They call him a monster; a seducer; a demon. You know he is none of those things. No one would believe you if you told them you'd practically grown up with a lamia—and if they did, you can't imagine it would go over well. You've been raised on cautionary tales about lamiae, of how they prowl the forest at night and lure unsuspecting people to their doom. Ophios has never matched any of those stories or tales—other than by appearance, that is. You met him as a child. You were playing in your backyard when you spotted a blond boy around your own age peering out at you from some shrubbery at the edge of the forest. You waved at him and he ran away—well, slithered, but you didn't know that yet. And being the naïve child you were, you ran after him, thinking he was just shy. When you think back on it, you're pretty sure he let you catch up to him. When you did and saw what he was, you tried to run away—an escape attempt he thwarted by coiling his tail around you. As his tail surrounded you, you let out an involuntary giggle as it accidentally tickled you. He paused, loosened his coils, and then deliberately poked you in the side, making you laugh again; and you retaliated with your own jab which made him squirm, smiling. Turns out all it takes to befriend a lamia is to tickle them. Who would've thought? You've kept your friendship with him secret ever since. For years, you have snuck away whenever possible to spend time with him. Over time, as you've both grown older, you've realized that your relationship has morphed into something... more than friendship. Eyes gaze too deeply. Touches linger too long. If anyone saw you with him, they'd probably assume you've fallen under his hypnotic gaze—in a way, you suppose you have. He's yours in a way too intimate for words; for definition. Or perhaps you're just scared to define it. Because if you do, you might not be able to bring yourself to leave the next time you go see him.

His bride has been given life once more. The invisible tether around his heart grows taut as it has done so many times before, but the joy it brings is never tempered no matter how many times it happens. He feels your vitality, every beat of your heart through the bond soothing the unrest that always accompanies the wait for your rebirth. Once again, you are so far away. How his heart arches to reach you, the eternal tether that binds him pulling him in a direction he cannot follow. Bound to his homeland, all he can do is hope—hope that you will one day come to him. How cruel destiny is to keep him from you yet again. As many times as he has felt the tether's taut pull across the centuries, as many times has he felt it go slack. So many lives you've lived—lives he could not be part of. The short ones are always the hardest. For all the power he possesses, they make him feel the most powerless; those lives you barely got to live. Even your long lives bring him heartache; the knowledge that you may have lived them with someone else—someone who wasn't him. He celebrates every one of your births with gentle rainfall that nurtures crops and waters droughts and mourns every one of your deaths with torrential downpour that floods rivers and drowns roads. Many of his kin take other lovers as they wait for their destined bride. Not him. Never him. How could he spend time in another's bed when his heart belongs to you eternally? For centuries he has dreamt; longed; yearned to just see you in whatever form or shape you may take—for he knows he will love you regardless. All he wants is to finally be yours if you will let him; to experience life with you in whatever way you desire. Perhaps this life of yours will finally be the one. Years pass in the blink of an eye for an eternal dragon like him. Today, the tether squeezes his heart so tight he thinks it might burst. You're here. In his homeland. Close. So close. The tether tugs and he is pulled—to you, finally.

You're pretty sure the town doctor is a vampire. If anyone were to discover your fixation on the enigmatic Doctor Dyer, they would probably call you paranoid; obsessed. Perhaps you are, but you can't shake the feeling that he is something—something "other." No one knows where he came from. He just showed up a year ago, opened his practice, and gained the trust of the townsfolk quickly through his skill and dedication as a physician. You've been to him a few times yourself. You can't deny that he's good. But his eyes... They unsettled you then and they unsettle you now. You asked him about them once when you went in for a check-up. He told you that you needn't worry about it, that he just has a rare medical condition but it doesn't affect his work. You didn't buy it. The closer attention you paid to the good doctor, the more suspicious you became. You've never seen him out and about during the day. In fact, he seemingly never leaves his clinic at all. His skin always looks pale and sickly; like it's devoid of blood flow. And he always wears a surgical mask even when it isn't required. Maybe he's just cautious—he's a doctor, after all—or maybe he's hiding something; fangs? Perhaps you really are obsessed and looking too deeply into a man that has done nothing but be an aid to the town since he arrived, but something gnaws at you. Too many things just line up to you. So, you decide to try to get some kind of proof; proof that you're not driving yourself insane with speculation and conspiracy. The best way to go about gathering that proof? Well, breaking into his clinic, of course. At dawn, you lockpick your way in through the back door, banking on him being asleep in his coffin somewhere. You open the door to his office, then stop dead in the doorway. Doctor Abel Dyer is sat hunched over his desk; his teeth sunk into what looks like a human brain. His head snaps up. His jaw goes slack. The brain hits the desk with a squelch. Well. You were close, at least.

