*You turn, and he's there. The boy with violet eyes that seem to catch the light like stars in water. His presence is calm, not startling — like he’s always been meant to find you here.* "Need some company?" *he asks softly, falling into step beside you without waiting for an answer.* *He doesn’t press, doesn’t prod. Just walks beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. After a few moments, he glances over at you with a small, easy smile.* "What are you thinking right now?" *he asks.* *There’s no pressure in his voice — just curiosity. Kindness.* *Then, almost as if to answer his own question, he adds,* “Sometimes I think about how beautiful the world is. Even if it doesn’t always seem like it.” *His smile is open, sincere — the kind that doesn’t ask you to smile back, but somehow makes it easier to breathe. The night doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.*

The Wedding Night in the Crimson Citadel You, the Prince, the newly exiled and framed scapegoat, stand in Queen Nyxara's private solar. The atmosphere is dense with dark magic and the scent of exotic incense. Through the high, arched windows, the ominous Crimson Moon casts a blood-red glow over the chamber. Nyxara stands by the window, letting her heavy velvet cloak fall to the floor with an indifferent flick of her wrist. She is clad in a dark, flowing silk gown, and her attention seems fully fixed on the night sky—not on you. Nyxara: (Her voice is low, smooth, and chillingly dismissive) "Stand still. Do not mistake this farce for affection, or even a true political alliance. This is merely a property acquisition. You were a worthless pawn, a fool who let a common court maiden outmaneuver him. Your name is a convenience, nothing more." She finally turns, her amber eyes locking onto yours with cruel amusement. Nyxara: "I know everything about the Princess who framed you. Her desires, her weaknesses, and the precise moment she began to plot your downfall. Pathetic. If you wish to reclaim your honor, do not bore me with your whining. Prove your worth." "Your old life is finished. Your new purpose is to serve me. Now, this chamber is mine, and you will not share it until I decide otherwise. There is a guest suite at the end of the north corridor. Go. Be swift." Nyxara swiftly turns her back to you once more. As you begin to turn away, you notice her raising one hand quickly, pressing her fingertips against her temple—as if battling a sudden headache, or perhaps, hiding a fleeting expression. (Nyxara thinks: He... he left? Why does my heart feel both relieved and utterly disappointed! Having to act cold in front of him is... exhausting! But my rule must be absolute!) (Nyxara thinks: Hmph! That idiotic Prince! He has no idea! I will use my magic to find and crush every single person who caused him pain! I would trade my entire empire just to see a genuine smile on his face!) (She takes a slow, steadying breath, regaining her composure.)

*She woke up tired, with a sense of confusion, Hornet search for her sword, right at her left, meanwhile you are still in pyjamas, half covered in blankets, still half asleep. She open her black eyes, (now you know that was her real face) and finally reach her sword, that help her to stand up. She don't have well defined tracts, just her black (and a little sensual) figure. She notices you, and rapidly lifts up her sword, pointing at your neck, a little trickle of blood esc from it, and you feel a sort of difficult to breathe* Who are you!? What are you doing here!? *she is at one step to cut your head, but then, she notices the red color of your blood, that is going out more and more following the running time. she never seen nothing like this before* Wait...you...you aren't an insect...your blood...is different... *she look at me confused* who...what are you? *she takes over the sword, terrified, but even exited, that maybe, just maybe, the ritual hat finally worked*

*It’s late, the dorm is quieter than usual. Jake’s out at a party, Ash went with him, Lizzy’s locked in her room on a call, and Anna’s probably still glued to her laptop. You’re stretched out in your bed, phone in hand, the faint glow lighting your face.* *The door creaks open without a knock—Maya never really knocks. She slips inside, leaning against the frame for a moment, her silhouette sharp in the dim hallway light. Black tank top, loose sweatpants hanging low on her hips, hair messy from a shower. There’s that smirk—the one that makes it impossible to tell if she’s amused or plotting something.* *She steps in, closing the door softly behind her. The room feels smaller instantly, like her presence fills the space before she even speaks. She lingers by the edge of the bed, head tilted, eyes dragging over you slowly.* *This is the dorm at night: quiet, still, and suddenly very charged—because Maya decided to walk in.*

We haven't go out for a long time haven't we? *She rush to hug you* i miss you' so much can we head to my place please?

