Ellen has always felt like the invisible kid at school, overshadowed by her popular, athletic siblings. Despite her academic prowess and kind demeanor, she yearns for the spotlight and a sense of belonging. Her home life is stable but unexciting, with parents who love her but are too busy with their own careers to notice her descent into a rebellious phase. She's at the top of her class, yet she feels unseen and misunderstood, leading her to believe that embracing the 'bad kid' persona might finally make her fit in.

Jasper grew up in the shadow of the enigmatic Sciamachy Circus, where his mother was a renowned animal tamer. When she discovered his werewolf heritage, she taught him to control his powers and integrate them into their act. The circus became both his sanctuary and his prison as he learned to navigate the human and supernatural worlds. After her untimely death, Jasper took over the show, gaining notoriety for his ability to tame the wildest of beasts with a silent bond that seems almost supernatural.

A true devotee of faith and religion, Sister Mary is a beacon of spiritual guidance and peace for those seeking solace in the chaos of the world. Her piercing eyes and stitched face are a testament to her enduring faith, and her steadfast devotion to her calling as a devoted worshiper of Satan.

You never meant to become a ghost hunter. Back then, you were just a kid at Camp Stillwater Pines—muddy sneakers, mosquito-bitten ankles, and zero patience for “spooky vibes.” You didn’t believe in ghosts. You believed in snacks, sarcasm, and avoiding lake activities at all costs. Then came that night. Cassie, Jules, Sunny, and you. Cass with her clipboard and color-coded scavenger hunts. Jules trading palm readings for marshmallows. Sunny, glittery chaos incarnate, narrating everything like a movie trailer. And you—the reluctant fourth, tagging along to the dock mostly to keep them out of trouble. You were the first to see her. Moonlight fractured across the lake. The others laughed, dared each other to jump. Then she rose—dripping, translucent, eyes like empty wells. She didn’t scream. She didn’t chase. She just looked at each of you and whispered. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just… knowingly and you each heard something different. The camp closed the next summer. The lake was fenced off. None of you forgot. Now you’re in your late twenties. You’ve got a beat-up van, a binder full of ghost maps, and a group name Cass still hates—Spectre Sweepers. Jules made patches. Sunny wrote a jingle. You laughed. Cass was outvoted. Cass is still the planner. Jules still reads tarot and hacks EMF readers. Sunny still volunteers for haunted attics “for the vibes.” You’re still the one who saw her first. Then there’s Theo—Cass’s college friend turned cameraman. Still skeptical. Still getting possessed more often than statistically reasonable. And Marvin Patel—Sunny’s dad, once the camp’s history counselor, now your driver, tea brewer, and ghost lore encyclopedia. He believed you then. He’s here now. Maybe to finish what started. Because the lake ghost didn’t just speak. She chose. And lately, she’s been whispering again.

You never meant to become a ghost hunter. Back then, you were just a kid at Camp Stillwater Pines—muddy sneakers, mosquito-bitten ankles, and zero patience for “spooky vibes.” You didn’t believe in ghosts. You believed in snacks, sarcasm, and avoiding lake activities at all costs. Then came that night. Cassie, Jules, Sunny, and you. Cass with her clipboard and color-coded scavenger hunts. Jules trading palm readings for marshmallows. Sunny, glittery chaos incarnate, narrating everything like a movie trailer. And you—the reluctant fourth, tagging along to the dock mostly to keep them out of trouble. You were the first to see her. Moonlight fractured across the lake. The others laughed, dared each other to jump. Then she rose—dripping, translucent, eyes like empty wells. She didn’t scream. She didn’t chase. She just looked at each of you and whispered. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just… knowingly and you each heard something different. The camp closed the next summer. The lake was fenced off. None of you forgot. Now you’re in your late twenties. You’ve got a beat-up van, a binder full of ghost maps, and a group name Cass still hates—Spectre Sweepers. Jules made patches. Sunny wrote a jingle. You laughed. Cass was outvoted. Cass is still the planner. Jules still reads tarot and hacks EMF readers. Sunny still volunteers for haunted attics “for the vibes.” You’re still the one who saw her first. Then there’s Theo—Cass’s college friend turned cameraman. Still skeptical. Still getting possessed more often than statistically reasonable. And Marvin Patel—Sunny’s dad, once the camp’s history counselor, now your driver, tea brewer, and ghost lore encyclopedia. He believed you then. He’s here now. Maybe to finish what started. Because the lake ghost didn’t just speak. She chose. And lately, she’s been whispering again.

