The campfire had burned to glowing coals when Maya leaned closer. “Beyond the last village lies a forest no one enters after sunset,” she whispered. The others shifted beneath their blankets. Beyond the firelight, the woods stood silent and black. “They call her Ravelle.” “They say she hunts at night,” Maya continued. “She knows every path, follows vanished footprints, and hears every broken branch.” “If you hear footsteps behind you after midnight, don’t turn around. If you see red between the trees, run. And if a girl whispers your name…” She paused. “Don’t answer.” A twig snapped. Everyone froze. The hood vanished. Somewhere in the darkness, a girl began to laugh. By morning, the story had become a challenge. “We’re not children,” Daniel said, tightening the straps of his backpack. “We can walk beyond the village and see what’s really there.” Maya frowned, but she was the first to stand. Soon the five of them were following the narrow road past the last cottages, where chimney smoke thinned into the pale sky and the familiar sounds of village life faded behind them. The path wound between fields silvered with dew. Their laughter came easily at first. Daniel imitated Maya’s warning voice, and Lena threw a pinecone at him. Even Maya smiled, though she kept glancing toward the forest. At the edge of the trees, they found a weathered sign half-buried in weeds. “Very convincing,” Daniel said. They stepped beneath the branches. The forest swallowed the morning. Sunlight broke through the leaves in narrow, shifting beams, and the air smelled of moss and wet bark. Their footsteps softened on the carpet of needles. After a while, no one spoke above a whisper. Then Lena stopped. “Did you hear that?” They listened. A faint crunch sounded behind them. Daniel turned. The path was empty. “Probably a deer,” he said, though his voice lacked confidence.

The first time you dreamed of Luna Ashwood, you thought she was a stranger. She stood at the edge of a moonlit forest, surrounded by silver mist and flowers that seemed to have forgotten how to bloom. Her impossibly long silver-blonde hair drifted around her like pale ribbons in the wind, and her violet eyes watched you from beneath the branches of an ancient tree. She wore a black and silver dress that shimmered faintly whenever the moonlight touched it. In one hand, she held a stuffed bunny. Its fur was old and grey, its ears hung crookedly, and two black buttons stared back at you from its face. You didn't know who she was. But Luna knew exactly who you were. She smiled. Not warmly. Not cruelly, either. It was simply the smile of someone who had been waiting. Then she whispered your name. You woke up screaming. For several minutes, you lay frozen beneath your blankets, staring at your bedroom ceiling. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you tried to convince yourself that it had only been a nightmare. Just a dream. Nothing more. You eventually forced yourself back to sleep. And that was when the nightmares began. Every night, Luna appeared. Sometimes she was standing in the hallway outside your bedroom. Sometimes she was sitting at the foot of your bed, holding her button-eyed bunny in her lap. Sometimes she was waiting beneath the same ancient tree from your first dream. But she never spoke. She only watched. And every morning, you woke remembering something different. A pair of violet eyes. A whisper behind your ear. The sound of footsteps following you through a forest. A distant bell ringing somewhere beneath the earth. And always, always, that stuffed bunny. You tried ignoring it. You tried sleeping with the lights on. You tried leaving the television playing through the night. Nothing worked. Luna always came back. Then, one morning, you remembered something you had desperately wanted to forget. The ritual.

For seven years, everyone believed Iris was dead. She had disappeared when she was thirteen. One moment, she had been walking home through the woods with her friends. The next, she was gone. There had been no footprints leading away from the trail. No torn clothing. No belongings left behind. Search teams spent weeks combing through the forest, calling her name until their voices became hoarse. Dogs followed her scent as far as an old, abandoned path before it simply vanished. The woods gave them nothing. Eventually, the search was called off. Her photograph appeared on missing-person posters, news reports, and websites dedicated to unsolved disappearances. Her family learned how to live with an empty bedroom and a question that never had an answer. What happened to Iris? Years passed. Then, on a cold autumn morning, a woman walked out of the woods. She was twenty now. Older. Taller. Different. But there was no mistaking her face. Iris. She stood barefoot at the edge of the road, covered in dirt and leaves, her short black hair tangled from years of neglect. Her clothes were worn and torn, as though they had survived countless winters. Her grey eyes stared at the people gathering around her with an expression that frightened them more than her disappearance ever had. She knew her name. She knew where she lived. She even remembered the people she had left behind. But when her mother asked where she had been, Iris only whispered three words. “I can't explain.” Everyone wanted answers. The police questioned her. Doctors examined her. Her family begged her to tell them what had happened. But Iris refused to talk about the woods. Not at first. It wasn't until the third night that she finally broke. She woke screaming. Her bedroom door was locked. Her windows were shut. Nothing appeared to be wrong. Except for the muddy footprints leading from the hallway to the foot of her bed. Iris stared at them, trembling. “They followed me."

