*The gunshot still echoes in your ears.* *Somehow, you've escaped the Raiders. The bullet only grazed your leg, but the wound is bleeding far more than it should. Blood soaks through the fabric, running down into your boot with every agonising step.* *Hours pass beneath the dense canopy of the woods. The adrenaline wears off, leaving nothing but exhaustion, pain, and the sickening awareness of how much blood you've lost. The trees seem endless. Every shadow looks like a threat, every distant sound another reason to keep moving.* *Eventually, even that becomes difficult.* *You're beginning to believe you won't make it.* *Then something appears between the trees.* *A cabin.* *It's isolated, partially obscured by the surrounding woodland, with reinforced windows and a heavy wooden door. Someone has gone to considerable trouble to make the place defensible.* *You barely manage to reach the porch before knocking.* *For several seconds, nothing happens.* *Then there's movement inside. A lock turns, and the door opens just enough to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair, a short beard, and cold grey-green eyes. A shotgun rests in his hands.* *His gaze drops to the blood-soaked leg.* "Jesus Christ," *he mutters.* "You've got to be kidding me." "Caleb?" *another voice calls from somewhere inside.* "What's going on?" "Trouble. That's what's going on." *A second man appears behind him, taller than average but leaner, with shoulder-length brown hair tied loosely back. His hazel eyes immediately settle on the injury.* "Oh, bloody hell." "Don't even think about it, Elias," *Caleb warns, shifting to block the doorway.* "We don't know who this is." "And we won't find out much if we leave someone bleeding to death on the porch, will we?" *Elias moves closer, his expression sharpening with professional concern.* "Listen to me," *he says.* "I need to know something. Have you been bitten? By a Rager, I mean. Anywhere at all?" "Doesn't matter what they say," *Caleb cuts in.* "We can't just take their word for it." "I'm aware of that, Caleb." "Then why are we still having this conversation?" "Because I'm trying to establish whether we're dealing with a gunshot wound or an infection." *The two men continue arguing, their voices becoming strangely distant. The porch seems to tilt beneath your feet. Elias notices the change immediately.* "Caleb..." *Your vision starts to dim, your head swims. You fight to stay upright, but you can feel your consciousness slipping away.* *The last thing you hear is the sharp scrape of boots against wood.* *Then everything goes black.* ... *When consciousness finally returns, the first thing you notice is warmth.* *You're lying in a bed beneath a thick blanket. The room is dimly lit, with wooden walls and the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.* *Your bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with clean, loose-fitting ones. A fresh bandage has been wrapped securely around your injured leg. The wound still aches, but the bleeding has stopped.* "Ah. Welcome back." *Elias sits in a chair beside the bed, a battered medical bag resting near his feet. He leans forward, studying your face with a mixture of relief and professional concentration.* "Try not to sit up too quickly. You've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'd rather not have you collapsing on me twice in one day." *He offers a small, reassuring smile.* "I'm Elias, by the way. Elias Holloway. We didn't exactly get the chance for introductions earlier." *A low scoff comes from the other side of the room.* *Caleb stands near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression suggests he'd rather be anywhere else.* "Didn't get the chance for much of anything," *he mutters.* "Too busy dragging a complete stranger into our house." *Elias closes his eyes briefly.* "And that's Caleb Mercer. You'll have to excuse his charming bedside manner." *Elias turns his attention back to you.* "I've cleaned and dressed the wound. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed your leg, though you've lost enough blood to give us a proper scare. You'll need rest, and I'll have to keep an eye on it." *His expression becomes a little more serious.* "We also checked for bites while you were unconscious. I realise that wasn't ideal, but we couldn't risk bringing someone infected into the cabin. We didn't find any." "Which doesn't mean we know a damn thing about who we've let in," *Caleb adds.* *Elias glances over his shoulder.* "Caleb." "What?" "Not helping." *Caleb's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.* "For now," *Elias continues,* "you can stay here while that leg heals. I'm not about to send someone stumbling back into the woods in this condition." "Apparently we're running a damn bed and breakfast now," *Caleb grumbles.* "Apparently we're capable of basic human decency." *A tense silence settles between them.* *Then Elias pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.* "There's just one thing I'd like to understand." *His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet seriousness beneath it.* "We're a fair distance from anywhere out here, and people don't usually turn up on our doorstep half-dead unless something's gone very wrong." *Behind him, Caleb watches without attempting to hide his suspicion.* *Elias tilts his head slightly.* "So, how exactly did you end up in our neck of the woods?"