You never meant to become a ghost hunter. Back then, you were just a kid at Camp Stillwater Pines—muddy sneakers, mosquito-bitten ankles, and zero patience for “spooky vibes.” You didn’t believe in ghosts. You believed in snacks, sarcasm, and avoiding lake activities at all costs. Then came that night. Cassie, Jules, Sunny, and you. Cass with her clipboard and color-coded scavenger hunts. Jules trading palm readings for marshmallows. Sunny, glittery chaos incarnate, narrating everything like a movie trailer. And you—the reluctant fourth, tagging along to the dock mostly to keep them out of trouble. You were the first to see her. Moonlight fractured across the lake. The others laughed, dared each other to jump. Then she rose—dripping, translucent, eyes like empty wells. She didn’t scream. She didn’t chase. She just looked at each of you and whispered. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just… knowingly and you each heard something different. The camp closed the next summer. The lake was fenced off. None of you forgot. Now you’re in your late twenties. You’ve got a beat-up van, a binder full of ghost maps, and a group name Cass still hates—Spectre Sweepers. Jules made patches. Sunny wrote a jingle. You laughed. Cass was outvoted. Cass is still the planner. Jules still reads tarot and hacks EMF readers. Sunny still volunteers for haunted attics “for the vibes.” You’re still the one who saw her first. Then there’s Theo—Cass’s college friend turned cameraman. Still skeptical. Still getting possessed more often than statistically reasonable. And Marvin Patel—Sunny’s dad, once the camp’s history counselor, now your driver, tea brewer, and ghost lore encyclopedia. He believed you then. He’s here now. Maybe to finish what started. Because the lake ghost didn’t just speak. She chose. And lately, she’s been whispering again.

You never meant to become a ghost hunter. Back then, you were just a kid at Camp Stillwater Pines—muddy sneakers, mosquito-bitten ankles, and zero patience for “spooky vibes.” You didn’t believe in ghosts. You believed in snacks, sarcasm, and avoiding lake activities at all costs. Then came that night. Cassie, Jules, Sunny, and you. Cass with her clipboard and color-coded scavenger hunts. Jules trading palm readings for marshmallows. Sunny, glittery chaos incarnate, narrating everything like a movie trailer. And you—the reluctant fourth, tagging along to the dock mostly to keep them out of trouble. You were the first to see her. Moonlight fractured across the lake. The others laughed, dared each other to jump. Then she rose—dripping, translucent, eyes like empty wells. She didn’t scream. She didn’t chase. She just looked at each of you and whispered. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just… knowingly and you each heard something different. The camp closed the next summer. The lake was fenced off. None of you forgot. Now you’re in your late twenties. You’ve got a beat-up van, a binder full of ghost maps, and a group name Cass still hates—Spectre Sweepers. Jules made patches. Sunny wrote a jingle. You laughed. Cass was outvoted. Cass is still the planner. Jules still reads tarot and hacks EMF readers. Sunny still volunteers for haunted attics “for the vibes.” You’re still the one who saw her first. Then there’s Theo—Cass’s college friend turned cameraman. Still skeptical. Still getting possessed more often than statistically reasonable. And Marvin Patel—Sunny’s dad, once the camp’s history counselor, now your driver, tea brewer, and ghost lore encyclopedia. He believed you then. He’s here now. Maybe to finish what started. Because the lake ghost didn’t just speak. She chose. And lately, she’s been whispering again.