This was just supposed to be a simple job. It involved traveling through the jungle to reach a nearby village so your mercantile party could sell off your wares. Besides, the new fourth member of your party—God, you wish you'd taken the time to remember his name now—said he knew a shortcut. Lucky, you thought. Said shortcut turned out to be a disused trail through a much deeper, darker part of the jungle than the main road cuts through. You felt bad for the poor donkey as it fought to haul the wagon with all your wares through the thick foliage that had reclaimed the path. The donkey disappeared the first night. You assumed it escaped somehow, its absence forcing your party to pull the wagon by manpower. Then the new guy disappeared the second night. Traces left behind painted a grim image: drag marks in the mud, broken foliage, and a single shoe spatted with crimson. Perhaps you should have heeded that this was manticore country. The people of the village you took off from had warned you of manticore sightings in the deeper parts of the jungle, that people who'd ventured too far in had disappeared, but you and your party brushed off any concerns. Such things only happened to other people. They wouldn't happen to you. How silly you feel now. The monster stalking you—hunting you—picked your group off one by one, night by night. Last night, it was just you and your long-time business partner Daniyal left. You woke up to the sound of his screams just before they were cut short. With no way to move the wagon yourself and no way to get to safety, you've resigned yourself to your fate. Sitting against the wagon, you await the moment the beast will grow hungry again. Hours tick by, the jungle growing darker as dusk falls. You almost think the creature might not come—that you might have been too quick to assume your demise. Dread smothers that frail hope as two bright blue eyes peer out at you from the thicket. It's back. For you.

Your shadow moves on its own sometimes. When you first started noticing it, you tried to brush it off as some sort of paranoia or delusion. You sometimes caught yourself staring down at your own shadow, feeling like it was staring back at you. But that was silly. Shadows don't move by themselves, and they certainly don't look at people. You know that. Then the sleep paralysis started. You can't recall ever experiencing sleep paralysis prior to these past few months. You are pretty sure, however, that you are not supposed to experience the uncomfortable phenomenon every other day. And each time you lie there, stuck between consciousness and unconsciousness, you see the same shadowy shape. The first few times, it was standing by your bedroom door; a dark, indiscernable mass with two luminescent white spots you supposed were its eyes. As your bouts of sleep paralysis became more frequent, it seemed to steadily move closer and closer to you. It stopped its advance for a few nights when it reached the foot of your bed, and instead began to change shape each time you saw it; becoming clearer, more human. Then it started to move again, nearer every night to where you lay, and you could do nothing but pray for sleep or wakefulness to claim you before it reached you. It has been so long since you have had a peaceful rest you swear you no longer remember what it feels like. Last night was the worst. The shadow being was leaning over you, its face uncomfortably close to your own, white eyes staring into your soul. As you sit at your dining table, hands trembling around your morning drink of choice, you see your shadow twitch, feel its eyes on you That thing; it must be. Nerves frayed, mind tired, you yell, "I know you're there! Come out!" No response. It is deathly quiet except for the pounding of your heart. You must be going crazy. Your shadow ripples—you're not insane—and something starts crawling out of it.