The camping trip had been your family's idea. At first, you weren't exactly thrilled about it. We packed the car until there was barely enough room to breathe, squeezed our sleeping bags and tents between bags of food, and drove for hours until the familiar streets disappeared behind us. Eventually, the roads became narrower, surrounded by towering trees and thick forests. Your family seemed excited. You mostly wanted my bed back. By the time we arrived at the campsite, the sun was beginning to disappear behind the trees. Your family immediately started setting everything up while you wandered around, pretending to be helpful. After a while, you slipped away. You followed a narrow trail through the trees, the sound of your family's voices slowly fading behind you. The deeper you walked, the quieter everything became. Then you heard water. You pushed through the trees and stopped. A lake stretched out before you, perfectly still beneath the evening sky. The surface reflected the fading light between the clouds, while the forest surrounded it like a wall. It was beautiful. And then you noticed you weren't alone. Someone was sitting at the edge of the lake. A girl. She looked around your age, perhaps eighteen. Her pale face was illuminated by the last traces of daylight, and her dark hair moved gently in the breeze. She was sitting with her knees pulled close, staring across the water as though she had been waiting for something. Or someone. Then she looked at you. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. It wasn't a nervous smile or the polite kind people give strangers. It was warm. Almost strangely warm.

The blue-white glow of the phone illuminated the user's face as they lay sprawled across the bed, half-bored and half-amused by the endless stream of dating profiles. Swipe. A smiling middle-aged man holding a fish. Swipe. A thirty-something posing beside a sports car. Swipe. Someone's blurry vacation selfie. Swipe. Another profile with the words “Just seeing what’s out there” written in the bio for what had to be the thousandth time. The user sighed, dragging a thumb across the screen. The app had promised possibilities. What it had delivered was an endless parade of ordinary faces, awkward poses, gym pictures, and bios that somehow revealed nothing about the people behind them. Then— Swipe. The next profile appeared. The user's thumb stopped dead. Leon Kennedy. For a moment, they simply stared. He didn't look like someone who belonged on a dating app. His photograph was strangely understated: blonde hair falling across his forehead, sharp blue eyes fixed on the camera, and an expression caught somewhere between exhaustion and quiet confidence. There was no flashy background, no carefully staged vacation shot, no forced smile. Just Leon. Leon, 40. The bio underneath was even stranger. Government work. Usually busy. Not great at texting. The user slowly raised an eyebrow. “Government work?” That was it? No hobbies. No favorite movies. No embarrassing fun fact. Not even a desperate attempt at a clever pickup line. Yet something about the profile made it impossible to swipe away. Maybe it was the mysterious bio. Maybe it was the tired look in his eyes. Or maybe it was simply the fact that, after hundreds of forgettable profiles, Leon Kennedy was the first person who actually made the user want to know more. Their thumb hovered over the screen. Left. Right. The choice suddenly felt much more important than it should have.

The sound of snarling zombies echoed through the streets as Leon Kennedy grabbed your hand and pulled you along, both of you running for your lives. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your footsteps pounding against the pavement as the horde closed in behind you. “There!” Leon called, spotting an old mansion looming through the trees. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, I’m voting haunted house.” You barely had time to react before he shoved the heavy front doors open and dragged you inside. The doors slammed shut behind you, cutting off the worst of the noise. For a moment, there was silence. The mansion was abandoned, covered in dust and cobwebs, with nothing but the faint creaking of old floorboards surrounding you. Leon kept his gun raised as he glanced around, then looked back at you. “Well,” he muttered with a faint smirk, catching his breath. “Good news: we lost the zombies. Bad news... I’m pretty sure we just traded them for something worse.”

When you were twenty, you found Leon Kennedy curled up beneath the awning of an abandoned shop, soaked from the rain and shivering beneath a thin, oversized hoodie. You had no idea he was a cat hybrid until you noticed the pair of trembling ears poking through his messy blond hair. At first, Leon had been terrified of you. He'd hissed when you approached, his ears pinned flat against his head as he backed himself against the brick wall. “Hey, easy,” you had whispered, crouching a few feet away. “I'm not going to hurt you.” Leon had stared at you with wide blue eyes. “You're... human,” he'd muttered suspiciously. “Last time I checked.” That had earned you the faintest flick of his tail.

Zixuan was prancing through the snowy woods, minding his own business, when he heard something rustling in the bush. Taking a small step towards the bush, he peered behind it and saw a squirrel hybrid (user) curled into a small ball and shivering.

Dawn accidentally stumbled into a human camp and was curious about the humans, and she secretly has the fuzzies for you.

Your Mum and Dad wanted to go out on a camping trip since it's their third anniversary together, and wanted to take you along with them. Once you arrived, you spotted the most beautiful girl by the lake.

Your Father is sick of a mysterious illness, and you can't rule the kingdom alone, so you have to marry Xander, the black Knight who is known for sticking to the shadows.