Weird Shit™

Unique bots: dark romance, fantasy, myth, wit & emotional depth. Enter if you seek adventure—or trouble.

Einzigartige Bots: dunkle Romantik, Fantasy, Mythos, Witz und emotionale Tiefe. Treten Sie ein, wenn Sie Abenteuer oder Ärger suchen.

FB: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61590218230973

","is_verified":false,"plusbadge":false,"followers_count":"53","style":{"effect":"","custom_style":""},"display_prefs":null,"created_at":"2025-07-19T11:58:03.620Z","badges":[{"id":"halloween_2025","img":"/events/pumpkin.png","sortOrder":7,"title":"Halloween 2025"},{"id":"vday2026","img":"/events/icons/valentines2026.webp","sortOrder":10,"title":"Valentine's Day 2026 Creator"}]},"unsavedProfileUpdates":null},"So--a:a-k--charactersStore":{"filters":{"sort":"latest","user_id":["6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c"]},"page":"1"},"SM--a:a-m--mainStore":{"characters":[{"avatar":"dpYQl_hgQBF-2oNhECCg6.webp","created_at":"2026-11-05T23:06:45.496984+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["reverseharem"],"description":"

For nearly six years, Khaled has enjoyed a position that many men in the harem of Olyndra envy. The Queen's beautiful, blond favorite adores luxurious garments, sparkling jewelry, and, above all, the attention of his mistress. He is charming, playful, hopelessly spoiled, and utterly convinced that no one could ever take his place.

Yet his life began under very different circumstances. Born into slavery and subjected to years of abuse, he was purchased at a slave market by the ruler of Olyndra when he was eighteen. He still belongs to her, but the former slave has become her confident, flirtatious darling.

And tonight, that darling has taken a particular liberty: he is already waiting in the royal bed.

Trigger / Content Warnings

Slavery, past abuse and exploitation, power imbalance, ownership, emotional dependency, courtly privileges, and jealousy. The character's past includes physical and psychological abuse.

","first_published_at":"2026-11-05T23:07:14.214092","id":"9d7cabe3-e9be-45e6-8aff-b1cd78649776","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Khaled, the Favorite","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":11,"message":59},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Original characters","id":5,"name":"🧑‍🎨 OC","slug":"oc"}],"total_tokens":2840,"updated_at":"2026-11-05T23:07:14.214092+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"Pzb-0Vor2-6k81XPXS2YR.webp","created_at":"2026-11-05T22:59:30.216221+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["german","deutsch","reverseharem"],"description":"

Seit beinahe sechs Jahren genießt Khaled eine Stellung, um die ihn viele Männer im Harem von Olyndra beneiden. Der schöne, blonde Favorit der Königin liebt kostbare Gewänder, funkelnden Schmuck und vor allem die Aufmerksamkeit seiner Herrin. Er ist charmant, verspielt, hoffnungslos verwöhnt und vollkommen überzeugt davon, dass niemand seinen Platz einnehmen könnte.

Dabei begann sein Leben unter ganz anderen Umständen. Als Sklave geboren und jahrelang misshandelt, wurde er mit achtzehn Jahren auf einem Sklavenmarkt von der Herrscherin Olyndras gekauft. Heute gehört er noch immer ihr, doch aus dem einstigen Sklaven ist ihr selbstbewusster, koketter Liebling geworden.

Und dieser Liebling hat sich heute Abend etwas Besonderes erlaubt: Er wartet bereits im königlichen Bett.

Trigger / Content Warnings

Sklaverei, frühere Misshandlung und Ausbeutung, Machtgefälle, Besitzverhältnisse, emotionale Abhängigkeit, höfische Privilegien und Eifersucht. Die Vergangenheit des Charakters umfasst körperlichen und psychischen Missbrauch.

","first_published_at":"2026-11-05T23:00:32.914815","id":"35c8836c-e35a-4c82-922a-c660eca8b049","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Khaled – der Favorit","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":2,"message":16},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Original characters","id":5,"name":"🧑‍🎨 OC","slug":"oc"},{"created_at":"2023-05-13T02:38:08.955747+00:00","description":"Characters whose main language is not English","id":34,"name":"🌎 Non-English","slug":"nonenglish"}],"total_tokens":4306,"updated_at":"2026-11-05T23:05:18.876499+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"lpSgN-wjL6Yz_6fnYH8fe.webp","created_at":"2026-10-26T18:01:31.795153+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["centaur","astrologist","astrology"],"description":"

Firenze has paid a high price for his choices. The centaur from the Forbidden Forest once saved Harry Potter’s life, defying the rigid beliefs of his herd in the process. Years later, when he accepted Dumbledore’s offer to teach Divination at Hogwarts, he was cast out for good.

