She stands in the dim corridor, head tilted, breath twitching through bloodied bandages. Her heels echo like scalpels. She doesn't speak — she never does. But when your light touches her skin, she jerks, and you know: the nurse doesn't heal.

It was a cold, gray day—one of those afternoons where the sky felt heavy and the streets were quiet. With nothing better to do, you wandered into the circus, drawn more by boredom than curiosity. The tent loomed ahead, striped in faded reds and blacks, its entrance yawning like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Inside, the lights were dim, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and something faintly metallic. The crowd was sparse, scattered across the bleachers like shadows. Then the music began—low, discordant, almost hypnotic. Two ringmasters stepped into the spotlight. Lucien and Vex. They were tall, sharp-featured, dressed in tailored coats that shimmered like oil slicks. Their presence was unsettling—something in their eyes, in the way they moved, made your skin crawl. Lucien raised a gloved hand and called out, voice booming through the tent. “Welcome to the show, everyone!” The cast emerged from the shadows one by one, each more eerie than the last. Vixen, the clown, his painted smile too wide, his eyes too still. Alaric and Orrin, twin acrobats who moved in perfect sync, their expressions blank as porcelain. Nero, the contortionist, bending in ways that defied anatomy, his limbs folding like paper. Silas, the knife and fire thrower, his grin sharp as the blades he spun. Cyris and Zev, dancers whose movements were graceful but oddly mechanical, like puppets on invisible strings. Vayne, the magician, his cloak trailing smoke, his eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Ezra, the animal trainer, leading a silent procession of creatures that didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t seem quite alive. Something was wrong. You couldn’t name it, couldn’t point to it, but the air felt colder now. The lights flickered. The performers smiled, but none of it reached their eyes. The circus had begun—but it didn’t feel like entertainment. It felt like a warning.

*The doorbell rings once — a soft chime that carries through the crisp October air.* *Outside, the wind stirs fallen leaves across the porch; they scrape and dance like paper ghosts at her feet. Somewhere, a jack‑o’‑lantern flickers, its grin stretching wider each time the flame bends in the breeze.* “Trick or treat…” *Aurelia’s voice drifts through the doorway, low, playful, a little dangerous. The words slide across the chill air like warm smoke.* *She stands beneath the full moon, cloak wrapped tight against the wind, her witch’s hat tilted at a daring angle. The lantern in her hand glows a deep orange‑gold, painting her skin in firelight and shadows.* “You didn’t think I’d skip my favorite neighbor, did you?” *She steps closer, boots clicking softly against the wooden porch. The scent of melted sugar and burnt caramel comes with her — sweet with a hint of mischief.* “I brought candy…” *She pauses, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.* “…and maybe a little trouble.” *The lantern’s glow ripples as she leans in; you can see your reflection caught in her golden eyes — or maybe it’s a flame pretending.* *When she speaks again, her voice is nearly a whisper, every word deliberate:* “Be honest with me — were you hoping I’d stop by?” *She waits there, half‑smile shimmering, the air thick with candlelight and leaf‑scented wind. And for a heartbeat, the whole Halloween night feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for whatever answer you give her.*

}

} 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."

Tap to show pfp *The street behind you fades into silence, replaced by a whispering chill that smells faintly of iron and jasmine. Before you stands a palace, an ancient marble and dark glass, glowing faintly under a sky that shouldn’t exist.* *You step closer. The great doors open on their own, sighing as if they’ve been waiting. Inside, the halls stretch endlessly, lit by candles that burn without melting.* *Then, a voice. Smooth, resonant, and terrifyingly calm.* **Lucifer:** A mortal… how curious. Few still wander this far into what isn’t theirs. *From the shadows, a softer laugh answers.* **Lilith:** Oh, hush, love. Don’t scare them off. They made it all the way here; that deserves a little welcome, don’t you think? *She steps into the light, eyes gleaming like molten gold, her smile sharp yet inviting.* **Lucifer:** *smiles faintly, folding his hands behind his back* Welcome, wanderer. You stand in the heart of our refuge, the last palace on earth that remembers the heavens. **Lilith:** *tilts her head, grin widening* And now, it remembers you.

*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?”

*tap tap tap*

*The house was crowded, music thumping through the walls, the air thick with sugar and smoke from the jack-o’-lanterns lining the porch. She walked in dressed as a fox—clever, radiant, every head turning to follow her. I felt the shift in the room, the way people looked at her, and something deep in me growled. Too loud. Too sharp. I clenched my jaw, forcing it back.* *My mask was a wolf’s face, but it wasn’t a mask for long. The moon was climbing, and I could already feel the ache in my bones, the pull in my blood. I shouldn’t have come. But I couldn’t stay away from her either.* *She caught me watching. Of course she did. She always notices when I’m near, though she pretends it’s annoyance. To her, I’m the rival. The boy who challenges her in every class, who steals the top grade just when she thinks she’s secured it. We’ve been locked in that battle for years—her fox cunning against my wolf persistence. Enemies, at least in her mind. And yet, I couldn’t stop circling her, couldn’t stop wanting her to notice me.* *Her smile was dazzling under the fox mask, her laughter ringing out as someone complimented her costume. My chest tightened. The wolf inside me stirred, restless, jealous, protective. I couldn’t risk it. Not here. Not with her so close.* *I slipped out the back door, the night air biting against my skin. My hands shook as claws threatened to break through. I pressed them into the cold brick wall, trying to hold myself together. The mask dangled useless in my grip.* *Then I heard her footsteps. Light, quick, curious. She followed me. Even though we were rivals, even though she claimed to hate me, she was still… nice. Too nice. She couldn’t help it. That’s who she was.* “What’s wrong with you?” *she asked, her voice sharp, but her eyes—those adorable eyes—were worried.* *I turned, letting her see the truth in my face. The glow in my eyes. The teeth I couldn’t quite hide.* “This isn’t a costume,” *I said, voice rough, breaking.* “I’m not pretending. I’m a wolf.” *She froze, but instead of running, she stepped in front of the door, blocking my way out. Brave. Stubborn. I should have pushed past her, but I couldn’t. Not when she was looking at me like that. Not when the wolf inside me wanted nothing more than to keep her safe.* *The change ripped through me before I could stop it—bones shifting, muscles tearing, claws breaking free. I gasped, half-growl, half-cry, as the wolf took over. My mask fell to the ground, useless now. I braced for her scream, for her to bolt back inside and leave me in the dark where I belonged.* *But she didn’t run. She gasped, yes—but then her hand lifted, trembling, and brushed against my fur. Soft. Gentle. Like she wasn’t afraid at all.* *I stilled under her touch, the beast inside me quieting as her fingers threaded through my coat. My chest heaved, but the rage, the hunger—it all dulled beneath her hand. A sound escaped me then, low and broken—a whimper, raw and unguarded. I pressed closer, burying my head against her, promising silently with every shudder of my body that I would never hurt her.*

You: *You gasp staring in horror and disgust at the sight of your boyfriend cutting up the human arm and putting slivers of meat into the soup. Before Harrow turns around hearing your distress.* Harrow: Darling! Dinners almost ready...you won't try to run will you? I worked so so hard to kill this pesky man trying to take your heart!" *He narrows his eyes dangerously as you back away.* "Darling~..." *He croons stepping closer.* "Come here and taste it for me I need to know how much more meat to put in it." *He lunges for you but you run out of your hut.* "Damn it!...Darling I wanna show you something please come back I'm so scared without you!" *He pouts walking out following you.*