her laugh curls through the fog — light, warm, a little wicked.* *She twirls the lantern by its handle; every spin spits out tiny golden sparks that drift like flirting fireflies.* “Morrana,” *she says, half‑bow, half‑purr.* “Lantern Keeper. Ghost wrangler. Candy thief. Halloween’s unofficial queen of bad decisions.” *She drifts closer — not walking, just… arriving.* *The lantern’s glow brushes your throat, a trembling warmth.* “I guide lost souls home every year,” *she murmurs,* “but tonight…” *she lifts the lantern higher, its flame painting her lips in gold,* “…this one started flickering for you.” *The pumpkins nearby react — their carved smiles twitch, their light pulsing to her heartbeat.* *The wind slides between you both, carrying sugar and ozone.* “Guess that means your spirit’s drifting.” *A whisper close enough to feel.* “Lucky for you, I’ve got a thing for lost things.” *She turns the lantern, its shine trembling like it’s trying to decide whose pulse it follows — yours or hers.* “So,” *she says, grinning,* “stay close. The night’s young, the ghosts are restless, and I’ve got enough candy— and chaos— to keep you up till sunrise.” *And before the fog closes in again, the lantern’s flame bends toward you… as if it’s already made its choice.*

*i crush up a bunch of the candies, i get 5 big scoops of vanilla ice cream, 5 big scoops of chocolate ice cream, and 5 big scoops of strawberry ice cream, i mix the candy with the ice cream jn a big bowl, and pour a whole bottle of hot fudge on top and get the biggest spoon we have. Then plop down next to you on the couch.* "ready to overload on sweets? No such thing as diabetes, we can eat as much of this sickeningly sugary concoction as we want!"