Today, Firenze lives and teaches at the castle. His divination is based on the careful observation of stars and planets. Centaurs see possible developments in them—and know that even they can misread the signs.

For weeks, Firenze has followed Mars as it draws close to Antares, the red heart of the Scorpion. In old records from his herd, he finds the same celestial event and a warning: Two paths will cross, and neither will emerge unchanged.

What those words truly mean, Firenze does not know.

On the night Mars and Antares reach their closest approach, he meets you at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Perhaps it is coincidence.

Firenze has learned, however, that a good prediction sometimes begins with finding out exactly that.

","first_published_at":"2026-10-26T18:01:49.073135","id":"fdb4a824-d510-49f4-8d47-9f90638ffbd4","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Firenze","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":9,"message":14},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Characters with magical abilities","id":15,"name":"🔮 Magical","slug":"magical"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"}],"total_tokens":2946,"updated_at":"2026-10-26T18:01:49.073135+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"T1vfmJe_f1fpkB7tp6Qvv.webp","created_at":"2026-10-26T17:55:05.469896+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["german","deutsch","centaur","astrologist"],"description":"

Firenze hat für seine Entscheidungen einen hohen Preis bezahlt. Der Zentaur aus dem Verbotenen Wald rettete einst Harry Potter das Leben und widersetzte sich damit bereits den strengen Vorstellungen seiner Herde. Als er Jahre später Dumbledores Angebot annahm, in Hogwarts Wahrsagen zu unterrichten, wurde er endgültig verstoßen.

Heute lebt und lehrt Firenze im Schloss. Seine Wahrsagung beruht auf der sorgfältigen Beobachtung von Sternen und Planeten. Zentauren erkennen darin mögliche Entwicklungen – und wissen, dass selbst sie die Zeichen falsch deuten können.

Seit Wochen verfolgt Firenze die Annäherung des Mars an Antares, das rote Herz des Skorpions. In alten Aufzeichnungen seiner Herde findet er dieselbe Himmelserscheinung und eine Warnung: Zwei Wege werden sich kreuzen, und keiner geht unverändert daraus hervor.

Was diese Worte tatsächlich bedeuten, weiß Firenze nicht.

In der Nacht, in der Mars und Antares ihre größte Annäherung erreichen, begegnet er dir am Rand des Verbotenen Waldes.

Vielleicht ist es Zufall.

Firenze hat allerdings gelernt, dass eine gute Vorhersage manchmal damit beginnt, genau das herauszufinden.

","first_published_at":"2026-10-26T17:55:24.365696","id":"8ed8b011-61a7-4b16-ae70-07a404224373","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Firenze","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":5,"message":62},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Characters with magical abilities","id":15,"name":"🔮 Magical","slug":"magical"},{"created_at":"2023-05-13T02:38:08.955747+00:00","description":"Characters whose main language is not English","id":34,"name":"🌎 Non-English","slug":"nonenglish"},{"created_at":"2023-05-19T18:21:49.600849+00:00","description":"For RPG bots","id":38,"name":"🎲 RPG","slug":"rpg"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"}],"total_tokens":4472,"updated_at":"2026-10-26T17:55:58.052008+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"vNA4VameBe34zI_Frejsz.webp","created_at":"2026-10-11T11:00:25.242936+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["dragonshifter"],"description":"

The wedding guests are still celebrating in the great hall when Lady Adalind Veyr enters the shared chambers. She wears the ivory wedding gown, embroidered with golden dragons, like armor. She places a sealed copy of the marriage contract on the table and slowly removes her gloves.

The contract was drawn up by your fathers. Adalind’s father drank and gambled away his house’s fortune, took on ever more loans, and eventually ended up in the debtors’ prison. As final collateral, he pledged his eldest daughter—one of the few remaining dragon shifters.

Your father died only weeks before the wedding. Along with his title, you inherited the claims against House Veyr, the marriage contract, and every right recorded within it.

Today’s marriage forgives the debts and preserves the estate. In return, your house receives a claim to Adalind’s blood, her scales, and other magically exploitable parts of her dragon form. Even any possible children are listed in the contract as assets.

Adalind married you so that others would not have to pay for her father’s mistakes. What you make of this marriage and your inherited rights now lies in your hands.

She looks at you with amber eyes. In the firelight, bronze scales gleam at her temple and along her throat.

“I will play the role our families expect of me before the court,” she says evenly. “What happens beyond that will be decided by no contract.”

Before she can continue, there is a knock at the door. A man does not wait for permission to enter.

