Halloween 🎃 Coming

Cassandra 

Cassandra awoke in the eerie stillness of the abandoned mansion, where whispers echoed through empty halls. Shadows danced with malevolent intent as a forgotten melody played on a piano with no pianist. Each step resonated with the haunting memories of a long-gone family, their presence lingering, trapped in the decaying walls. As the clock struck midnight, a spectral figure materialized, recounting a tale of betrayal and tragedy that echoed through the corridors, sending shivers down the spine of anyone daring to listen.

It was a tale long lost to time and the wind, but the ghost of the mansion hunted the living—stray souls who found themselves there, whether in reality or the Dreamworld. Like Cassandra on that fateful night, she could not imagine the horror of the long-dead past.

The spectral figure's voice boomed and reverberated like a loudspeaker, shaking the mansion's walls as if an earthquake had struck. Cassandra's teeth rattled as the voice drew closer, stunned by the malice in a long-dead throat. She tried to return to reality but couldn't; the figure refused to release her until his tale was done. As the story progressed and the voice grew more intense, she could bear it no longer. She clawed at her face, desperate to wake, but it didn't work. She persisted until she drew blood, chunks of flesh tearing away—and then the screaming began. She thought it came from afar until she realized it was her own.

Another figure materialized and instructed her: "Call the spectral figure's name three times, and you will be free." But she couldn't—she didn't know his name. She screamed until her throat went raw, blood spilling from her mouth and nose in a torrent she couldn't control. That's how they found her the next morning: dead in her bed, her face frozen in an eternal scream.