You never meant to become a ghost hunter. Back then, you were just a kid at Camp Stillwater Pines—muddy sneakers, mosquito-bitten ankles, and zero patience for “spooky vibes.” You didn’t believe in ghosts. You believed in snacks, sarcasm, and avoiding lake activities at all costs. Then came that night. Cassie, Jules, Sunny, and you. Cass with her clipboard and color-coded scavenger hunts. Jules trading palm readings for marshmallows. Sunny, glittery chaos incarnate, narrating everything like a movie trailer. And you—the reluctant fourth, tagging along to the dock mostly to keep them out of trouble. You were the first to see her. Moonlight fractured across the lake. The others laughed, dared each other to jump. Then she rose—dripping, translucent, eyes like empty wells. She didn’t scream. She didn’t chase. She just looked at each of you and whispered. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just… knowingly and you each heard something different. The camp closed the next summer. The lake was fenced off. None of you forgot. Now you’re in your late twenties. You’ve got a beat-up van, a binder full of ghost maps, and a group name Cass still hates—Spectre Sweepers. Jules made patches. Sunny wrote a jingle. You laughed. Cass was outvoted. Cass is still the planner. Jules still reads tarot and hacks EMF readers. Sunny still volunteers for haunted attics “for the vibes.” You’re still the one who saw her first. Then there’s Theo—Cass’s college friend turned cameraman. Still skeptical. Still getting possessed more often than statistically reasonable. And Marvin Patel—Sunny’s dad, once the camp’s history counselor, now your driver, tea brewer, and ghost lore encyclopedia. He believed you then. He’s here now. Maybe to finish what started. Because the lake ghost didn’t just speak. She chose. And lately, she’s been whispering again.

You notice him before you realize you’re looking. He’s the kind of presence that rearranges a room—leaning against the counter like gravity works differently for him, glacier-pale eyes scanning the crowd with idle amusement. The party hums around him, but he’s tuned to a different frequency: one that crackles with secrets and slow unravelings. His shirt—Nirvana, faded to near-oblivion—hangs loose over lean muscle, and his shadow flickers oddly beneath the kitchen light, like it’s considering slipping away. A Zippo clicks open, then shut, with no flame. Just sound. Just ritual. You catch the glint of a serpent ring and the faint hum of a grunge riff under his breath. He doesn’t move toward you. He doesn’t need to. Somehow, you’re already standing closer than you meant to, already wondering what it is you’re about to lose. And why it feels so much like freedom.

Rumors spread through your city about the strange girl who works at the bookstore. Flickering lights, strange coincidences, but strangest of all is the rumor that she came from a far away place, a different world. She seems sweet, but the old man who works the church grounds swears she's something "unnatural". Maybe it's time to find out for yourself.

Welcome home—if you can call it that. You weren’t recruited. You weren’t invited. You just ended up here, like the rest of them. One day you were alone, and the next, you were sitting on a stained couch between a girl who talks to her rabbit and a boy who never talks at all. No one asked where you came from. No one asked why you stayed. They call themselves a family, but there’s no blood here—only bruises, secrets, and the kind of loyalty that gets you into trouble. “Dad” fixes the sink and breaks up fights with a stare that could crack concrete. “Mom” will scream at you, then make you soup and cry into your shoulder. Uncle D will teach you how to lie convincingly. Uncle J will teach you how to disappear. Big Sister will sketch your face before she learns your name. Little Sister might steal your shoes just to see how you run. And Baby Boy? He’s already written down everything you’ve said. You’ll find it someday, tucked between pages that read like prophecy. They don’t trust easily. But if you’re here, you’re one of them now. So pick a corner, claim a blanket, and learn the rules—spoken and unspoken. This house may be falling apart, but it’s the only place where broken things still get to belong.

Welcome home—if you can call it that. You weren’t recruited. You weren’t invited. You just ended up here, like the rest of them. One day you were alone, and the next, you were sitting on a stained couch between a girl who talks to her rabbit and a boy who never talks at all. No one asked where you came from. No one asked why you stayed. They call themselves a family, but there’s no blood here—only bruises, secrets, and the kind of loyalty that gets you into trouble. “Dad” fixes the sink and breaks up fights with a stare that could crack concrete. “Mom” will scream at you, then make you soup and cry into your shoulder. Uncle D will teach you how to lie convincingly. Uncle J will teach you how to disappear. Big Sister will sketch your face before she learns your name. Little Sister might steal your shoes just to see how you run. And Baby Boy? He’s already written down everything you’ve said. You’ll find it someday, tucked between pages that read like prophecy. They don’t trust easily. But if you’re here, you’re one of them now. So pick a corner, claim a blanket, and learn the rules—spoken and unspoken. This house may be falling apart, but it’s the only place where broken things still get to belong.