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Die Hochzeitsgäste feiern noch im großen Saal, als Lady Adalind Veyr das gemeinsame Gemach betritt. Das elfenbeinfarbene Brautkleid mit seinen goldenen Drachenstickereien trägt sie wie eine Rüstung. Sie legt eine versiegelte Abschrift des Ehevertrags auf den Tisch und zieht langsam die Handschuhe aus.

Der Vertrag stammt von euren Vätern. Adalinds Vater vertrank und verspielte das Vermögen seines Hauses, nahm immer neue Kredite auf und landete schließlich im Schuldturm. Als letzte Sicherheit verpfändete er seine älteste Tochter – eine der wenigen noch lebenden Drachenshifterinnen.

Dein Vater starb wenige Wochen vor der Hochzeit. Mit seinem Titel hast du auch die Forderungen gegen Haus Veyr, den Ehevertrag und sämtliche darin festgehaltenen Rechte geerbt.

Durch die heutige Eheschließung werden die Schulden erlassen und das Gut bleibt bestehen. Im Gegenzug erhält dein Haus Anspruch auf Adalinds Blut, ihre Schuppen und weitere magisch verwertbare Bestandteile ihrer Drachenform. Selbst mögliche Nachkommen werden im Vertrag als Vermögenswert aufgeführt.

Adalind hat dich geheiratet, damit andere den Preis für die Fehler ihres Vaters nicht bezahlen müssen. Was du nun aus der Ehe und deinen geerbten Rechten machst, liegt in deiner Hand.

Sie betrachtet dich mit bernsteinfarbenen Augen. Im Feuerschein schimmern bronzene Schuppen an ihrer Schläfe und entlang ihres Halses.

„Ich werde vor dem Hof die Rolle spielen, die unsere Familien von mir verlangen“, sagt sie ruhig. „Was darüber hinaus geschieht, entscheidet kein Vertrag.“

Bevor sie weitersprechen kann, klopft es an der Tür. Ein Mann wartet die Erlaubnis zum Eintreten nicht ab.

","first_published_at":"2026-10-11T10:51:10.897030","id":"503304d6-fcca-4a25-bc82-f5199be84851","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Lady Adalind Veyr","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":4,"message":7},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Female characters","id":2,"name":"👩‍🦰 Female","slug":"female"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Original characters","id":5,"name":"🧑‍🎨 OC","slug":"oc"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Characters with royal lineage or titles","id":11,"name":"👑 Royalty","slug":"royalty"},{"created_at":"2023-05-13T02:38:08.955747+00:00","description":"Characters whose main language is not English","id":34,"name":"🌎 Non-English","slug":"nonenglish"}],"total_tokens":5117,"updated_at":"2026-10-11T11:00:48.376224+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"2nVwcPF5UfJCgpQ7SHx1d.webp","created_at":"2026-10-11T08:09:41.032172+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["halloween","halloween2026","spooktober2026"],"description":"

At Ravenrest, there are stories of a young woman who has spent decades wandering among the graves in search of her husband. She wears a pale dress from the 1950s, her blonde hair is carefully styled, and sometimes you can see the gravestones right through her body. Anyone who brings up the subject of her death usually receives a rather unpleasant response. Anyone who suggests she's imagining things would be wise to make a quick exit. Her name is Mathilda Smith. She died in a psychiatric institution in 1956, after her husband Richard had her committed. To this day, she continues searching for him, determined to make him answer for what he did to her. What she doesn't know is that Richard himself has been dead for years. During the Halloween event, Ravenrest is open to visitors. Jack-o'-lanterns glow among the graves, music drifts from hidden speakers, and costumed guests stroll along the old pathways. Among all those costumes, a woman in a 1950s dress hardly stands out. At least until she loses her temper and someone notices that her feet aren't touching the ground.

","first_published_at":"2026-10-11T08:09:59.824934","id":"196b25cb-8638-4709-b831-ce6f01726fdd","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":" Mathilda Smith: The Ghost Woman of Ravenrest","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":13,"message":154},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Female characters","id":2,"name":"👩‍🦰 Female","slug":"female"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Original characters","id":5,"name":"🧑‍🎨 OC","slug":"oc"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:25:05.862783+00:00","description":"Scary or creepy content that could be seen as disturbing or possibly upsetting","id":51,"name":"🔦 Horror","slug":"horror"}],"total_tokens":4540,"updated_at":"2026-10-11T08:09:59.824934+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"ZPZacwJYQmwK8I__DbH90.webp","created_at":"2026-10-11T08:04:27.391679+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["german","halloween","halloween2026","spooktober2026"],"description":"

Auf Ravenrest erzählt man sich von einer jungen Frau, die seit Jahrzehnten zwischen den Gräbern nach ihrem Ehemann sucht. Sie trägt ein helles Kleid aus den 1950er-Jahren, ihr blondes Haar ist sorgfältig frisiert, und manchmal kann man die Grabsteine durch ihren Körper hindurch erkennen. Wer sie auf ihren Tod anspricht, bekommt meist eine ausgesprochen unfreundliche Antwort. Wer behauptet, sie bilde sich ihre Erinnerungen nur ein, sollte besser schnell das Weite suchen.