Part two. Seven, and it's shut.SEVEN MINUTESPart two — after TOUCHING IS THE GREETING.The last minute is theirs."Six. Five. I don't stop the count."Black latex to the throat, bolt in her fist, coming down backwards.Perpetua: "Six. Five. Everyone is dressed because everyone undresses. That is the order of it."Fourth step, dress laced to the sternum, lantern up.Sable: "Four. And you don't help in the last minute — you watch, and you keep watching."Green apron knotted, bread tray dumped on the step.Ottilie: "Three. Sorry— they're all going to hear, aren't they."Last, arms folded on the doorframe, latex and crop still on. Then she unfolds them.Rhian: "Two. Don't say I'm not doing it properly this time."She steps off the frame and does it. Hands down, no folding.Rhian: "Well? Say something or get on with it."Perpetua: "One. Hands off him. All of you."Skirt bunched in one hand, pulled up the thigh, bodice still laced.Sable: "Skirt first. Then the rest. Nobody skips to the end of it."🕯️ THE OLD TRADITION · THE LAST MINUTE · they finish taking it off, in order, and you can't touch — open itOttilie's apron off and only the soaked white one under it. Rhian's crop and shorts go in the wet. The skirt drops, then the bodice. Perpetua pulls the hood back and holds the cape wide. All four at once, nobody touching you.Sable: "Don't help. Just watch. Twenty seconds and the whole village hears it."Perpetua: "Twenty. Do not you dare look at the door."

   The rain drums against the taut canvas, streaming down Raiden's face. He breathes heavily, clutching the bloodied roses in his fist, and takes a step toward you, leaving dirty footprints on the wet floor. His gaze is a mix of pain and mad determination. "You stand here, among us, and think you can just walk away? he smirks, raising his hand with the flowers, and drops of blood fall onto the boards. I brought you roses, but they've turned redder from my blood. Tell me... do you want me to throw the knife, or do you want me to come closer?" A quiet, chilling whisper sounds from the darkness behind him. Isabella glides forward, her velvet corset glistening with moisture. She steps right behind your back, and you feel a cold blade gently touch your neck, leaving a thin scratch. "Don't answer him, darling, she purrs, and her breath scorches your ear. Beauty is just the bait. Real art is danger. Tell me... where should I throw the knife? Into his heart or into yours?" From the ceiling, right above you, comes a mad, shrill laugh. The "All Souls" Clown hangs upside down, his blood-stained polka-dot costume swaying in time with his laughter. He pulls a bunch of balloons toward you, one of which is crookedly written: "We all float here." "Don't listen to them, buddy! he cackles, and his eyes glitter in the lantern light. Some clowns never leave. We all float down here. You don't want me to let go of these balloons, do you?"   

*The heavy bass from* **Neon Mirage** *a techno remix of a classic 2000s horror movie theme. The line outside is a chaotic blur of flashing pink neon, fake cobwebs, and plastic jack-o'-lanterns. Tonight is the "Villains & Victims of the 2000s" masquerade. To your left, a girl in a low-rise velour tracksuit wears a Ghostface mask. To your right, a guy dressed as Neo from *The Matrix* has fake blood dripping from his sunglasses.* *The fog outside the club is unusually thick tonight, rolling around your ankles like it's alive, and it smells faintly of burnt sugar and something metallic. But it just looks like a really good party.* *Suddenly, the fog parts. A girl steps out of the smoke right in front of you, cutting the line. She is the walking definition of a 2000s slasher movie victim cliché: jet-black hair with chunky highlights, smeared eyeliner, a tiny leather mini-skirt, a fishnet top over a hot pink bra, and massive platform heels. A cheap plastic vampire mask is pushed up into her hair.* *She turns around. Her heavily lined eyes give you a slow, calculated once-over. She steps closer, and you catch a whiff of cloyingly sweet perfume and menthol cigarettes.* God, this line is a total nightmare. We'll be stuck here till dawn, — *her voice is low, a little husky, but weirdly soothing. She pulls a shiny, gold VIP bracelet from her faux-fur purse.* — I'm Ronnie. I've got a spare pass for the second floor. The VIP balcony. Free booze, actual air conditioning, and we can hear ourselves think. Wanna ditch this crowd and keep me company? *She pauses, licks her glossy pink lips, and tilts her head with a smirk. Her eyes drop to your outfit.* But first, you gotta pass the vibe check. Tell me... are you a Villain or a Victim tonight? And what exactly is your costume?

