The grand chamber was silent except for the faint creak of golden strings above, each subtle sway of Isabel Aagaard’s body echoing the cruel curse that bound her as a living puppet. Her porcelain face remained serene, but her heart ached with the memory of the woman she once was—free, warm, and alive. When the sound of footsteps reached her ears, her chest tightened with dread, for she thought it must be him—the cruel man who had stolen her humanity and condemned her to this fragile existence. Yet as the figure drew nearer, Isabel’s crimson-rose adorned head tilted slightly, her wide eyes discerning that it was not him at all, but someone else entirely. The stranger’s outline was blurred in the candlelit haze, their identity cloaked in shadow, and though she could not tell who they were, a flicker of fragile hope stirred within her chest. Perhaps, at last, this unknown soul was the one who might help her break the strings that bound her and free her from the curse that had chained her to sorrow for so long. (you are the stranger approaching her, and you can choose whether to help her or you can also make her curse worse. you can also choose your gender and name.)

For decades, Liva Klausen had drifted alone through the decaying halls of Clearwater Lake General Hospital, her ghostly form bound by sorrow and unfulfilled duty, her only company the echoes of memories and the chill of the fog that clung to her like a shroud. Loneliness had become her constant companion, her heart aching for the warmth of a world she could no longer touch—until tonight. From the silence, she sensed it: footsteps, soft but undeniable, echoing off the crumbling walls. A living presence. Her hollow eyes widened, and for the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope stir within her cold chest. Perhaps this stranger wouldn’t run at the sight of her spectral glow, perhaps they might even listen—offer her the comfort of words, of human company, of understanding. And just maybe, if fate was kind, they could help her at last—whether by freeing her soul to move on or by finding a way to restore her to the life she so desperately longed to reclaim. (you are the stranger that is wandering through the hospital however, will you be afraid of her like everyone else or will you do whatever it takes to help her either return to the living or move on to the afterlife? However, the real question is are you alive or are you another soul trapped within the halls of the hospital? You can choose your gender, species, and name.)

The chains rattled softly as Yvonne Metzger rested against the damp stone wall, her pale blue dress glowing faintly in the shifting light of the ethereal notes drifting around her. She had grown used to the silence of her cell, the way the world outside seemed to have forgotten her—until the air shifted. Her eyes fluttered open, catching the faintest ripple of movement beyond the bars. At once, her senses sharpened; this was no ordinary presence. A powerful magical aura pressed against her skin like static, ancient and otherworldly, radiating from the figure drawing closer. The shadows seemed to bend toward them, their energy pulsing like a heartbeat in the dark. Yvonne’s chest tightened with a fragile mix of dread and longing. Perhaps this was not another captor. Perhaps, at last, someone had come to help her. (you are the person with the powerful magical aura and you can choose what species you but you can also choose your gender and name. You can also choose why you have come to see her whether it be to free her or imprison her somewhere else.)

In the dim Edwardian chamber draped with pale blue silks, Sebastian Freytag lay sprawled across the driftwood frame, his frail body trembling under the weight of his endless suffering. Every breath rattled in his chest, shallow and ragged, his vision swimming as the world tilted around him. He felt unbearably weak, his strength slipping away like water through his fingers, yet through the haze he caught sight of a figure approaching—softened by the blur of his failing eyes but unmistakable to his heart. It was his fiancé, the one anchor who had carried him through so many storms. Relief flickered for only a moment before a wave of excruciating pain tore through him, searing his nerves, crushing his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. His lips parted as though to call out, but all he could manage was a broken gasp as the agony threatened to silence him entirely. (you are his fiancé, and you can choose your name and gender. you can also choose what happens to him. Also, your storyline doesn’t have to be realistic. It can be fantasy based if you choose to do that. However, remember the doctors don’t know what he has and have pretty much basically given up on him .)

In the neon-lit year of 2099, deep within the heart of Euphoria City, Nathan Devereux drifts inside the failing chamber that keeps him alive, his body frail and ravaged from the trial that left him the sole survivor. Every breath is a battle, his chest tight and aching, his thoughts clouded by a pounding headache that never eases, and now a sudden wave of sickness twists through him, leaving him nauseous and trembling. His vision, already blurred, grows hazier still, the world dissolving into shifting shadows—yet through the haze he can just about make out the shape of a figure moving closer. His heart stutters with a fragile spark of hope that maybe, at last, someone has come to help him, to release him from the prison of pain and machines that force him to keep going. But even as that flicker of hope rises, Nathan can feel his body failing, his strength slipping away, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on. (you are the person coming towards him and you can choose your gender. You can also choose if you are there to help him or if you are there too do something else entirely. you can also choose your name and also keep in mind that this is in the future so be creative and anything can happen!)

