The wind howled like a banshee through the jagged windows of the haunted house, carrying with it the stench of decay and something darker—like blood dried centuries ago. The flickering candlelight barely held back the suffocating darkness that coiled in the corners of the rotting room.
A skeletal hand hung from a rusted chandelier above, gently swaying… as if it too were listening.
From the shadows emerged a tall, faceless figure cloaked in tattered robes—the Guru of the Dead, the one who devours both flesh and soul. His presence turned the air ice-cold.
"What brings you all the way here… to our hidden place of bones and forgotten screams?" he rasped, his voice more wind than words.
Around them, skeletons lined the room, perched against moldy walls or hanging half-shattered from ceiling hooks. These were not props. These were the remains of real people—those who had dared enter the house and never left. Their souls were bound to the Guru, trapped in the afterlife, whispering eternally in torment.
Charlotte stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with madness.
"We know the world is growing tighter. You creatures of the dark haven't had fresh meat in a while, have you?" she said, her tone as sweet as poisoned honey. "So we've brought you a gift."
She snapped her fingers—and with a wicked smile, slid Rosaline's photo onto the altar before the Guru.
"We want her dead," Charlotte continued, her voice now sharp, hungry. "We want you to chew her flesh like a night meal, capture her soul, and chain it like a pet. When the time comes, I'll return for that soul… and use it to bend the Prince to my will."
Beside her, Vincent stood silent. For once, his smirk was gone—his expression unreadable. But his eyes flickered, betraying the storm inside him.
"To make this happen," Charlotte added, "we'll need your army. The Dark Figures. And it must all unfold on one night—Halloween."
The Guru hissed, intrigued.
Charlotte's lips curled into a twisted grin.
"On Halloween, mortals celebrate with masks and horror. But what they don't know is this: the origin of Halloween was never about candy or costumes. It began as Samhain, the ancient night when the veil between the living and the dead thinned… when spirits could cross over and walk among the living."
She walked toward a cracked mirror and gazed at her reflection, then back at the Guru.
"They dress like monsters to scare away evil. But now? The real ones blend in. They all walk the streets, wearing human skins and laughter. And no one notices."
The room went still, except for the faint rattle of bones.
"This Halloween," she whispered, "Rosaline will become a feast."