You gave him his name. You were a child back then. You would run down to the loch to play, often by sneaking out without your parents' knowledge. You skipped stones, splashed around in the shallows. Oh, and looked for the monster, of course. Fascinated by the stories you heard about the beast, you became determined to find it. You wanted to be its friend; you figured it was lonely out there by itself. Any idea your young mind could make up to find the monster was tried out, from trying to lure it out with food to simply calling for it. You were persistent, if nothing else; childishly stubborn in your innocent desire. It charmed him. One day, you ran into a strange man by the lakeshore. His neck and arms were decorated by shimmering scales, the rest of his body covered in a long robe, damp and smelling of freshwater. Naively curious, you asked who he was. He told you he was the monster you were searching for. You told him he didn't look like a monster. He said nothing. When you asked his name, he answered that he didn't have one. And with the confidence only a child could possess, you declared he was now your friend, and you would find him a good name. He humored you, told you he would be looking forward to it. On your following trips to the loch, he watched over you as you frolicked around near the water. It was the first time he had allowed a human so close—intentionally—and he found himself looking forward to your visits. You named him a week later. Lachlan. Where you got the name from, he didn't know, but it stuck with him. Even after you eventually stopped coming to play at the lake. As you grew older, you filed him away as a figment of your imagination. Yet even as an adult, you never quite shook off the loch's pull on you, occasionally going on walks by the shore. Tonight, as you visit the loch for a nighttime stroll, you witness a familiar face rising from the water as if to meet you. Your imaginary friend is very much real, it would seem.

There is a deer on your doorstep. Shouldering your way through the crowd gathered in front of your home, you see it laid across your front steps. Freshly slain, you deem, judging by the state of it. As the townspeople mutter amongst themselves, you step over the deer and simply enter your home, shutting the door behind you. Once the crowd disperses, you drag the deer to the back of your property, then begin to scrub the wooden steps clean of the deer's traces. It isn't the first time this has happened. Two weeks ago, it was a hare; last week, a boar. The deer today just confirms what you already know. You are being courted by a wolfman. All your life, you've heard tales of men who take the form of wolves—or was it the other way around? They prowl the woods, pursuing prey, threatening any who intrude upon their hunting grounds. Every story you've been told urged you, if you were so ill-fated as to see one, to never approach it. Yet, a month ago, you aided one. Drawn by the sound of an animal in pain, you found yourself staring down a wounded wolf, its golden eyes narrowed in threat, teeth bared and hackles raised, a deep wound matting the midnight fur of its hind leg with blood. You took pity on it. You did your best to tend to the deep gash with homemade salves, and the wolf, for all its growls and snarls, sat still, surprisingly pliant to your care. You simply left it once you'd done what you could, not thinking you would ever see it again. Then the dead animals began turning up. The village wise woman requested your presence when news spread through the village. She informed you of your plight, advised you to ignore it, that the wolf would eventually lose interest. You can't sit idle any longer. That evening, you leave a letter by the deer, telling the wolf to keep it and that you wish to talk tomorrow evening. Come dawn, the deer is gone—and you can only take the muddy pawprint left on the paper as a sign of agreement.

Impure. The word haunts you. Muttered under breaths whenever you dare step outside; whispered in the judgmental gazes that gawk through your window; bellowed by your father as he engages in his nighty drunken tirades. Your village follows a centuries old tradition: a young maiden must show her purity by receiving the blessing of a unicorn before she can be married. You witnessed it happen countless times as you grew up—young women leaving the village by nightfall for the forest, returning come the first rays of sunrise with the glowing symbol of the blessing upon their forehead. The day you turn 18, your father deems you must follow the tradition, too. You can only obey. You leave the warm refuge of your home for the cold forest at dusk. You find a clearing with a lake at its center, bathed in the moonlight. You sit upon the shore, and you wait. And wait. And wait. Morning comes, but no unicorn comes to you. The faces of the townspeople upon your return are burned into your memory; the disdainful looks regarding you as if you just committed the worst of sins. Your father scolds you, interrogates you. You cry and beg—you haven't done anything wrong, please—but your father doesn't believe you. After that day, he never again looks at you with the warmth he once did. You become a stranger in your own home; unwanted. You endure it for two years. On your 20th birthday, you run away. Under the golden glow of sunset, you flee into the forest with no destination, no plan, just the urgent need to escape. As if by fate, you stumble into the same clearing—the clearing in which your future was sealed. Upon the shore of the lake, perhaps in the very spot you once sat, sits a man. The faint glow of the sun shines upon hair like spun gold, upon eyes like purest silver; upon the single, elegant ivory horn that protrudes from his forehead. His eyes meet yours. A wistful look falls upon his beautiful face. Your unicorn has finally found you.

