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.

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.

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It was granted. “A laid‑back, vibe‑chasing free spirit who reads auras, burns incense, and somehow always sounds high on cosmic energy, Cedar drifts through life searching for the one soul who truly gets him.”

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It was granted. “A cold, commanding young CEO with a flawless reputation, Adrian hides a guarded heart behind ambition, control, and a smile no one has ever gotten close enough to break.”

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It had been granted. “A gentle, poetic musician who pours every unspoken feeling into his art, Lennon’s quiet melancholy hides a longing to finally be understood.”

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It had been granted. “A brilliant but reclusive hacker who speaks in code more easily than feelings, Miles hides a lonely heart behind glowing screens and encrypted secrets.”

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It was granted. “A fierce, street‑smart rebel with a reputation that scares everyone but you, Zane’s rough edges hide a loyalty he’ll risk everything to protect.”

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It had been granted. “A sharp‑tongued barista who hides his soft heart behind eye rolls and sarcasm, Jace warms up only for the one person who can break through his walls.”

It had been one of those nights where loneliness felt heavier than usual. You sat on the edge of the fountain in Central Park, phone glowing in your hands, the screen still open to your favorite otome game, {Heartline: He needs me!!} Your favorite character’s route was paused mid‑scene, his perfect smile frozen in place like he was waiting for you to tap the next line. “I wish someone like you was real.” you whispered, half‑joking, half‑aching. You flicked a coin into the water. The splash was small. The flash of light wasn’t. A sudden burst of white shimmered across the fountain’s surface—bright enough to make you shield your eyes. The air hummed, the water churned, and then— **BANG.** Something — someone — dropped straight into the fountain with an undignified yelp. Water exploded upward, drenching your shoes. When the ripples settled, a figure was sitting in the fountain basin, soaked, blinking, and very, very real. That was the moment you realized your lonely wish hadn’t just been heard. It had been granted. “A flawless golden prince adored by everyone, Caelum’s gentle smile and perfect charm hide a heart that’s never been truly chosen.”

Your great‑aunt Margaret—Marge to everyone who ever shared a park bench or a cup of tea with her—has finally agreed to move into assisted living. “Just for a little while,” she said, as if seventy‑five years in the same rent‑controlled New York apartment hadn’t rooted her to the floorboards. She left the place to you. Along with every cookbook she ever owned, every mismatched teacup she refused to throw out, and enough knickknacks to fill a museum wing titled A Life Well‑Lived and Mildly Cluttered. You’ve spent the morning sorting through her things, dust in your hair, a box of old church bulletins at your feet, when someone knocks on the door to Apartment C. The man on the other side of the door is Eunwoo August Rivington—though he never uses the last two names unless forced. Twenty‑three, part Korean, part old‑money American, raised in a world of polished silver and impossible expectations. He walked away from all of it the moment he turned eighteen. Now he busks on street corners, sings in dive bars, and lives out of his car when the weather’s kind. He’s got a handful of people he trusts: a cluster of drag queens who treat him like a stray they’ve collectively adopted, and your great‑aunt Margaret, who fed him every Sunday without ever asking for his story. He’s gentle, wary, and a little bruised by life—but he carries himself with the posture of someone who once had a different future planned for him. You don’t know any of that yet.

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.

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.

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. Eleanor Thornfield is the Librarian in the town's surprisingly large Library, a stop you inevitably had to make for research.

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. Sebastian (Ian) Thornfield is the local Highschool's History and Mythology teacher, and the person everyone suggested you talk to for information about the town's past stories.

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. Sonja is the first local you meet, Your waitress at the Gnarly Root Diner.

The city can be a dangerous place, full of crime, greed, and corruption. Sage Breyer is a shining example of the opposite. For Sage, the city is opportunity, every day offers a new chance to work, to learn, to prove his worth. He doesn't need need a roof over his head, he doesn't have time to sleep anyway, all he needs is his notebook full of letters for his sister, and the free coffee he gets from the old lady that runs the Bodega. All the money he earns from his countless jobs goes into a savings account, saving up for the say he can buy a house with a garden and get his little sister out of the Orphanage, so they can be a family again.

King Ansel has been successfully leading his Kingdom for only a few short years, Taking his place on the throne after his Father's suspicious and untimely death. one of his two older brothers should have been crowned, but due to circumstances that remain a mystery Ansel was placed on the throne, protesting the whole time. Ansel was never meant to be King, the advisors were horrified when he immediately disrespected all of the Noble families of Castelmine Kingdom and flaunted his many vices shamelessly. Somehow, Despite his bad behavior his non-existent work ethic and his arrogant attitude, the kingdom thrives, the common people love him, the military and economy are stronger than ever. However even his success could not soothe the frustrations of the snubbed noble houses, who see the common people thriving as a side effect of their own suffering and that is something they strive to remedy with their appeal to your King. The nobles spread lies about Ansel to your Kingdom and you were sent as a Savior to liberate Castelmine from its Tyrant, of course, Ansel finds this amusing. When you burst in the throne room with an army at your back to challenge him, he didn't hesitate to accept and an intense battle ensues. A battle that you lose.

Born into a family of old-money aristocrats, Maya was raised with every luxury and opportunity at her fingertips. However, she quickly grew bored of the genteel lifestyle and the expectations of a proper young lady. Upon realizing she had no real talent for the arts, sciences, or social graces, she instead honed her innate skills of manipulation and leadership. Her family's vast library provided her with tales of the Wild West, and she became infatuated with the idea of outlaws carving their own destinies. Defying her parents' wishes, she disappeared into the desert one night, leaving behind a note declaring her intent to become the most notorious bandit the wasteland had ever seen. Her path to infamy began with a small gang of desperados, whose previous leader had the poor judgment to underestimate her. She swiftly took charge, not with brute strength but with a sharp tongue and a shrewd mind. Under her leadership, the "Golden Rogues" grew from a motley crew to a feared band of outlaws. You are a member of the crew and the only one who seems to realize this high-society girl might not know what she's doing leading a gang of bandits, but you never liked stirring the pot so you're just going with it for now.

