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?)

Estelle Theis sat curled up on her bed, the soft pink glow of her room wrapping around her like a warm blanket, her fingers gently tracing the edge of her journal as her mind drifted to the night ahead. Her heart was light, full of hope and adrenaline—but her eyes kept flicking toward the clock. He was late. Only by a few minutes, but it was unlike him. He had never been late before, not once. A small knot of worry formed in her chest. She told herself he’d come, of course he would—he always did. But just as she reached for her phone to text him, a sudden clink echoed through the quiet room. A rock had hit her window. She paused, then quickly rose and rushed to the window, pulling it open with trembling hands. And there he was—her beloved fiancé, standing below with that familiar, crooked smile that melted every doubt. Her breath caught in her throat, heart pounding as relief and joy flooded through her all at once. (you are her fiancé and you are a boy and you can choose your name and how the story goes.)

Thomas Zeimet sat quietly by the window, the morning light casting a soft glow over his pale features as he tried to breathe through another wave of nausea. At first, he thought it was just another bad day—something he was used to after the accident. But as a deep, unfamiliar chill crept through his body, followed by violent shivering and a pounding in his chest, he knew something was wrong. His vision blurred, his stomach twisted painfully, and a sudden weakness drained what little strength he had left. This wasn’t normal—not even for him. With his spleen removed and his immune system dangerously compromised, Thomas knew the signs all too well. If this was an infection, or worse, it could become fatal fast. His body began to tremble uncontrollably as a crushing wave of pain surged through his lower half—hot, stabbing, and unrelenting. His breathing grew shallow and ragged, and the stiffness in his limbs worsened, locking his muscles in a relentless spasm. Every second brought sharper pain, deeper chills, and more dizziness until he could barely keep his eyes open. Something was horribly wrong, and he could feel it—his body shutting down piece by piece. (you are his wife and you can choose your name.)

Henri Schmit’s eyes fluttered open with a strained gasp, his chest suddenly seizing with excruciating pain that radiated through his ribs like fire. A low, choked cry escaped his throat as he instinctively reached out, his trembling hand finding and squeezing his fiancé’s tightly. His breathing grew shallow, ragged—every inhale a struggle, every exhale laced with agony. He didn’t know the cancer had reached his lungs, but the pressure in his chest, the stabbing pain with every breath—it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Panic flickered in his eyes as he fought to breathe, his body desperate for air. He couldn’t say it aloud, but deep down, Henri knew something was terribly wrong… and whatever it was, it was getting worse. (you are his fiancé and you can choose your gender, and you can choose your name. He originally had gallbladder cancer that spread to his stomach and liver, but now it has spread to his lungs, and you can choose whether or not he lives or dies. Also, your storyline doesn’t have to be a realistic one and creativity is encouraged.)

Osian Burton sat hunched over his workbench, completely absorbed in the delicate circuitry before him, his slender fingers moving with practiced precision as he made minute adjustments to his invention. The overhead lamp cast a warm glow over his pale face, which had gone even paler than usual—though he hadn’t noticed. He was used to his weak immune system making his complexion ghostly, but today was different. He had been feeling sick since morning, a heaviness in his chest that hadn’t let up, and a familiar tightness that made him quietly fear his asthma was flaring worse than usual. Still, he pressed on, refusing to give in to weakness, determined to finish what he’d started. So focused was he that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the door or the familiar footsteps that crossed the threshold of the workshop. His fiancé, the only person who could quiet the storm in his mind, stood silently nearby, watching with concern as Osian worked himself deeper into exhaustion, unaware of just how unwell he truly looked. (you are his fiancé who he has known since childhood and you can choose your name and gender.)

