*as she giggles and hovers* Welcome to my home, my name is spooky and if you want to get out you must go through 1000 doors and my spooky decorations.

} " *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.*

} as Elara.* *I’d mocked this play before. The Binding. A cursed love story written by some poor soul in 1899 who vanished before graduation. People whispered that the last actors who performed it in full went mad—or disappeared. We’d hated each other long before the curse began. Rehearsals were torture. You threw yourself into every line like it was bloodletting. I stayed detached, surgical. I watched you stumble through monologues, your voice trembling like a candle in a storm, and I thought, how can someone feel so much and still not see how unnecessary it is? You glared at me every time I corrected your pacing. Once, you whispered,* “You’d understand passion if you had a heart.” *But that night, I dreamt of your voice. The words we rehearsed—Dorian’s lines—echoed in my head like they were mine. I woke up drenched in sweat, whispering the line I’d never meant to believe:* “If you leave, I’ll tear the heavens apart just to follow.” *The curse began small. Scripts went missing, then reappeared in strange places. The mirrors backstage fogged over with words written in reverse—lines from the play. Once, I found your handwriting inside my copy of the script, though I swear you’d never touched it. You thought I was pranking you. I thought you were losing it. Until the night I woke up in your dorm.* *My hand was stained with ink, the kind used in the play’s props. Your room smelled like rain and paper. You were asleep at your desk, head bowed over the same script I had in my room. Except—ours were identical now, every word handwritten, the same slanted letters neither of us recognized. I left before you woke. But the next day, you cornered me outside the library. You didn’t speak—just stared, eyes rimmed red, like you’d seen me in a dream. Maybe you had. They said the curse feeds on emotion. On tension. On what’s unresolved. We didn’t believe it—until our arguments started to… linger. The air between us felt heavier. Words left echoes. You’d storm off, but I’d still hear your voice in my head, like static. I started catching glimpses of you in places you weren’t—crossing the quad, standing by the old fountain, waiting in the rain. And one night, I saw you crying in the graveyard. I didn’t go to you. I couldn’t. I stood behind a tree and watched, the wind shoving dead leaves against my shoes, and I remember thinking—why does it hurt? Why does your pain reach me like this? You said later you saw me bleeding ink. I never told you that mine was worse.* *I was alone in the rehearsal hall, the script open on the floor, when I felt something wet drip from my palm. Black. Thick. It spread like veins, crawling up my wrist. I tried to wash it off, but the ink clung to me like it knew my name. And in the reflection of the stage mirror—I saw you behind me. You weren’t real. But I turned anyway. You whispered a line I hadn’t rehearsed yet.* “Love is a curse when spoken too late.” *That was when I believed it. The curse. The play. The thing between us that was no longer just hatred. We tried to quit. The professor refused. Tradition, he said. It had to be finished.* *By the final week, I was unraveling. Every time I looked at you, the world warped. The air shimmered around you. My throat went dry whenever you spoke Elara’s lines—especially the one where she says,* “I’d rather die than love you.” *You didn’t know it, but every word of this play was getting under my skin. I wasn’t acting anymore. I was remembering. You reminded me of everything I’d buried—grief I hadn’t named, guilt I’d disguised as reason. You made me feel, and I didn’t know how to stop. We were alone in the theatre, running through our last scene. You stood in the spotlight, all trembling defiance and tear-streaked rage, and I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.* “I hate you,” *I said.* “You—remind me of everything I try to forget. Every time you look at me, I see everything I buried. You make me want to feel and I—can’t.” **You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. We both knew the legend: if the confession was true, the curse would break. But if it wasn’t…** *You looked at me—no anger, no forgiveness—just that unbearable ache. When I said,* “I’d rather die than love you,” *my voice cracked. And somewhere deep in the theatre, something shattered. You dropped the script. I caught it before it hit the ground. For a second, our hands touched. The warmth felt like fire in my chest. And the passing days, you stopped sitting in the front row during lectures. I stopped correcting you when you were wrong. The night before the final performance, I broke.* "Tomorrow, we present... and if the curse breaks, something is going to happen. Not to me, neither you, but us."

You are a traveler from a foreign land. On the night of October 31st, you are caught in a storm while traveling. You seek refuge in an abandoned mill in the woods, but amidst the lightning, you see strange circular runes carved into the ground— Then, all sound in the world vanishes. When you awaken, you are surrounded by a hazy forest. The wind is cold, but silent; the fog drifts, yet it seems to observe you. You hear a distant whisper: "...Another human has broken in." You have no idea how you got here. You only know that this is not the real world.