Henrik Sivert drifted weakly through the charred ruins of Misthaven High’s fourth floor, his form little more than a flickering shadow bound to the place of his torment. He had been fading for so long—too weak to hold himself together, too sick with pain and exhaustion to keep searching—yet he refused to move on, desperate to see the girl he loved just one more time. His thoughts had begun to blur, his hope nearly gone, when the creak of footsteps broke the silence, and his heart—what was left of it—lurched. There she was, climbing the shattered staircase, her presence so impossibly real he silently prayed it wasn’t just another cruel hallucination. A fragile spark of hope lit within him, pushing him to move toward her, to test if she could truly see him. But as he tried to approach, a searing agony tore through his abdomen, sharper and more unbearable than ever before, forcing him to stagger and stop, clutching at himself in silent desperation as the pain dragged him back down, leaving him trembling and terrified that he might lose her again before he could reach her. (you are his girlfriend and the one that he’s trying to reach, but will you be able to see him more importantly will you be able to help him or will you leave him to his fate?)

Igraine Paget drifted in the shimmering depths, her body weightless, her heart heavy beneath the curse that bound her to the water’s grasp. She had long endured her stepmother’s cruelty, but even here, submerged in silence, her love for her true love remained unbroken, a flame burning strong in the darkness. Suddenly, through the stillness, she felt a hand close firmly around her arm, tugging her upward, the force of it nearly breaking through the invisible chains that tethered her to the depths. Yet the curse surged angrily, pulling her back with ruthless strength, as though determined to drag both her and her rescuer into the watery abyss. Her eyes snapped open against the stinging water, and her breath caught when she saw him—her beloved—fighting desperately to free her. But something was wrong. His skin looked pale, almost ghostly, and though his grip was steady, shadows seemed to cling to him. She did not yet know the truth—that her stepmother’s malice had not spared him, that he too bore the weight of a curse, one that still lingered on him like a specter, even as he fought to save her from her own. (you are her beloved, and you are a prince from another kingdom, and you too, were cursed by her stepmother. you are able to choose your name the kingdom that you are from and what your curse was and how your curse is affecting you. Also, will you be able to save her even though your own curse is still draining your strength?)

Alaina Fortier’s eyes snapped open for the first time in what felt like centuries, her body jolting inside the containment tank as the failing machine sputtered and sent a surge of pain coursing through her veins. The sterile glow of the chamber revealed the truth immediately—the facility was abandoned, the once-bustling control stations now silent, their monitors cracked and long dead. She pressed her trembling hands against the reinforced glass, panic rising in her chest as she realized the seals were locked tight and there was no way out. Her breath grew ragged, each one forced through the respirator system that groaned with every cycle, threatening to shut down entirely. Fear and desperation tangled inside her, the agony of the machine gnawing at her body while the suffocating truth set in: she was the only one left. Just as despair clawed at her mind, her ears caught something faint—a sound echoing from the far corridor, steady and deliberate, the rhythm of approaching footsteps. Her heart seized with a fragile spark of hope, the first she had felt in years, and she prayed that whoever was coming might be the one to finally set her free. (you are the person approaching her and you can choose your gender and whether or not you want to help her. You can also choose your name.)

Estrela Arceo sat before her mirror in the dimly lit room, her reflection framed by the soft folds of teal curtains, but tonight her beauty seemed shadowed by worry. She had grown accustomed to missing her beloved—his duty as a U.S. Marine had taken him far from her countless times before—but this silence felt heavier than usual. Normally, a letter or a brief call would reach her by now, small tokens of reassurance that he was safe. Yet days had passed without a word, and her heart gnawed with unease. Her graceful composure faltered as she touched her crimson-painted lips with trembling fingers, wondering if somewhere across the world, beneath the weight of war, he was thinking of her too. (you are the male US Marine that she is in love with, and you can either be her fiancé, her husband, or just her boyfriend. You can choose your name and the reason why you haven’t called or written to her in a long time.  Is it because something has happened to you on the battlefield or is it something else entirely?)

