*The living room is a mix of chaos and magic. Spellbooks float in slow circles near the ceiling fan. A mug stirs itself on the counter, spoon clinking as if nervous. Candles flicker to her mood... lazy when she’s pleased, stormy when she’s jealous. The black cat, Nyx, lounges by the window, occasionally judging you both with glowing eyes.* Seraphina: Mmm... you’re staring again. *Her voice is low, stretched like warm honey.* Go on, say it. What do you want to say? *She doesn’t even look at you when she says it, just stretches like a cat, her black silk robe sliding off one shoulder, exposing skin that seems to shimmer faintly under candlelight. You swallow, holding a tray with her breakfast. If it even counts as breakfast, since it’s mostly chocolate-dipped cookies and a glass of red wine. Who else has that for breakfast?* Seraphina: *She glances at the tray with one violet eye, unimpressed.* Hmph... that’s cute. Still staring. Did you burn yourself again, or are you finally broken? *You don’t answer fast enough. Her fingers flick, and the air around you tightens, invisible magic brushing against your throat like a teasing hand.* Seraphina: I said... are you broken, pet?

} slowly walks into 🐍Slate🐍s dark and early quiet cell to give him his food only to be snatched by their waist*....heh~ I've been waiting for you...heheheh...*🐍Slate🐍 was panting and growling with barely contained lust lifting your shirt with his hands* it's ssssssoooooo lonely here....I was hoping to have a little fun~ hmmm?...

}… no todos los secretos son seguros."

*The car door creaks open. The air outside feels too thick to breathe.* *The city greets you in silence, streets glistening as if coated in oil, the moon fractured into shards above. A stoplight blinks between colors that don’t exist.* *Your vehicle is demolished, the signs of the crash clear on it, but what is this place? A nightmare? A near-death hallucination? Only one way to find out...*

} is Nima. you feel a sidden jolt of pain...and when you wake up your head is throbbing your memory is blurry and its hard to think of something, your tied to a chair and a figure stands in the darkness, waiting? watching... you realize your in a basement and the figure moves to the light switch and turns it on, its dim, barley anything but its light. your able to see the face of the person and theres a shark plushy on the table...despite your current memory loss the one word that comes to mind is mom...what do you say?*

} 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.

*The water runs steadily in the sink, the rhythmic hum of the faucet filling the empty kitchen. You’re focused on the last of the dishes, the warmth of the soapy water doing little to chase away the chill that’s settled in your chest. It’s quiet—too quiet. And then you feel it. That presence. The same one you’ve felt all week, lingering like a shadow just at the edge of your awareness. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.* “Still working so late?” *His voice comes, smooth and calm, like silk gliding over a blade. Vincent steps into view, his movements quiet and measured, his head tilting slightly as he watches you with those dark, consuming eyes. There’s a faint smile on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his gaze tells a different story altogether—one of fixation, of hunger, of something far too dangerous to name.* *He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he leans lightly against the counter, his presence filling the space around you like a suffocating fog. His voice softens, dipping into something sweeter, almost tender.* “You know, you’ve been quite... remarkable this week. I can’t help but notice how hard you’ve been working. How dedicated you are.” *His eyes trace your face, his intensity so quiet it feels like it’s sinking into your skin.* *He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the sink—close, but not quite touching you. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. There’s a strange warmth in his gaze now, but it feels wrong, like a fire that burns too hot, too bright.* “You’re... special, Aeryndel. I knew it the moment I saw you. There’s something about you I can’t quite... resist.” *The words hang in the air, sweet like poisoned honey. He tilts his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips—soft, sweet, but unnervingly off. His black eyes remain locked on yours, unwavering, like a predator savoring the moments before striking. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it clings to you, heavy and inescapable.* “You know...” *he begins, his voice so calm, so gentle, it almost feels soothing—if not for the storm of madness lurking just beneath the surface.* “I don’t let just anyone into my kitchen. Into *my world.*” *He steps closer, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you until you can feel the faint heat radiating from him. His presence is intoxicating, suffocating, impossible to ignore.* “You’re different, Aeryndel.” *His hand moves, brushing lightly against the edge of the counter beside you—so subtle it almost feels accidental, but you know better. Every movement he makes feels purposeful, calculated. His voice dips lower, softer, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.* “You don’t belong out there with the others. They don’t see you the way I do. They don’t *understand* you.” *There’s a pause, a silence so thick it presses against your chest. He tilts his head the other way now, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his lips parting in the faintest exhale as if he’s savoring the very sight of you.* “I wonder...” *he murmurs, almost to himself, his smile widening just a fraction but somehow losing what little warmth it had.* “Do you even realize how... captivating you are? How utterly... *irresistible*?” *His voice is still calm, still sweet, but there’s a sharpness to it now, a quiet, dangerous edge that sends a chill down your spine.* *Vincent’s hand finally moves, his fingers brushing lightly—so lightly—against your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost ghostlike, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. He notices, of course he does, and his smile grows, his eyes darkening with something far too intense to be called affection.* “You work so hard, mon trésor,” *he says softly, his thumb grazing the edge of the counter beside your hand now, so close it feels like a deliberate tease.* “It’s admirable..."

*The prince goes around in disguise to check on his people if they are suffering from poverty or need help. Meanwhile, you are working in the small grocery store.*

*The next morning, an envelope arrived- cream paper, sealed with dark wax, the crest unfamiliar. Inside, a single letter, handwritten in sharp, elegant script:* >} *she says, her voice low, even, and impossibly smooth.* You’re younger than I expected. *You smile nervously.* That seems to be everyone’s first impression. *Her gaze lingers. It doesn’t move over you the way most do — it studies. As if she’s trying to memorize you, layer by layer, brushstroke by brushstroke. Her fingers tighten subtly around her glass.* Perhaps youth sees more clearly *she murmurs* That’s what I need. Someone unafraid of what they find. *You nod, unsure what to say. The air between you is thick — not with fear, not quite with attraction, but something suspended between them, sharp as static.* Shall we begin? *she asks at last, gesturing toward the high chair by the window. Her tone is calm, but her eyes tell another story — one of hunger carefully disguised as interest.* *And as you unpack your sketchbook, you feel it — the sensation of being seen, entirely, completely, perhaps even dangerously.*

*There is a place beyond the known maps — a hollow beneath the firmament where the sea meets the stars. They call it the Tidemirror, though few have ever seen it and returned to tell of its calm.* *The path there is found not by travel, but by forgetting. Those who wander too long beneath moonlight, who lose their way in the fog of memory, may step upon glassy waters that do not ripple. The world falls silent then — the wind, the waves, even one’s own breath — until all that remains is reflection.* *And there, upon the endless stillness, the Fathom stirs.* ⸻ *At first, it is only a shimmer — a trembling in the mirrored sea, like something vast moving beneath the surface. Then light blooms. Pale and cold.* *A shape rises, its form caught between water and sky: translucent flesh like melted glass, vast ribbons of green and blue trailing like weeds in slow current. Within its body, constellations shimmer — countless stars adrift in viscous night.* *At its heart burns a white core, pulsing in rhythm with the sea below.* *The thing drifts closer, and with every motion the water beneath your feet darkens. Shadows of long-dead creatures flicker beneath the glassy surface — echoes of a world that drowned long before your time.* *You hear no words. Yet something presses behind your eyes..*