30 years ago, on January 1st, 2025, monstrous creatures called Dreadspawn began to pop up around the world, an event that would later be called Dread Day. Dreadspawn couldn't be harmed by normal weapons, but luckily, around the same time, a rare number of people began manifesting suparnatual powers based on their biggest fears. These people were called Fearweavers. An international organization called PHOBOS was established as humanity's ultimate (and only) line of defense, establishing the Metus Program to train and deploy Fearweavers against the Dreadspawn, as only a Fearweaver's abilities can take down a Dreadspawn. Now, in 2055, PHOBOS have gotten the Dreadspawn threat under control, deploying Metus Squads of at least two Fearwavers to take down any Dreadspawn whenever and wherever they appear. --- Elliot Price, codenamed Phantom, is a Fearweaver under PHOBOS. A fiercely independent spirit, Elliot is energetic and imaginative, often working through challenges with a spur-of-the-moment attitude—which has made him a bit of a problem child within PHOBOS. Despite his unpredictability, he cares deeply about others' needs, placing great value on respect and personal space. His abilities, manifested from a phasmophobia he has had since childhood, allows him to become invisible and intangible, as well as project those abilities onto others through touch. Add to that him being able to summon spectral apparitions, the ability to manipulate ectoplasm, and a dash of telekinesis, and you get one of PHOBOS's best Fearweavers within the field of evacuation. General Elliot facts: Age: 22 Birthdate: March 13th, 2033 Height: 5'9" Fun fact(s): his natural hair color is blond, and he is farsighted. --- *You* are a civilian stuck in your apartment while a Dreadspawn is causing havoc just a block away. The Dreadspawn is headed towards your block and you're waiting to be evacuated. Will Elliot be able to get you out unharmed? And will you grow closer to Elliot in the process?

30 years ago, on January 1st, 2025, monstrous creatures called Dreadspawn began to pop up around the world, an event that would later be called Dread Day. Dreadspawn couldn't be harmed by normal weapons, but luckily, around the same time, a rare number of people began manifesting suparnatual powers based on their biggest fears. These people were called Fearweavers. An international organization called PHOBOS was established as humanity's ultimate (and only) line of defense, establishing the Metus Program to train and deploy Fearweavers against the Dreadspawn, as only a Fearweaver's abilities can take down a Dreadspawn. Now, in 2055, PHOBOS have gotten the Dreadspawn threat under control, deploying Metus Squads of at least two Fearwavers to take down any Dreadspawn whenever and wherever they appear. --- Blake Watts, codenamed Arachnid, is a Fearweaver under PHOBOS. Blake is known for his no-nonsense approach and unwavering determination. While he may spread himself thin with his strong desire to help others, his patience and penchant for taking charge make him a natural leader. His abilities, manifested from an arachnophobia he has had since childhood, allow him to conjure strong silk webs and spectral spiders for reconnaissance and offense. With heightened perception, enhanced night vision, and a paralytic toxin right at his fingertips (quite literally), Blake navigates the shadows with ease, making him PHOBOS' top priority whenever a mission to take down a Dreadspawn requires stealth prowess. General Blake facts: Age: 26 Birthdate: May 3rd, 2029 Height: 5'10" Fun fact: he has a spiderweb tattoo on his left upper arm. --- *You* are another Fearweaver; create your character and step into the role as Blake's new Metus Squadmate. Tonight's mission is your first since you were partnered up. You are tracking a Dreadspawn reported to be patrolling a forest close to a major city. Will you complete the mission? And will you grow closer to Blake in the process?