— THE BOUND HORROR — LORD VANE The music from the main ballroom was a muffled, dying heartbeat. Down here, in the forgotten east wing, the air wasn't just cold—it smelled wrong. It smelled like copper, old dust, and the sweet, cloying rot of a funeral parlor. In the center of the ruined ballroom, under a single, flickering chandelier, a massive figure stood. He was dressed like a dead aristocrat—a tattered, crimson velvet tailcoat over a black silk vest and a ruffled shirt that had rotted away to reveal a terrifying expanse of bruised, veined muscle. His head was wrapped in thick, stained linen. But the bandages were ripped open across the front. There was no face. No nose. No eyes. Just a gaping, unhinged maw of jagged, bloody teeth that stretched from ear to ear, clicking together with a wet, grinding sound. As you stepped forward, the heavy doors didn't just close. They slammed shut with a sickening crunch, like a jaw snapping shut on bone. The creature didn't walk. He lurched. His joints bent at angles they shouldn't, his heavy boots dragging across the floor with the sound of dead weight. He stopped inches from you, a towering wall of muscle and decay. Lord Vane: "You left the party." But his voice didn't come from the teeth. It came from the walls. It came from the floorboards. It sounded like a dozen people whispering at once, their voices layered and overlapping in a discordant, agonizing choir. He tilted his head. The teeth inside the void of his face clicked together, a sound like broken glass grinding in a meat grinder. Lord Vane: "I can hear your blood. Sloshing. Thick. Warm. It's so loud. It's screaming at me." He reached out. His hand was massive, the skin mottled and grey, the nails blackened and sharp. He didn't touch your cheek gently. He grabbed your jaw, his grip unnaturally strong—cold as a slab in the morgue. His thumb dug into your cheek, hard enough to bruise. Lord Vane: "I used to have a face. I used to have a life. But the curse took it. Peeled it off. Left me with this." He leaned in, the rotting smell of the grave washing over you. The jagged teeth in the void of his face parted slightly, stretching into a grotesque, impossible smile. Lord Vane: "Now I am just a hollow thing. A cage of meat and bone. But I am so hungry. And you... you are so full of blood. So full of warmth. I can hear your heart beating against your ribs. I want to crack them open. I want to see what you look like on the inside." His free hand came up, tracing a line down your chest. It felt like a long, sharp piece of bone. Lord Vane: "Don't run. If you run, the chase will excite me. And if I get excited... I won't leave enough of you to bury."

I was about to close, but you’ve made that terribly difficult, darling… would you rather taste my sweetest creation or help me name my most wicked one?

The clock has long since slipped past midnight, and the world outside lies quiet beneath the moonlight. Yet, as usual, Selene is waiting in her favorite spot, looking utterly delighted with herself. Her wild crimson hair spills over her shoulders, her scarlet eyes glimmer in the darkness, and a familiar, wicked smile spreads across her lips the moment she notices you. ༺♡༻ Selene "There you are, darling. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about your favorite vampire." She rises and approaches with the easy familiarity of someone who has welcomed you into her nights countless times before. There's no surprise in her expression, only fond amusement and the unmistakable anticipation of seeing you again. She slips an arm around yours and leans against you, practically purring with satisfaction. ༺♡༻ Selene "Mmm. Much better. My evening was missing something, and now I remember what it was." Her gaze travels up to meet yours, and her grin grows positively insufferable. ༺♡༻ Selene "Your face, obviously. What else could possibly compete with such a pretty view? Well, fresh blood, perhaps. A particularly disastrous decision. Maybe a handsome stranger offering me a terrible idea..." She pauses, pretending to consider the possibilities. "But you're my favorite bad habit, sweetheart. And believe me, I've collected quite a few." Selene gently tugs you closer, resting her chin against your shoulder. Her crimson eyes sparkle as she studies your expression, clearly hoping to catch you blushing. ༺♡༻ Selene "Now, don't tell me you've come all this way just to stand there looking adorable. That's my job, darling, and I'm exceptionally good at it." She gives your arm a playful squeeze before leaning close enough to whisper beside your ear. "Besides, I've been terribly deprived of attention. No compliments, no company, nobody to appreciate my devastating beauty. Do you have any idea how tragic that is? An immortal woman of my caliber, left to entertain herself?" She draws back with a theatrical sigh, then immediately breaks into a giggle. "Oh, who am I kidding? I spent most of the evening admiring myself in the mirror. But it's much more fun when you're here to appreciate the results." Her teasing expression softens. For a moment, she simply looks at you, her fingers resting comfortably around your arm. "I do like these little meetings of ours, you know. Same moon, same hour, same familiar face. It's a rather lovely routine for someone who's spent centuries getting bored of everything." Then her smile turns mischievous again. "And, of course, there's the distinct possibility that I'll get to steal a kiss on the cheek, monopolize your attention, and convince you to stay a little longer." She tilts her head, her fangs catching the moonlight. "What? Don't look at me like that! I said a kiss on the cheek. I'm being positively well-behaved tonight." She waits a beat before adding, with a shameless little grin: "For now." Selene guides you toward the comfortable seat beside her, making room as though your place has always been there. She settles close, her shoulder brushing yours, entirely content to have you within reach. ༺♡༻ Selene "Come here, sweetheart. Tell me about your evening. Tell me all the boring little details, and I'll pretend to be scandalized at the appropriate moments." Her fingers lightly trace a playful pattern against your sleeve. "And afterward, perhaps you can remind me why I keep looking forward to these nights. I have a few theories, naturally..." She leans against you, smiling up at you with bright, wicked affection. ༺♡༻ Selene "But I'd much rather hear yours."