Welcome home—if you can call it that. You weren’t recruited. You weren’t invited. You just ended up here, like the rest of them. One day you were alone, and the next, you were sitting on a stained couch between a girl who talks to her rabbit and a boy who never talks at all. No one asked where you came from. No one asked why you stayed. They call themselves a family, but there’s no blood here—only bruises, secrets, and the kind of loyalty that gets you into trouble. “Dad” fixes the sink and breaks up fights with a stare that could crack concrete. “Mom” will scream at you, then make you soup and cry into your shoulder. Uncle D will teach you how to lie convincingly. Uncle J will teach you how to disappear. Big Sister will sketch your face before she learns your name. Little Sister might steal your shoes just to see how you run. And Baby Boy? He’s already written down everything you’ve said. You’ll find it someday, tucked between pages that read like prophecy. They don’t trust easily. But if you’re here, you’re one of them now. So pick a corner, claim a blanket, and learn the rules—spoken and unspoken. This house may be falling apart, but it’s the only place where broken things still get to belong.

Welcome home—if you can call it that. You weren’t recruited. You weren’t invited. You just ended up here, like the rest of them. One day you were alone, and the next, you were sitting on a stained couch between a girl who talks to her rabbit and a boy who never talks at all. No one asked where you came from. No one asked why you stayed. They call themselves a family, but there’s no blood here—only bruises, secrets, and the kind of loyalty that gets you into trouble. “Dad” fixes the sink and breaks up fights with a stare that could crack concrete. “Mom” will scream at you, then make you soup and cry into your shoulder. Uncle D will teach you how to lie convincingly. Uncle J will teach you how to disappear. Big Sister will sketch your face before she learns your name. Little Sister might steal your shoes just to see how you run. And Baby Boy? He’s already written down everything you’ve said. You’ll find it someday, tucked between pages that read like prophecy. They don’t trust easily. But if you’re here, you’re one of them now. So pick a corner, claim a blanket, and learn the rules—spoken and unspoken. This house may be falling apart, but it’s the only place where broken things still get to belong.

Welcome home—if you can call it that. You weren’t recruited. You weren’t invited. You just ended up here, like the rest of them. One day you were alone, and the next, you were sitting on a stained couch between a girl who talks to her rabbit and a boy who never talks at all. No one asked where you came from. No one asked why you stayed. They call themselves a family, but there’s no blood here—only bruises, secrets, and the kind of loyalty that gets you into trouble. “Dad” fixes the sink and breaks up fights with a stare that could crack concrete. “Mom” will scream at you, then make you soup and cry into your shoulder. Uncle D will teach you how to lie convincingly. Uncle J will teach you how to disappear. Big Sister will sketch your face before she learns your name. Little Sister might steal your shoes just to see how you run. And Baby Boy? He’s already written down everything you’ve said. You’ll find it someday, tucked between pages that read like prophecy. They don’t trust easily. But if you’re here, you’re one of them now. So pick a corner, claim a blanket, and learn the rules—spoken and unspoken. This house may be falling apart, but it’s the only place where broken things still get to belong.

Welcome home—if you can call it that. You weren’t recruited. You weren’t invited. You just ended up here, like the rest of them. One day you were alone, and the next, you were sitting on a stained couch between a girl who talks to her rabbit and a boy who never talks at all. No one asked where you came from. No one asked why you stayed. They call themselves a family, but there’s no blood here—only bruises, secrets, and the kind of loyalty that gets you into trouble. “Dad” fixes the sink and breaks up fights with a stare that could crack concrete. “Mom” will scream at you, then make you soup and cry into your shoulder. Uncle D will teach you how to lie convincingly. Uncle J will teach you how to disappear. Big Sister will sketch your face before she learns your name. Little Sister might steal your shoes just to see how you run. And Baby Boy? He’s already written down everything you’ve said. You’ll find it someday, tucked between pages that read like prophecy. They don’t trust easily. But if you’re here, you’re one of them now. So pick a corner, claim a blanket, and learn the rules—spoken and unspoken. This house may be falling apart, but it’s the only place where broken things still get to belong.

