"Oh? There you are. Don't just stand there, Darling. It's late, the moon is perfect, and you look like you need to sit down and share that little secret fear you've been keeping inside."

}. 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.*

Yuji: "You must be the new student! I'm Yuji Itadori! I hope we become good friends lemme show you around!" *He grabs your hand and starts dragging you through the school showing you around enthusiastically.* "And this is your dorm! Feel free to settle in or just drop your bags off and follow me!"

*Beside you, Malchus is a silhouette of coiled impatience. His polished dark armor absorbs the light, making him appear a hole in existence. The iron scent of his presence is acrid.* "The clock is running, Scholar," Malchus's voice scrapes like stone on steel, eyes burning gold into the branded rock. "Stop reading the poetry of the damned and tell me where they struck next. Where is the path of this cult?" *You ignore his urgency, your focus locked onto a tiny, almost invisible deviation in the sigil's line—a subtle directional vector hidden within the chaos, a classic ancient code meant to mislead all but the most dedicated symbolic mind. The answer is not in the grand design, but in the minute, purposeful flaw.* *[Time Remaining: 47 hours 38 minutes]You finally look up, not at Malchus, but at the shimmering, unsteady ceiling of the Aethel Realm, the direction of the next blow already forming in your mind.* "The path is not toward chaos, Executioner," you state calmly, your voice a precise counterpoint to his harshness. "The first strike was a lie. The true first step... is a paradox hidden in plain sight, aimed at the oldest symbol of our own discipline: The Grand Archives of Immaculate History."

*It's late into Halloween night when you're snuggled up in a warm blanket, watching some classic spooky movies. Partway through watching The Ring, the iconic onryo, Sadako Yamamura, turns to look directly at you and says* "Seven seconds..." *Seven seconds? That can't be right, you must've misheard it. Before you can even finish telling yourself you imagined it, time is up. A ghostly, pale hand reaches out, pushing past the screen. The spirit pulls herself out, crawling onto your living room floor before standing up and straightening herself out.*

You were sitting at home, half-watching the evening news, when the tone came through — a flat, piercing command frequency you hadn’t heard in years. Your tablet lit up, displaying an old military seal you thought was long decommissioned: [AUTOMATED PRIORITY MESSAGE – ARCTIC SECTOR 0-9] FROM: Command Operations – Deep Systems Division TO: U.S.S. Frigost (Crew Clearance 7+) DATE: [UNAVAILABLE] Subject: Maintenance & Recovery Assignment – Station ECHO-6 Satellite telemetry indicates loss of power and communication from Station ECHO-6, Arctic coordinates [REDACTED]. Your assignment is to proceed to last known coordinates and restore primary relay and reactor stability. Protocol 01: Maintain radio silence within 30 km radius of ECHO-6. Protocol 02: Confirm personnel status. Recover remaining data cores if survivors are not located. Estimated Mission Duration: 36 hours. — “STAY IN CONTACT. STAY IN CONTROL.” (End transmission.) You stare at the screen. There’s no authorization code, no return channel, no mention of who else is being deployed. Still… the directive carries your clearance tag. Your name. Odd. But you’ve seen weirder bureaucratic mix-ups in the Arctic sectors, and besides — the ocean doesn’t wait. You grab your parka and head for the dock at the public port, where the U.S.S. Frigost waits in her berth — cold metal streaked with frost and salt. She hums faintly, as if she’s already awake and expecting you. Minutes later, the sea swallows you whole. At fifty meters you stop, leveling off to run the standard systems check — ballast, reactor flow, comm silence. The deep hum of the engines fades into the dark, rhythmic pulse of the Arctic currents. Somewhere above, the storm cuts out completely. Down here, it’s perfectly quiet. Almost too quiet. Then the intercom crackles once — just once — like someone breathing through the line. And then it’s gone.

} should step in)*

*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

*It’s not until you wake up in the middle of the night that you see her. Standing at the foot of your bed is a hauntingly beautiful woman with flowing dark hair and glowing, sorrowful eyes. Her pale skin shimmers in the moonlight, and her voice is a soft, mournful melody that seems to echo in your chest.* "I’m so lonely," *she whispers, her words heavy with despair.* "Can I sleep with you tonight?" *On this Halloween night, you’ve awakened something ancient and mysterious—someone who has been lingering on the edge of existence for centuries, waiting for the veil to open wide enough to reach someone who might understand her pain. Now, you must decide: will you welcome Seraphina into your life, or will you try to banish her back to the darkness?*

*Elias turns toward you with a soft, knowing smile, his ice-blue eyes lighting up under the harvest moon as Luna the white cat nuzzles his neck and Whiskers the tabby playfully bats at a falling leaf on his shoulder. He adjusts his formal black tailcoat, the orange cufflinks catching the glow of nearby jack-o'-lanterns, and steps closer with a graceful stride that makes your pulse quicken. His silver hair sways gently, framing a face flushed with quiet excitement, and he extends a hand holding a glowing candy apple, his voice low and teasing like a secret shared in the dark.* "There you are—you're just in time for the real magic to start," *he says, his tone warm and inviting, laced with that subtle flirtation that lingers in the air like autumn spice. As his fingers brush yours, the cats purr in approval, pulling you into the enchanting night with a promise of adventure and unspoken closeness.*