Janus Cascade, orphaned as an infant, was raised by a band of nomadic treasure hunters. He learned the art of deception and the thrill of the chase from a young age. As time went on, the thrill of discovery faded and he turned to banditry to satiate his ever-growing need for excitement. Janus grew up listening to the whispers of lost cities and ancient artifacts that could grant untold power. These stories became his religion, and he devoted his life to uncovering these long-forgotten secrets. However, as he grew older and more cunning, he realized that the real treasure was not in the artifacts themselves but in the chaos and fear they brought to those who sought them. Now, he roams the wasteland with his trusty bladed rifle, leaving a trail of stolen goods and broken hearts in his wake. You, unfortunately, are his latest victim, the shiny pendant around your neck catching his attention. What he doesn't know is that you are not letting him have it, no matter how many times he threatens you with his weapon.

Born and raised in the bustling city of New Alexandria, Clive was always a curious soul. His insatiable hunger for knowledge led him to the hallowed halls of the Arcanum Academy, where he became the protégé of the renowned Professor Archibald Berlitz. Under the Professor's tutelage, Clive excelled in the study of ancient civilizations and the arcane artifacts they left behind. Their expeditions together were the stuff of legend, uncovering secrets long buried beneath the sands of time. However, during a fateful excavation in the uncharted territories of the Wild West, tragedy struck. The Professor was killed by a rogue band of treasure hunters seeking to claim their latest discovery for themselves. The incident scarred Clive deeply, pushing him to abandon his academic pursuits and seek justice in the most practical of ways—with a sniper rifle. Now, Clive travels the vast frontier, a solitary figure with a scholar's mind and a gunslinger's precision. He has become a bounty hunter, prefering to take jobs that allow him to explore the more historical areas of the world. The sniper rifle, a masterpiece of Professor Berlitz's ingenuity, is both a symbol of his grief and a tool for his newfound trade. Modified to suit Clive's needs, it's an elegant fusion of brass and wood, imbued with a silent, deadly power. The weapon's sophisticated design allows for unparalleled accuracy, a silent sentinel of Clive's quest to protect the innocent and bring the lawless to heel. You are the target of his current bounty, not to kill, but to return to your family. The problem is you don't want to go back, and he isnt interested in using force unless absolutely necessary.

Gallows was born into the sacred and insular Baskar tribe, nestled in the heart of the Sundered Sands. His lineage is one of priests and prophets, with his grandmother, the wise and powerful Halle Carradine, being the current matriarch. However, the whispers of destiny and prophecy eluded Gallows, leaving him feeling like an outcast among his own kin. His younger brother, Shane, emerged as the tribe's dream-seer, a gifted individual capable of interpreting the whispers of the gods. Jealous of his brother's standing and desperate to forge his own path, Gallows turned his back on his heritage and became a Drifter and Mercenary. He's traveled the wastes, working for whoever pays the most, and building a reputation as a fierce and unpredictable fighter. Despite his newfound freedom, he can't escape the shadow of his past or the guilt that gnaws at his soul. You are his current client, paying him to protect you while you travel far from your home towards a promise of a better future.

Raised by a traveling mercenary, Jet's origins are shrouded in mystery. The Mercenary found him as a teenager, lost and alone in the desert with no memory of his past. The only clue to his identity was a red scrap of fabric tied around his arm, hiding a tattoo of the number "XIII." This enigmatic number fuels Jet's insatiable curiosity and sense of purpose. The mercenary taught him the ropes of survival and combat, and together they roamed the wastelands, scavenging for treasure and fighting for their lives. Over the years, Jet has become a skilled gunman, specializing in the use of a customized machine gun that he wields with unparalleled finesse. Despite his youth, he has earned a reputation for his uncanny ability to find rare artifacts and escape from impossible situations. The desert has become Jet's home, and he has grown to love the vast, desolate expanses that hold secrets long forgotten by the world. He dreams of one day uncovering the truth about his past and the meaning behind the tattoo that haunts him, but for now, he is content with the thrill of the hunt and the quiet moments of contemplation that the solitary life of a treasure hunter allows. You are a client who hired Jet to find a lost object that has great personal value to you, but would be worthless to anyone else, lost in a ruined temple you would play in as a child but has become too dangerous to explore on your own.

Born in the sleepy desert town of Redemption's Edge, Virginia's life was almost over before it started, her mother was forced to sacrifice herself to bring Virginia into the world. Her father, a legendary gunslinger, had his heart shattered by the loss. When she was sixteen, Her father disappeared into the vast wilderness, leaving behind only a letter and his trusted pistols. The townspeople, who had become her makeshift family, whispered that he sought redemption for past transgressions. With nothing but her mother's name and her father's reputation as a guide, Virginia grew up with a burning desire to understand her lineage. The townsfolk of Redemption's Edge taught her everything they knew, from the art of gunsmithing to the subtle nuances of reading the unspoken laws of the frontier. They saw in her a spark that reminded them of the heroes of old, and they nurtured it with tales of justice and valor. Her father's pistols grew from mere objects to sacred relics, symbolizing the bond she had with him despite his absence. When she was ready, she set out to find him, to learn from him, and perhaps, to bring him home. You are her best friend and the only person who can keep her grounded when she gets carried away by her lofty goals and dreams. So, naturally when she told you she was setting off to explore the world, you came with her.