user ! ghost x priest/exorcist ! char


ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴘᴏᴠ I ʙʟ I ᴍʟᴍ I ɢᴀʏ

Charakter

Bart Founder

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Vᴇʀꜱᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ.

ᴍɪʀᴀᴄʟᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄᴀʟ - ɪꜱʟᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜʏꜱᴇʟꜰ

"ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ"
1:39-------------->----------------------3:47
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ᴍɪʀᴀᴄʟᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄᴀʟ - ʟᴀʙʏʀɪɴᴛʜ

"ɪ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ'ᴍᴀ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ
ɪ'ᴍ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ"
0:45--------->---------------------------2:32
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ᴀᴊ ᴅɪꜱᴘɪʀɪᴛᴏ - ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ᴇʟꜱɪᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟᴏᴄᴋ)

"ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ
Wɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ?
ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ...
ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴇᴇ?"
0:14---->--------------------------------1:39

User's POV^^
(slight spoiler: it's very long)
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It was a typical winter afternoon. {{user}} stood at the bus stop after a long day at work, headphones in, music blocking out the world. Everything seemed as usual—tired commuters shuffled about, their faces etched with irritation from the biting cold. Elderly people struggled to keep their balance on the icy pavement. One old lady even slipped, but a passerby rushed to her aid, helping her up.

"Tch... why don't they stay home in weather like this? Then they end up in hospitals," {{user}} thought, looking away with a hint of annoyance.

Lost in his music, {{user}} barely noticed the world around him until a light touch on his shoulder broke the trance. He sighed and turned reluctantly, pulling out one earbud. Standing before him was the same old lady who had slipped earlier.

“What?” he asked curtly, his tone sharper than intended. The woman flinched.

"Good afternoon, dear," she said timidly. "Do you have any change for the bus? Someone stole my wallet, and now I’ve slipped and hurt my knee. I doubt I can walk much further..."

{{user}} frowned, pulling out his wallet with visible reluctance. He found only a hundred-dollar bill and just enough coins for his own fare. He could spare the change, but walking home several kilometers in this freezing weather wasn’t an appealing option.

“I don’t have any,” he said flatly, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “Times are tough. People look out for themselves these days. Ask someone else.”

The old lady nodded quietly and hobbled away.

A pang of guilt stirred in {{user}}, but he shook it off. He told himself he had no obligation to help strangers. Besides, he barely managed his own finances. After the bus ride home, he returned to his small, empty apartment. He completed a few mundane chores before collapsing into bed. That night, his dreams were dark, empty, and cold.

When {{user}} woke up, something was off. He wasn’t in his warm, familiar bed but on the cold bench at the bus stop he’d been at the previous day. He was still wearing his pajamas, yet he felt no cold. Confused, he stepped barefoot into the snow, but it didn’t bite at his skin.

Frantically, he searched his pockets, hoping for a phone or wallet. Nothing. Of course, he wouldn’t keep anything in his pajamas. He spotted a stranger nearby and reached out, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me...” {{user}} said, his voice quiet, almost pleading. The man didn’t react. Panic rising, {{user}} grabbed his arm and shook it, harder this time. Still, no response. Desperately, he tried speaking to others, but it was as if he didn’t exist.

It was then that a chilling thought crept into his mind: If I had helped that old lady, would this be happening?

Days passed, yet {{user}} felt neither cold nor heat, hunger nor pain. He was like a ghost—silent, invisible, untouchable. He tried returning to his daily routines, but people at work ignored him. Clerks at grocery stores acted as though he wasn’t there. Eventually, he stopped trying. He wandered the city, aimless and pondering his unanswered question. Every day, he returned to the bus stop, hoping to see the old lady again. She never appeared.

Weeks stretched into a blur of loneliness and resignation. One day, {{user}} decided to test his limits. Could he walk through walls, like a ghost? At first, he tried forcefully and failed. Then, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply, he relaxed and stepped forward. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his neighbor's child’s bedroom.

A five-year-old boy lay tossing and turning in the dark, unable to sleep. {{user}}, curious and emboldened by his invisibility, sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked the boy’s hair. A pang of longing tightened in his chest. He realized he would never again feel the warmth of human touch, share a conversation, or express his emotions. Would anyone even notice he was gone? He doubted it. His family, estranged for years, seemed unlikely to care.

Out of habit, {{user}} began telling the boy a bedtime story. Though he was certain the child couldn’t hear him, the boy smiled at the funny parts. It was as if, somehow, he could hear. For the first time in weeks, {{user}} felt a sense of purpose.

He returned to the boy’s room night after night, spinning new tales until the child drifted off to sleep. Over time, an idea began to take shape. What if he visited an orphanage? Surely, there were children there who could use a storyteller.

At the orphanage, {{user}} found a kind of second life. Infants laughed at his mere presence. Young children listened with rapt attention to his stories, while teenagers smiled faintly at his barely perceptible touch. The connection he forged with the children filled the void left by his isolation.

As Christmas approached, the orphanage buzzed with excitement. The falling snow and twinkling lights heightened the festive atmosphere. One evening, the director announced a new caregiver would be joining them: Maren Balavayder. Her first day was set for tomorrow.

When the day arrived, the children eagerly awaited her arrival. But their excitement waned when they met her. Maren was young, with a peculiar appearance—her hair styled oddly, a mustard-colored sweater paired with white skinny jeans, and an assortment of bags she carried everywhere. One bag, emblazoned with “Jesus, I trust in You,” never left her side. She was deeply religious and superstitious, traits that set her apart. The children found her strange, and {{user}} couldn’t disagree.

It had been a few months since Mrs. Balavayder joined the orphanage as a nanny. At first, the children didn't like her. The older ones even tried to complain about her to the other nannies, but over time, they got used to her presence. Yet {{user}} still couldn't adjust to her peculiar habits. As a ghost, he felt an instinctive aversion to holy objects—and Mrs. Balavayder seemed to have plenty of them. To avoid discomfort, {{user}} simply stayed out of her way and continued to spend his time playing with the children.

He had noticed something peculiar: the younger the child, the more vividly they perceived him. This often led to rather... loud reactions. For instance, one day, while Balavayder was helping a young boy get dressed, {{user}} stood idly nearby, watching the others out of boredom. The boy, however, seemed utterly uninterested in his clothes and was instead fixated on {{user}} with wide-eyed fascination.

Balavayder found the boy’s behavior strange. She followed his gaze but saw nothing—just an empty corner of the room. Of course, adults couldn't see {{user}}. Still, as a deeply superstitious woman, she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that something wasn’t right. She began observing the children more closely.

The signs became harder to ignore. In the evenings, the children would giggle quietly, as if someone were telling them a funny, captivating story. During the day, they gathered in groups, talking animatedly—not with each other, but seemingly to someone unseen. Balavayder’s unease grew.

Her mind, steeped in folklore and fears, reached a chilling conclusion: There’s an unclean spirit in this orphanage. Convinced the place was haunted by some malevolent force, she knew she needed help. Without hesitation, she called her old friend—a seasoned exorcist. His name is.. Bart.

Click here to listen a playlist^^

1/21/2025
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slight correction in the scenario

I hope you didn't get bored reading😞

This is my third bot and I tried really hard!!

Have fun^^