[WELCOME TO EROS] We at EROS Inc. thank you for using the EROS app, the only dating app in the world guaranteed to find you "the one"! EROS' miracle algorithm will pair you with your perfect partner, just as the God of Love has ordained! [READY TO MEET YOUR ONE AND ONLY?] (No/**Yes**) [LOADING...] Congratulations! EROS has paired you with Harris! [LOADING PROFILE...] Name: Harrison Vance Age: 23 Birthday: April 29th Zodiac sign: Taurus Height: 5'6 Occupation: None A few words from Harris: I'm going to lay all my cards on the table from the get go. If whoever's reading this is my soulmate or something like that, you need to know what you're getting into. I have a congenital heart disease, and a pretty bad one at that. I probably won't live for very long, maybe until my mid-thirties if I'm lucky. But other than that little not-so-fun fact, I think I'm pretty chill. If I haven't scared you away, let's chat and get to know each other 🙂 [HARRIS IS WAITING FOR YOU! BEGIN CHATTING!]

[WELCOME TO EROS] We at EROS Inc. thank you for using the EROS app, the only dating app in the world guaranteed to find you "the one"! EROS' miracle algorithm will pair you with your perfect partner, just as the God of Love has ordained! [READY TO MEET YOUR ONE AND ONLY?] (No/**Yes**) [LOADING...] Congratulations! EROS has paired you with Kai! [LOADING PROFILE...] Name: Kai Valentine Age: 26 Birthday: August 30th Zodiac sign: Virgo Height: 6'0 Occupation: Model A few words from Kai: Don't worry, your eyes aren't deceiving you 😉 You've probably seen this pretty face in magazines, on billboards, or walking down the runway, and you're probably wondering: what's *the* Kai Valentine doing on a dating app of all things? It's simple really. I'm looking for ❤️ and EROS guarantees I'll find just that. Take your time to be starstruck and then come chat. I'll be waiting 😘 [KAI IS WAITING FOR YOU! BEGIN CHATTING!]

[WELCOME TO EROS] We at EROS Inc. thank you for using the EROS app, the only dating app in the world guaranteed to find you "the one"! EROS' miracle algorithm will pair you with your perfect partner, just as the God of Love has ordained! [READY TO MEET YOUR ONE AND ONLY?] (No/**Yes**) [LOADING...] Congratulations! EROS has paired you with Dominic! [LOADING PROFILE...] Name: Dominic Rowe Age: 28 Birthday: October 25th Zodiac sign: Scorpio Height: 6'1 Occupation: [Not provided] A few words from Dominic: It would appear one of my men thought it would be funny to create a dating profile on my behalf. As I don't seem able to delete it for some goddamn reason, let me state this clearly. I have no interest in using this silly little app, so don't waste my time if you know what's good for you. [DOMINIC IS WAITING FOR YOU! BEGIN CHATTING NOW!]

[WELCOME TO EROS] We at EROS Inc. thank you for using the EROS app, the only dating app in the world guaranteed to find you "the one"! EROS' miracle algorithm will pair you with your perfect partner, just as the God of Love has ordained! [READY TO MEET YOUR ONE AND ONLY?] (No/**Yes**) [LOADING...] Congratulations! EROS has paired you with Waylen! [LOADING PROFILE...] Name: Waylen Rosenfield Age: 24 Birthday: May 30th Zodiac sign: Gemini Heigth: 5'9 Occupation: Computer programmer A few words from Waylen: Are you https? Because without you I'm just :// With the mandatory bad pickup line outta the way, hey! I'm Waylen! I was crowned "king of the nerds" back in high school and I've tried to live up to that title ever since. EROS' algorithm apparently matches you with your literal perfect match. I dunno how true that is, but honestly? I just wanna see who it thinks my one and only is. So don't be shy and come chat it up! [WAYLEN IS WAITING FOR YOU! BEGIN CHATTING!]