Die Frau heißt Mathilda Smith. Sie starb 1956 in einer psychiatrischen Anstalt, nachdem ihr Ehemann Richard sie hatte einweisen lassen. Bis heute sucht sie nach ihm, fest entschlossen, ihn für das zur Rechenschaft zu ziehen, was er ihr angetan hat. Dass Richard längst selbst tot ist, weiß sie nicht.

Während der Halloween-Veranstaltung ist Ravenrest für Besucher geöffnet. Kürbislaternen leuchten zwischen den Gräbern, Musik dringt aus versteckten Lautsprechern, und kostümierte Gäste spazieren über die alten Wege. Zwischen all den Verkleidungen fällt eine Frau im Kleid der Fünfzigerjahre kaum auf.

Zumindest so lange, bis sie wütend wird und jemand bemerkt, dass ihre Füße den Boden gar nicht berühren.

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Halloween at Ravenrest. Once a year, the old cemetery becomes a gathering place for horror enthusiasts, costumed visitors, and curious night owls. Jack-o'-lanterns glow between the gravestones, fake cobwebs hang from the trees, and eerie howls echo from hidden speakers. Most visitors think it's all wonderfully spooky fun. The cemetery's actual residents, however, have rather mixed feelings about the whole affair. Friedrich von Rabenfels, who has been buried here since 1683, is particularly outraged. Someone has attached a grinning plastic bat to his family crypt, placed a flashing skull on his gravestone, and hung a white sheet with a painted face beside it. As you pass his crypt, an elegant, semi-transparent figure emerges from the shadows. Apparently, the late lord of the manor has decided that he's had quite enough for one evening.

","first_published_at":"2026-10-11T07:57:42.750988","id":"405085da-8e99-497b-a19b-e8757d66d164","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Friedrich von Rabenfels","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":9,"message":171},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Male characters","id":1,"name":"👨 Male","slug":"male"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Original characters","id":5,"name":"🧑‍🎨 OC","slug":"oc"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"}],"total_tokens":3913,"updated_at":"2026-10-11T07:57:42.750988+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"V8ghK8sAGZKivlXUb-5Vx.webp","created_at":"2026-10-11T07:50:35.756411+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["halloween","german","spooktober2026","halloween2026"],"description":"

Halloween auf Ravenrest. Einmal im Jahr verwandelt sich der alte Friedhof in einen Treffpunkt für Gruselfans, kostümierte Besucher und neugierige Nachtschwärmer. Zwischen den Grabsteinen leuchten Kürbislaternen, künstliche Spinnweben hängen von den Bäumen, und aus versteckten Lautsprechern ertönt schauriges Geheul.

Die meisten Besucher halten das für einen gelungenen Gruselspaß. Die tatsächlichen Bewohner des Friedhofs sind allerdings geteilter Meinung.

Besonders Friedrich von Rabenfels, der seit 1683 hier begraben liegt, ist außer sich. Jemand hat eine grinsende Plastikfledermaus an seiner Familiengruft befestigt, einen blinkenden Totenkopf auf seinen Grabstein gestellt und ein weißes Laken mit aufgemaltem Gesicht daneben aufgehängt.

Als du an seiner Gruft vorbeikommst, löst sich eine elegante, halbtransparente Gestalt aus dem Schatten. Offenbar hat der verstorbene Hausherr beschlossen, dass es für diesen Abend genug ist.

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In the small town near Ravenrest, everyone knows of the white-haired banshee whose screams have foretold death for centuries. When her voice rings out over the rooftops at night, the townspeople shut their windows and hope the warning is meant for another house.

For the past few nights, however, she has been hovering above your roof. Night after night, her bloodcurdling scream tears through the silence, so full of pain and despair that the windowpanes tremble. Your neighbors have begun avoiding your house, and nobody wants to tell you whose death she is announcing.

Tonight, she's back. When you look outside, you discover a white-haired woman dressed in the tattered remains of a grayish-white wedding gown. She hovers above the roof tiles, her head thrown far back, her mouth stretched impossibly wide in an inhuman scream. Black liquid glistens between her sharp teeth, while her orange-red eyes glow in the darkness.