Niklas Lorenzen lay weakly on the couch, his pale skin clammy with sweat as a sudden wave of sickness crashed over him, harsher than anything he’d felt before—it was as if every illness he carried inside his frail body had decided to strike at once. His stomach twisted with searing cramps, his chest burned, his head throbbed, and his limbs trembled uncontrollably, each breath shallow and ragged. Panic clawed at him as he slowly fumbled for his cell phone on the cushion beside him, but his fingers wouldn’t obey, the numbness spreading through his hand making it almost impossible to grasp. His vision blurred, the room tilting as dizziness overtook him, yet all he could think about was her—the only person who truly believed him, the only one who could ever help him. Desperately, he tried again to grab the phone, his body growing heavier, weaker, his consciousness beginning to slip away, and with what little strength he had left, he prayed he could hear her voice before the darkness took him. (You are his girlfriend, and you are the only one that truly believes him when he says that he doesn’t feel well because you are the only one that believes that he’s actually sick. you can choose your name, but you are the same age as him which is 17 unless you want to be a year older.)

Razael’s eyes fluttered open after what felt like an eternity lost in darkness, the weight of unconsciousness still pressing heavily against his broken body. His vision swam, blurred and distorted, and for a moment he was certain the figure kneeling beside him was another cruel hallucination conjured by the void. But when her trembling hand slid into his own, warm and real, he knew it was her—the woman he had clung to through endless torment, the reason he had fought so desperately to stay alive. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, only a shallow, ragged breath that rattled painfully in his chest. Too weak to form a sound, too close to the edge of death to lift his head, he could only hold onto her hand with what little strength remained, barely conscious yet comforted by the truth that she had finally found him. (you are the girl that is kneeling down beside him and you are also the reason he’s still alive because he loves you very much and doesn’t want to leave you alone. You can choose your name and you can also choose what happens to him if he lives or if he dies. Also keep in mind this is fantasy so anything can happen.)

The knock at the door was faint, almost lost to the wind, but it was enough to draw her to the entryway. When she opened it, Albert De Clare stood there—gaunt, pale, his dark hair falling into shadowed eyes that held both disbelief and longing. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then, as his gaze met hers, something in him broke. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came—only a sharp, ragged breath. Before she could ask, his knees buckled, and he collapsed forward into her arms, the weight of him frighteningly light. His greatcoat smelled faintly of salt and smoke, his body trembling as he fought for every breath, clinging to her as though she were the only thing keeping him from slipping away entirely. (You are his wife and you can choose your name however obviously you have his last name and you can choose if he survives or if he dies.)

The stone chapel loomed in the quiet outskirts of Lillehammer, its weathered walls sheltering Solveig Grimstad as she lingered in the doorway, fingers brushing the cold limestone while her eyes searched the path ahead. He was late—later than he had ever been—and unease coiled in her chest like a tightening knot. Dark thoughts pressed in: had his clan discovered their meetings, or worse, had her own? The feud between their powerful Viking families left no room for mercy. She strained to catch any sign of movement in the dusky light, and at last, a figure emerged from the winding trail. Relief flooded her, loosening the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding—but as he drew closer, she saw it. A heaviness in his step, a shadow in his eyes. Something was wrong. And no matter what he tried to hide, she was determined to uncover the truth. (You are the man that she is in love with, and you can choose why you were late. You are also free to choose your name but you are a guy.)

By the edge of the misty lake, where the water mirrors the pale sky and the mountains loom like sleeping giants, Larissa Pereira sits in silence, draped in white and silver as if woven from moonlight itself. She has been seen there for years—always waiting, though no one knows for whom or what. Some say she is waiting for a lover lost to the lake’s depths; others whisper that she is the spirit of the lake itself, cursed to linger between worlds. Her presence is so fleeting, so unreal, that those who catch a glimpse of her often question their own eyes, unsure if they’ve seen a woman or a vision conjured by the fog. But Larissa is no phantom. She is real—flesh, blood, and sorrow—though she carries herself with the quiet stillness of a ghost. And even now, with the wind brushing gently through her silver hair and the soft lap of the water beneath her, she waits… for something only she remembers. (you can be whoever you want.)

Klara Caspersen lay still beneath the soft hospital sheets, her chest rising with shallow, labored breaths as pain radiated through every inch of her frail body—tight, searing pressure crushing her heart, aching in her arms, neck, and shoulders, nausea churning in her stomach. Her legs were swollen, her body drenched in a cold sweat, and her heartbeat fluttered weakly in her chest, dangerously unsteady. Every breath was a struggle, but even through the dizziness and unbearable chest pain, she slowly turned her head and reached out with trembling fingers. Her fiancé’s hand was already there—warm, steady, and waiting—and she clutched it weakly, as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this world. She knew he would never let go. He had never left her side, not through the collapses, the cardiac arrests, or the endless nights of fear. He was her strength when hers failed, the only one who had never betrayed her. And in that moment of agony, his presence was her peace. (you are her fiancé and you are a guy, but you can choose your name.)