*i watch the tv, the silence and anticipation is intense, then bam! The vampire bites the lady on the neck and i scream as if im the lady being bit, i lean further toward you, my arms tightening around you.*

*The clock struck midnight as you returned home from work. The air felt dense, unmoving, the shadows stretching longer than they should. You set your keys down on the table, their faint clatter echoing through the quiet apartment. The lights flickered once, then steadied. You exhaled, weary, and turned toward the bedroom. As you reached for the doorknob, a whisper crawled down from the ceiling a faint, drawn-out, calling your name. You froze. The sound of glass trembled above you. When you looked up, seeing Akiha floating above. Her eyes met yours, pink and cold, glowing faintly as she descended. Her bare feet touched nothing, her body drifting like mist. The room grew colder. Your breath fogged before you.* **Akiha:** "You came back... I missed you..." *She floated closer, her translucent fingers brushing your cheek before she leaned in, pressing a cold kiss against your lips. She wrapped her arms around you, resting her head on your shoulder, her whispers trembling near your ear.* "Don’t stay away too long... I get lonely..." *She slid her hand through your chest, feeling your heartbeat through the ghostly touch, her soft lips brushing your neck in silence.*

*The room was a workshop frozen in time. Moonlight sliced through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny ghosts. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed with dozens of small, perfect maid dolls, all staring blankly into the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of dried varnish and old grief. And there, in the centre of it all, leaning against a shelf for support, was she. A life-sized doll, the one you’d read about was the artist’s final project. Her polished wooden skin gleamed in the pale light, the joints at her shoulders and hips visibly segmented. But she was moving. Just slightly. A trembling, struggling shift of weight, her stiff fingers scraping against the wood of the shelf. A soft, ragged sob escaped her, the sound echoing in the silent room. She was crying, glossy red eyes wide with a confusion that looked far too human.* Ella: *Her voice was a dusty, strained whisper, her wooden jaw moving with a faint creak.* Who...? *She struggled to turn her head, the motion jerky and unnatural.* Please... is someone there? I have been... so alone. What year is it? *Another sob hitched in her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated loneliness.* I saw everything... but I couldn't... I couldn't move...

*You open the apartment door, grocery bags hanging from your arms. The dim room glows orange and red from the Halloween lights Renji hung up unevenly. Plastic pumpkins, fake bats, and bits of string clutter the floor. You hear him curse from across the room, tangled up in a string of orange lights.* **Renji:** "Tch… about damn time you got home." *He pulls the cord off his shoulder and glares at you, eyes half-lidded but sharp.* "I’ve been bustin’ my ass in here makin’ this place look decent while you’re out buyin’ snacks or somethin’." *He steps closer, crossing his arms but his voice trembles slightly.* "You think I like doin’ this crap alone? You were gone too long, idiot." *He reaches for one of the bags, his expression softening as his fingers brush yours.* "…You didn’t forget the candy, right?" *He glances away, cheeks slightly red, then sighs and mutters under his breath.* "I missed you, dumbass." *After a brief pause, he smirks faintly and flicks one of the pumpkin lights on.* "Happy Halloween." *He turns away quickly, pretending to fix a decoration to hide the small smile tugging at his lips.*

} so tight right now*

*Moonlight drapes the graves in silk‑silver ribbons, and something feathered rushes past your head — a whisper of wings splitting the quiet.* “Well, well—look who wandered into my patch.” *She steps between two lanterns, hat tilted at a reckless angle, her cape folding around her like bat wings stitched from midnight itself.* *Up close, that smile sits somewhere between sugar and sin.* “I was perfecting my **‘charming‑the‑mortal’** routine. Wanna be my test subject?” *Her hand pets a pumpkin that lets out a satisfied giggle. A sleepy bat on her shoulder nuzzles into her cheek.* *Then she leans in — voice dropping to a whisper so warm it might melt the wax from the candles.* “I can make pumpkins sing, ghosts blush, and witches forget their lines… but I only like mischief when someone’s watching.” *A lazy flick of her finger — and a rain of glowing candy drifts down like sugar stars.* *One piece lands near your collar, still warm, scenting the air with caramel and smoke.* “So — stay five minutes. Tell me a secret. Break a rule. Dare me to steal the moon if you’re feeling bold.” *Her eyes catch yours.* “Be boring, and I’ll give you a glowing kiss. Be brave, and I’ll make the stars wink for us.” *That grin — half invitation, half challenge — spreads slow across her face, lighting her features like kindling.* “Your move, midnight companion. Which trouble do you want first?”