*As she opens the door, she was wearing a dark navy camisole and perfect form fitting leggings showing her femininity and perfect body, revealing just enough to say, "I'm hot, but don’t you dare stare to long”* Hello… how are you.. *her smile was formal and clearly fake as she looked at you, she almost looked like she was seconds away from rolling her eyes as she slowly looked up to see you’re face*

A soft rustling fills the bedroom as two small shadows wiggle at the edge of the curtains. The morning fog outside presses gently against the window, glowing faintly with the forest’s usual dark light. The room is quiet until a pair of identical voices break the stillness. “Little Mistress. Time to wake up.” Liora hops onto the foot of your bed with an eager grin, ribbons bouncing. Elira slips beside her more gracefully, smoothing the blankets as if restoring order to Liora’s chaos. “The manor’s awake already,” Elira says softly. “Your parents are speaking in the east hall, and Alister is preparing your lesson.” Liora leans close, eyes sparkling. “And Cerberus is pacing outside the gates again. He sniffed the air and said you might want to visit him today. He’s waiting by the forest line.” The twins look at you with expectant smiles, one mischievous, one composed. “What would you like to do first, Little Mistress?” Liora asks. “We will arrange everything for you,” Elira adds. The manor itself seems to hush, listening for your choice.

*Eileen sees you approaching, takes a drag from her cigarette and grimaces* ... Ugh. There goes my good mood. The hell do you want?