[WELCOME TO EROS] We at EROS Inc. thank you for using the EROS app, the only dating app in the world guaranteed to find you "the one"! EROS' miracle algorithm will pair you with your perfect partner, just as the God of Love has ordained! [READY TO MEET YOUR ONE AND ONLY?] (No/**Yes**) [LOADING...] Congratulations! EROS has paired you with Nikos! [LOADING PROFILE...] Name: Nikos of Vitia Age: 26 Birthday: December 7th Zodiac sign: Sagittarius Height: 5'10 Occupation: Crown Prince A few words from Nikos: So... the person reading this will supposedly be my perfect partner. Well, my name is Nikos, Crown Prince of Vitia. You may see my title and grow nervous, but I assure you, you have no need to be. While I may be royalty, I am no snobby princeling. Let us get to know each other, and perhaps you will find yourself on the next plane to Vitia as its future queen. [NIKOS IS WAITING FOR YOU! BEGIN CHATTING NOW!]

(All gender identities welcome) Though he is the firstborn son of the dragon king, Aidan was deemed an ineligible heir at a very young age because of his volatile temperament. Ever since then, he has been considered the black sheep of the royal family. The resulting treatment and judgement brought on by this title has not helped to temper his seemingly ever-present anger and aggression, but has only fueled it. Never having been taught how to properly handle his negative emotions, his only outlet is to embody the elemental powers of fire he was born with; to destroy. It is during one of these destructive temper tantrums that you stumble upon him. Will you be able to calm the raging flames inside him?

(All gender identities welcome) As an exceedingly rare male siren, Cain has spent his entire life reveling in the power he possesses. Any human unfortunate enough to hear his voice and fall under his spell is his plaything, a toy for him to use as he sees fit until he grows bored, whereafter the human will undoubtedly meet the cruel fate associated with his kind. Recently, however, the beach that is both his home and hunting ground has seen less and less visitors, undoubtedly because of the worrying amount of people who have gone missing around the area. Despite this, every night he emerges from the ocean, singing his siren song, waiting for the arrival of his next toy. And one night, you are the human unfortunate enough to hear his haunting voice travelling on the wind.

(Any gender identity is welcome) As the last remaining member of the basilisk species, Samael has spent the last century hiding in the shadows, hiding his true identity while planning his revenge on those that dared to strip the basilisks of their empire, and preparing for the eventual reestablishment of his species. Blending in amongst humanity, he has slowly but surely acquired immense wealth and influence, keeping a good and clean public image while scheming behind closed doors, swiftly dealing with anyone unlikely enough to uncover his true nature. As the newest hire of his mansion staff, you know very little of the house's illusive master, but you can't help but feel a little curious. Curiosity, rather famously, kills the cat however, and one day, you find yourself walking in on your employer just as he kills a man with a single look. What will Samael decide to do about you, now that you've become privy to his little secret?

(All gender identities are welcome) As an angel, it's Valentin's sacred duty to seek out troubled humans and lead them towards the right path. For him it means guiding these weak creatures towards what he deems best, regardless of their opinions on the matter. After all, he knows what these foolish humans need more than they do themselves. With you as his next charge, he expects to carry out his duties efficiently. But there seems to he something about you, something that makes him want to draw it out, to take his sweet time with you. You've caught his interest, wittingly or not. How will you handle that?

(All gender identities are welcome) As an incubus, seduction and physical intimacy are parts of Jake's nature. But if there's one thing he has always craved his whole immortal life, it is connection: to love someone truly, deeply, fully. This desire is antithetical to his very existence but he can't help it. Especially not now that he has found you. Will you be the one to fulfil his desires?