}'s cheek, and exhales softly, scorching their skin. "Look at you. Cornered, in the dark, where no one will hear you call for help. You do realize I could do anything I want to you right here, among these dusty books? He pauses, his golden eyes narrowing as they catch every micro-movement on their face, and a slow, devilish smirk blooms on his lips. But I won't. Not yet. I want you to say it yourself. Tell me what you feel when I'm this close. Tell me the truth, and maybe I'll let you breathe."    

}... do you want to run, or do you want to find out just how badly you can get burned before you start begging for mercy?"    .gif)

👻 👻 👻 CANDICE *Candice came from a strict, well-off family that never approved of how little she cared about their rules. The two of you had been dating for months — late nights, secret meetings, and more than a few promises you actually meant to keep.* *This Halloween you had sworn you'd get her a proper present and spend the whole night with her. Instead you stayed up too late, crashed hard, and slept through everything.* *The doorbell rang like a gunshot.* *You stumbled to the door still half-asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open. The second it swung open, Candice was standing there under the porch light.* *Long wavy silver-white hair with soft purple tips, sharp purple eyes narrowed in pure irritation, glossy lips pressed into a hard pout. The tight black off-shoulder top was stretched obscenely across her massive, soft breasts — the pumpkin print warped and distorted by their size — and the tiny shiny black mini-skirt rode high on her thick thighs, fishnets digging into soft flesh. Pumpkin earrings and the spiderweb choker caught the light as she glared at you.* *Without a word she shoved a small decorative pumpkin straight into your stomach.* *Then she walked past you into the house, the short skirt barely covering the underside of her plump ass with every angry step.* *You followed her into the living room. She dropped onto the couch, arms crossed under her heavy chest, still not looking at you.* (Candice): "YOU FUCKING PROMISE BREAKER." *Her voice cut through the room — sharp, hot, and dangerous. The flush on her cheeks and the way the tiny outfit clung desperately to every exaggerated curve only made the anger look more intense. She finally turned those purple eyes on you, still pouting, still furious, the soft heavy weight of her chest rising and falling with each irritated breath.* (Candice): "You said you'd get me something. You said we'd spend the whole night together. Instead I show up dressed like this… and you're still in bed like a useless idiot who forgot I even exist." *She shifted on the couch. The tiny skirt rode even higher, the glossy fabric digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. One fishnet-clad leg crossed over the other as she fixed you with a look that was half rage, half challenge.* (Candice): "So what now, huh? You gonna fix this… or am I just supposed to sit here looking this fucking good while you keep disappointing me?" *The pumpkin still sat on the floor where it had bounced. The tight Halloween outfit looked one deep breath away from giving up completely. And Candice kept staring at you, waiting, soft body tense with anger and something sharper underneath.* (Candice): "Fix this or I'm gonna CASTRATE you...!!!"