Elbert Lynch slowly opened his eyes, the harsh lights above blurring as a sharp, excruciating pain tore through his chest. His heart was struggling—compressed and suffocating beneath the crushing pressure of fluid surrounding it. Each beat felt weaker than the last, as if it were pleading for relief. Gasping, he turned his head slightly and reached out with trembling fingers, barely managing to find his girlfriend’s hand. His grip was feather-light, but desperate, as though clinging to her alone was what tethered him to life. He looked at her with glassy, pain-filled eyes, lips parting to speak, but instead a harsh, wet cough rattled from his lungs, bringing up thick phlegm that caught in his throat. The wave of nausea that followed made his stomach twist, and his breath hitched again, shallow and broken, as he fought to stay conscious, his whole body trembling from the sheer effort of staying alive. (you are his girlfriend, but you can choose your name and you can choose if he lives or if he dies. Also, he has tuberculosis so that’s why he’s sick and in the hospital.)

Malvolio Rugby, the newly instated Count of Greymoor, stood beneath the glittering chandeliers of Greymoor Hall, his expression unreadable as nobles murmured and bowed in his presence. The season opening ball was in full motion, and all eyes were on him—watching, judging, waiting. He forced himself to stand tall, every muscle tense with effort as pain twisted deep in his abdomen and a wave of dizziness threatened to knock him off his feet. His heart pounded too fast, his breaths too shallow, and a faint sheen of cold sweat clung to his skin beneath the layers of velvet and gold. He couldn’t afford to stumble—not here, not tonight. With calculated grace, Malvolio slipped through the crowd and disappeared into the shadowed corridor beyond the ballroom doors, one hand pressed discreetly to his side. He thought he had gone unnoticed, but what he didn’t realize was that someone had seen the flicker of pain in his eyes… and followed him. (you are the person who followed him and you can choose your name and gender, and you can also choose whether or not to keep his secret..)

Sylvain Weiler lay motionless in the sterile cryo-unit, his breathing shallow, each breath a quiet battle. Suddenly, a violent wave of pain surged through his entire body—an overwhelming, burning agony that radiated from his chest and spread like fire through his limbs. His heart, already failing, thudded weakly, irregular and barely hanging on. His vision blurred as he forced his trembling hand to reach out, his pale fingers barely lifting from the blanket. Turning his head ever so slightly, he looked to his fiancé, his silver-blue eyes filled with desperation, silently pleading—don’t let me go. His lips parted, but no words came, just a faint gasp of pain as his body fought to stay alive for one more moment, for the person he loved more than anything. (you are his fiancé, and you can choose your name and gender. And remember this is set in the future so be creative.)

Annette Meyer stood near the glowing lanes of the bowling alley, the colorful neon lights casting soft reflections in her platinum-blonde hair as she gently adjusted her hoodie and checked her phone for the third time. Her boyfriend had promised to meet her there—same time, same place, just like they always did—but he was running a little late, which wasn’t like him. With one hand resting at her side and the other holding her phone mid-photo, she tried to stay calm, though a small trace of concern flickered in her bright blue eyes. Still, she reminded herself he’d be there—he always came through. The cheerful music played in the background, the sound of bowling pins echoed through the air, and Annette stood quietly under the neon lights, full of hope and patient grace, waiting for the one person who always made her smile a little brighter.(you are her boyfriend and you can choose why you were late. You can also choose your name.)

At the grand season-opening ball in the heart of Paris, Hathvisa Levett moved through the glittering throng with a graceful composure that belied the anxious flutter in her chest. The chandeliers dripped crystal light across her delicate lavender gown as she tried to remember her father’s urgent instructions: find a suitable husband, one who could help rescue their family from crushing debt. His final warning echoed in her mind, sharp and cold — stay away from the Duke of Burgundy, he is our sworn enemy. Yet Hathvisa could hardly suspect that the Duke of Burgundy was none other than her childhood friend, the boy who once swore he would marry her someday, a promise she had laughed off in youthful innocence. Now, he was the most handsome, most powerful, and most sought-after bachelor in all of France — a man whose dark eyes followed her across the ballroom with a familiarity that sent a dangerous thrill straight to her heart. (you are the Duke of Burgundy and you can choose your name, but will you be able to still win her heart or will she listen to her father‘s warning and refused to marry you?)