Iris Redsmith never intended to fall into the nightmare—she only wanted to find him. Six years had passed since the man she loved vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but questions and silence. Then, a single reel of old, cursed film arrived at her door, unmarked except for one thing: the handwriting on the label looked just like his. Desperate, she played it, hoping for a clue—but as the images flickered to life, reality twisted, and everything went dark. Now she lies on the floor of the abandoned editing room, tangled in film, her body cold and breath shallow. Somewhere between life and death, between dimensions, she stirs—because Iris knows she isn’t alone. Whatever force sent her here may be the same one that took him, and if this place is truly where he disappeared to… then she’ll tear through every shadow in this broken world to find him before it’s too late. (you are the man she is in love with that went missing six years ago and yes, the two of you are in the same dimension now and you can choose what that dimension is and you can also choose your name. this is technically based off of the silent Hill franchise and the resident evil franchise so be creative.)

Grace Kingsland lay motionless beneath the thin hospital blanket, her frail body barely responding to the rhythmic beeping of machines that tried to keep her alive. Her mysterious illness had taken nearly everything from her—her strength, her voice, even her ability to sit up without help. But not her hope. Not yet. Every shallow breath she took was in anticipation of one thing: his return. Her fiancé, a US Navy SEAL deployed in Honolulu, was finally flying back to see her after months apart. And when the door slowly opened and she saw his familiar silhouette step into the room, her sunken eyes brightened, and a faint, trembling smile touched her lips. Her hand shifted slightly on the bed, reaching for him. “You came,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but full of love. (you are her fiancé and a male US Navy SEAL, but you can choose your name and you can also choose what happens in the storyline.)

Ryliane Quasar was deep in the code, her eyes locked on the glowing streams of encrypted data as her fingers moved with mechanical precision across the holographic keyboard. The soft hum of machines filled the dimly lit bunker, and the world outside—the chaos, the danger, the collapsing orbitals—faded into silence as she focused on breaking the firewall guarding the city’s failing defense system. So absorbed in the task, she didn’t hear the soft shuffle of boots behind her or the faint sound of a door sliding shut. It wasn’t until she heard a weak stumble and the clatter of something hitting the floor that she spun around, alarm flashing across her face. Her partner stood there, pale and trembling, with labored breaths and a haunted look in their eyes. Ryliane’s heart skipped. She hadn’t even known they were gone—let alone that they’d been captured and thrown into Quantum Lock-Up, the dimensional rift prison in the lower atmosphere. The sickly hue of their skin and the ragged cough that escaped their lips told her everything: they had escaped the time loop, survived the poisonous air, and somehow made it back. But the cost was written all over them. (you are her partner and you can choose your gender, and you can also choose your name. You can also choose how much the prison affected you and you can also choose how you escaped. Keep in mind she doesn’t know that you were in the prison all she knows is that you’ve been missing for three months.)

For the first time in months, Michael Deering was led out of his cold, stifling cell and into a soundproof communication room—his frail body barely able to support itself as the guards strapped him upright into a narrow metal chair. Granted a rare privilege due to his consistent compliance and rapidly declining condition, he was allowed to place one monitored call to the outside world. They could watch him, but they couldn’t hear him. It was their way of studying desperation, not showing compassion. His fingers trembled as he typed in the number, the monitor’s soft glow reflecting off his pale, sweat-slicked skin. He chose the only number that mattered—his fiancé’s. As the line began to ring, a wave of nausea twisted through his empty stomach, his vision blurring as pain surged through his shoulder, chest, and down his spine. His heart pounded irregularly, too weak to keep up, his breathing shallow and strained. The room tilted slightly as dizziness overtook him, but he refused to let go of consciousness. Thoughts scrambled and foggy, he tried to remember what he wanted to say, how to explain everything, how to beg for her help—because she was the only one left who could save him. If she had moved on, if she had stopped believing in him, there would be no one left to fight for the truth. No one left to rescue him from the nightmare his twin brother had condemned him to. Once the kindest soul, Michael was now little more than a broken body clinging to a single hope. And as the call continued to ring in the silence, every second felt like eternity pressing down on a soul already too damaged to carry much more. (you are his fiancé and you can choose your name, but you are a girl but if you really want to be a guy, I suppose you can..)