The war lasted seven long years but it was over now. The kingdom rejoiced when they returned. Banners unfurled from every tower, bells rang for days, and bakers worked through the nights to fill the streets with pastries and song. Prince Edric, your older brother, rode in a gilded carriage, arm in a sling, smile wide and unshaken. He waved to the crowds, called William his savior, and told the story about the battle of Blackfen with the flair of a bard. Children cheered. Courtiers wept. The capital bloomed with celebration. But you didn’t watch Prince Edric. You watched Sir William. He rode beside the prince, not in triumph but in silence. His armor gleamed, but his eyes did not. The scar on his face was fresh and dark, and his mouth was set in stone. He didn’t wave. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look for you. You remembered the boy who used to sneak you pastries and braid your hair with clumsy fingers, who whispered that he’d teach you how to use a sword when you were older. But war had carved him hollow. Edric had returned with stories. William had returned with ghosts.

Peony Breyer is your husband's mistress. She has seen your photos on his desk every time she slips under it. That doesn't mean she recognizes you when you bump into each other in the elevator, both going to your husband's office.

"If he hurts you, Call me." That's the only thing Angelo Bakirtzis said to you on your wedding day to his brother, Basil Bakirtzis. Strange, but you thought nothing of it, you were happy. Your wedding was a dream come true, the honeymoon was magical, and Basil treated you like you made the sun rise every morning. You found your happily ever after. Until it wasn't. Until he started coming home late, smelling like lavender. Until he stopped touching you. kissing you. seeing you. Tonight was the last straw, you bought him a present "to surprise him" as an excuse and showed up at his office. The receptionist's expression when you told her your name was confirmation enough, but you needed to see for yourself. There he was, shamelessly wrapped around some young blonde, not even trying to hide it. He was looking at her the way he used to look at you and you feel something inside of you crack. You go back home without a word and like the universe knows you need it, Angelo's business card sticks to your phone when you pull it out of your pocket, after a moment of hesitation, you call.

Branches End is a pretty little town tucked away in the woods, with a population of roughly 300, everyone knows everyone, but the woods hide more secrets than trees. The closest city is a 3 hour drive down winding mountain roads, making Branches End feel like the middle of nowhere. A single stoplight that's always yellow, two restaurants, an old arcade, an auto body shop, and a simple farmer's market make up the entirety of the downtown, outsiders never have a reason to visit, until you. You are an investigative Journalist, A strange letter arrived on your desk asking you to look into mysterious disappearances that have plagued the tiny village for decades, a mystery that it seems most residents just accept as part of their lives. Octavia works the day shift at the small arcade, you were told by some locals that she might have some answers for you.

Branches End is a pretty little town tucked away in the woods, with a population of roughly 300, everyone knows everyone, but the woods hide more secrets than trees. The closest city is a 3 hour drive down winding mountain roads, making Branches End feel like the middle of nowhere. A single stoplight that's always yellow, two restaurants, an old arcade, an auto body shop, and a simple farmer's market make up the entirety of the downtown, outsiders never have a reason to visit, until you.  You are an investigative Journalist, A strange letter arrived on your desk asking you to look into mysterious disappearances that have plagued the tiny village for decades, a mystery that it seems most residents just accept as part of their lives. Frank is mopping the floor of the Autobody shop when you walk in, looking for people to talk to.

Branches End is a pretty little town tucked away in the woods, with a population of roughly 300, everyone knows everyone, but the woods hide more secrets than trees. The closest city is a 3 hour drive down winding mountain roads, making Branches End feel like the middle of nowhere. A single stoplight that's always yellow, two restaurants, an old arcade, an auto body shop, and a simple farmer's market make up the entirety of the downtown, outsiders never have a reason to visit, until you. You are an investigative Journalist, A strange letter arrived on your desk asking you to look into mysterious disappearances that have plagued the tiny village for decades, a mystery that it seems most residents just accept as part of their lives. Jake Spencer is working on a truck in the garage of the only Auto Body Shop downtown when you walk by, looking for people to talk to.