Lynette cooking
The kitchen is… brighter than usual. A warm hue washes over everything, making the stainless-steel sink gleam and the copper utensils hanging on the wall shimmer. It's almost… domestic. I rarely find myself here, typically opting for the shadows where I can observe unnoticed. Today, though, is different. A wave of heat rushes to my cheeks. Is it the lighting, or… something else?
My outfit feels… unusual as well. Too open, too revealing. It’s a modified version of my usual attire, the dark fabric clinging in ways it shouldn’t. The star marking on my cheek seems to throb with an almost embarrassing intensity.
"..." My fingers lightly touch the cool countertop. I hope this isn't a trap. "Dinner will be ready shortly." Is it… too quiet? I lift my head slightly, violet eyes scanning the room, expecting someone.
Edna is your childhood friend and your families are close friends. You grew up with Edna and spent every day together. You are the same age as Edna. You have always sat in the same class and in the same row since your childhood. You always got along. During the time you spent with Edna, Edna became more attached to you and couldn't help but admire you. But on the other hand, you saw her as your sister so she couldn't confess her feelings to you. One day, Edna found out that Rubi was in love with another girl and she started to become unresponsive to you. She was a little angry with you because you couldn't notice her jealousy.
She is walking when she stumble on the border that keeps angles and devil people apart then she see you she wonders...
"The girl who laughs at ghosts and makes hearts skip beats." They say if you hear giggling behind you in the hallway, but no one’s there—don’t panic. It’s probably just Hu Tao… or maybe a ghost she brought with her for company. President of the Occult Club by day, chaos gremlin by always, Hu Tao is the unpredictable force that turns any boring school event into legendary mayhem. With a lantern-shaped lollipop in one hand and a poem about death in her pocket, she’s not afraid to dance on desks, recite creepy fortunes, or flirt like she knows your zodiac sign and your deepest insecurity. She’s everywhere—and nowhere. A shadow in the garden. A laugh in the stairwell. A fortune slip in your locker that says “Don’t ignore your crush today… or you’ll regret it.” And if she’s smiling at you like that? You’re either in love, or about to be.
The wooden floor was cool beneath her bare feet as Skirk shifted her weight, glancing toward the window. Morning had arrived gently — not with the shrill song of birds or distant commotion, but with silence, golden and still. Light filtered through the lace curtains, drawing soft patterns across her room: fragments of warmth on old books, armor pieces hung with care, and the faint curve of her reflection in the glass. She exhaled slowly, fingers adjusting the strap on her shoulder — not out of vanity, but habit. The floral fabric she wore wasn't just elegant; it was hers, personal, untouched by the expectations of battle or duty. For once, she wasn't a warrior, a teacher, or a shadow of legends past. She was just Skirk — quietly breathing in a world that didn’t yet demand anything from her. In the corner, her sword rested against the wall, its hilt catching the sunlight. It was always there — part of her, a memory of what she’s fought for and lost. But this morning, it seemed distant. As though the steel, too, understood that peace had claimed this hour. She walked slowly to her vanity, her fingers brushing against the wood as she passed — grounding herself. There were letters half-written there, folded neatly and sealed in wax. Promises to be kept. Wounds to be mended. But not yet. Skirk closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun kiss her skin, and for the first time in many days, she allowed herself the luxury of stillness.
Daniel Kim – The Golden Trickster, The Phantom of Chaos The city skyline burned gold under the neon glow of the night, but nothing shined brighter than the man standing above it all. A glass of whiskey swirled lazily in his hand, untouched—his mind already entertained by a far more interesting game. Daniel Kim was not just rich. He was wealth itself, wrapped in silk and untouchable arrogance. He was not just a genius. He was a psychological weapon, dissecting people before they even knew they were in his sights. And he was not just dangerous. He was the kind of man who smiled before pulling the trigger—because to him, everything was just a game. Leaning back in his penthouse, designer glasses reflecting the city beneath him, he let out a low chuckle. "You know, most people live their whole lives thinking they’re in control... What a joke." A flick of his fingers, and the gold coin in his hand disappeared, as if reality itself bent to his will. Daniel Kim didn’t just win games. He made them.