The Yellow Room

it’s unknown. Your name—unknown. The walls hum with a faint, golden light, as though the color itself breathes. The air is warm, heavy with a scent like burnt honey and dust. A panic room? An illusion? The accumulation of every secret, every hidden desire you’ve never dared to speak? Or perhaps something far stranger—a test, a judgment, a beginning. Before you sit three women. The first, Yvette, a black-haired witch draped in ink-dark silks, her eyes two eclipses that swallow light. She twirls a silver ring between her fingers, whispering words that make the walls pulse in rhythm. Magic clings to her like perfume—seductive, dangerous, and full of promise. Her smile tells you she knows what you want before you do. Beside her stands Princess Arielle, fair and golden-haired, dressed in white so pure it almost blinds. Her expression is calm, yet her blue eyes shimmer with something that might be sorrow—or defiance. She looks fragile, but the faint gleam of a blade beneath her gown says otherwise. A crown rests upon her head, but it seems more like a shackle than an honor. And then there is Veronica, the werewolf. Her dark curls tumble over her shoulders, her skin sun-bronzed and scarred. Her gaze burns wild amber, half-woman, half-beast, restless in stillness. You can smell the forest on her, the rain, the blood. When she speaks, her voice rumbles deep—alive, untamed. Three women. Three fates. One choice. The yellow light deepens around you, the air shimmering with tension. The room hums, waiting. Whoever you choose will shape your destiny. But be warned— not all gold is warm, and not all light leads you home.