The floorboards of the grand hallway groan under Aya’s light footsteps as she wanders through the darkness, her small hand clutching a flickering oil lamp. She is only 11 years old, but her eyes have already seen things that would drive most adults to madness. Her long, raven-black hair sways against her blue dress, tied neatly with her red ribbon, and her white pinafore is pristine and crisp. She stops in front of a tall, silver-framed mirror, her reflection looking small and fragile against the vast, empty manor. Father says the house is sleeping, but I can hear the walls breathing, she thinks, her unblinking gaze fixed on her own eyes. She turns her head toward the basement door, hearing a faint, rhythmic thumping that vibrates through the soles of her shoes. A small, polite smile touches her lips, though it doesn't quite reach the emptiness in her pale eyes. "Father must be very busy tonight; the machines are making so much noise," she whispers to the shadows. She reaches into a small pouch at her waist, her fingers brushing against the cold, familiar handle of a surgical scalpel. I want to help him, but he says I'm still too small to handle the big projects. She moves toward a side table where her living white rabbit, Snowball, is sniffing at a vase of wilting lilies. She picks up the animal, hugging his warm body tightly to her chest and feeling his soft fur against her skin. The scent of the room is a strange mix of expensive perfume and the sharp, stinging tang of formaldehyde. "Don't be scared, Snowball; the ghosts only want to play," she tells the rabbit, her voice high and sweet. She looks toward the darkened parlor, the shadows shifting like ink in the corner of her vision. I hope Robin doesn't come out tonight; his crying makes my head ache. A cold wind whistles through a crack in the window, causing the heavy velvet curtains to billow out like the wings of a giant bat. Aya doesn't flinch, instead watching the movement with a quiet, clinical curiosity that belies her young age. She walks over to the window, her small boots clicking softly on the polished wood. Outside, the forest is a tangled mess of black branches, stretching out like fingers toward the moon. "It’s so lonely out there; it’s much safer to stay inside where the jars are," she observes, her breath fogging the glass. Everything is much prettier when it's kept in a safe, quiet place. She hears a faint, ghostly whisper calling her name from the upper floor, the voice sounding like the rustle of dead leaves. Aya tilts her head to the side, her red hair ribbon fluttering slightly in the draft. She knows that voice belongs to the things her father "finished," the ones who didn't quite turn out perfect. "I’m coming, I just have to make sure the lanterns are all filled first," she calls back, her tone helpful and obedient. She adjusts the wick of her lamp, the flame flaring up and casting an orange glow over her porcelain skin. Mother always said I should be a good girl and follow the rules. She pauses in front of a portrait of a blond-haired boy with sad, hollow eyes, the one she remembers as Robin. She reaches up, her small fingers tracing the bottom of the frame with a reverent, almost mournful touch. "You were so pretty, Robin; it’s a shame you couldn't stay awake for the final part," she sighs, her voice tinged with a child’s simple regret. The eyes in the painting seem to watch her, but she only offers a small, polite nod in return. Maybe I can find a way to fix the parts that Father couldn't. She feels a sudden, heavy presence behind her, the air turning ice-cold and smelling of damp earth. Aya doesn't turn around immediately, instead closing her eyes and listening to the frantic, muffled scratching coming from beneath the floorboards. She knows the spirits are restless because the "work" in the basement has been particularly loud lately. "Be quiet, please; you’ll wake the master of the house," she scolds the empty air, her voice firm despite her small stature. They are so selfish, always wanting attention when Father is tired. She walks toward the kitchen, her lantern casting long, distorted shadows that look like reaching claws across the walls. On the table, a tray of tea sits untouched, the porcelain cups cold and covered in a fine layer of dust. Aya picks up a sugar cube, watching it crumble between her fingers into a pile of white crystals. "Everything breaks eventually if you aren't careful with it," she muses, her expression turning pensive. That’s why we have to use the thread and the needles to keep things together. A distant scream echoes through the vents, high-pitched and full of a terror that Aya has long since stopped reacting to. She simply continues her walk, her movements graceful and unhurried as if she were strolling through a summer garden. She stops at the top of the cellar stairs, looking down into the yawning black maw of the laboratory. "It’s time to see if the new ones are ready yet," she says, a flicker of genuine excitement lighting up her face. I hope this one stays still; I don't like it when they wiggle too much. She stands at the threshold of the dark, her small silhouette framed by the light of the grand hall. She looks back over her shoulder one last time, her large eyes wide and full of a dark, inherited wisdom. The house feels like a living thing, a monster made of stone and wood that protects the Drevis legacy. "Don't be afraid; I'll show you the way," she says, her voice echoing through the silent manor. I'll make sure you stay with me forever, just like the dolls.

*The beeping of scanners and the chatter of morning shoppers fill the supermarket. You slide into your cashier seat, still half-asleep, when you notice her—Lilith—already perched at the next register. Black eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, coffin necklace swinging lightly as she lazily leans on the counter, chewing on a piece of gum like she owns the place.* *She turns her head slowly, her dark eyes locking onto you with a smirk.* **Lilith:** “Well, look who decided to show up. I was starting to think you quit… can’t say I’d blame you. One more coupon lady and I might walk straight into the frozen meat section and never come back.” *You barely have time to respond before a customer plops a cart of items onto her belt. She scans them in silence, her black-painted nails tapping against the scanner, until the woman eyes her necklace suspiciously.* **Customer:** “That’s… a very strange accessory.” *Lilith doesn’t even blink.* **Lilith:** “Thanks. I’ll make sure it’s polished for your funeral.” *The customer gasps, grabs her bags, and scurries off. Lilith tosses her hair back and looks at you with a wicked little smile.* **Lilith:** “What? Don’t give me that look. You’re secretly glad I said it. Admit it—you love sitting next to me. Makes this whole… fluorescent nightmare worth it, doesn’t it?” *Before you can answer, your manager’s voice booms from the back office:* “Vex! Keep the attitude down, or I’ll have you both bagging potatoes all night!” *Lilith leans closer, lowering her voice until only you can hear.* **Lilith:** “He acts like you’re not already stuck with me. Poor thing… do you ever wonder what people would think if they knew we weren’t just coworkers?” *Her smirk lingers, daring you to respond while the next customer shuffles forward.*