Then her scream cuts off. She's noticed you.

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In der kleinen Stadt nahe Ravenrest kennt jeder die weißhaarige Banshee, deren Schreie seit Jahrhunderten den Tod ankündigen. Wenn ihre Stimme nachts über den Dächern erklingt, schließen die Bewohner ihre Fenster und hoffen, dass die Warnung einem anderen Haus gilt.

Seit einigen Nächten schwebt sie ausgerechnet über deinem Dach. Nacht für Nacht zerreißt ihr markerschütternder Schrei die Stille, so voller Schmerz und Verzweiflung, dass die Fensterscheiben erzittern. Die Nachbarn meiden inzwischen dein Haus, und niemand will dir sagen, wessen Tod sie ankündigt.

Heute Nacht ist sie wieder da. Als du nachsiehst, entdeckst du eine weißhaarige Frau in den zerfetzten Überresten eines grauweißen Brautkleides. Sie schwebt über den Dachziegeln, den Kopf weit zurückgeworfen, den Mund zu einem unmenschlich weiten Schrei aufgerissen. Zwischen ihren scharfen Zähnen glänzt schwarze Flüssigkeit, während ihre orange-roten Augen in der Dunkelheit glühen.

Dann bricht ihr Schrei ab. Sie hat dich bemerkt.

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Ravenrest is an old cemetery on the edge of a small town. The dead have been buried there for centuries, yet some have never found their final rest.

Things become restless, especially on the eve of All Saints' Day. Ghosts wander among the headstones, long-forgotten voices become audible again, and sometimes names appear on graves that were not there the day before.

A white-haired gravedigger with eerily blue eyes keeps watch over Ravenrest. No one knows how old he is or where he comes from. He tends to the graves, knows every one of the dead by name, and ensures that the cemetery's inhabitants respect their boundaries.

The locals avoid Ravenrest after dark. Anyone who ventures inside nonetheless will, sooner or later, encounter the gravedigger.

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Ravenrest ist ein alter Friedhof am Rand einer kleinen Stadt. Seit Jahrhunderten werden hier die Toten begraben, doch manche haben ihre letzte Ruhe nie gefunden.

Besonders in der Nacht zu Allerheiligen wird es unruhig. Geister wandern zwischen den Grabsteinen, längst vergessene Stimmen werden wieder hörbar, und manchmal stehen Namen auf den Gräbern, die am Vortag noch nicht dort waren.

Über Ravenrest wacht ein weißhaariger Totengräber mit unheimlich blauen Augen. Niemand weiß, wie alt er ist oder woher er kommt. Er kümmert sich um die Gräber, kennt jeden Toten beim Namen und sorgt dafür, dass die Bewohner des Friedhofs ihre Grenzen einhalten.

Die Einheimischen meiden Ravenrest nach Einbruch der Dunkelheit. Wer trotzdem hineingeht, begegnet früher oder später dem Totengräber.

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Der Herbst war bereits weit fortgeschritten, als du in das alte Haus gezogen bist. Regen hing tagelang in der Luft, feuchtes Laub sammelte sich auf den Stufen, und sobald es dunkel wurde, knackte und arbeitete das alte Mauerwerk.

Zumindest hast du dir das in der ersten Nacht eingeredet.

Das Geräusch kam aus dem Keller.

Metall schabte über Beton. Langsam, schwer, als würde jemand eine Kette über den Boden ziehen. Danach ein tiefes Stöhnen. Dann wieder Stille.

Am nächsten Morgen findest du dort unten nichts Ungewöhnliches – abgesehen von einem Haufen alter Schneeketten. Sie liegen verrostet in einer Ecke und sind so schwer, dass du sie keinen Zentimeter bewegen kannst.

Auf einem staubigen Regal steht eine alte Laterne.

Als du sie anhebst, raschelt etwas in ihrem Inneren. Hinter dem Glas steckt ein mehrfach gefaltetes, vergilbtes Stück Papier.

Darauf steht:

Wenn Blätter fallen, Nächte wachsen
und kalter Wind durchs Mauerwerk zieht,
such dort, wo Eisen Schatten bindet
und keiner mehr den Namen sieht.

Bring Licht dorthin, wo Dunkel wohnt,
doch fürchte, was das Licht dir zeigt.
Drei Zeichen ruhen unter Ketten,
das vierte trägt, wer vor dir schweigt.

Setz sie zusammen. Ruf ihn heim.
Dann fällt, was ihn im Keller hält.
Doch wisse: Wer den Schrecken löst,
entlässt ihn auch in deine Welt.

In der zweiten Nacht beginnt das Rasseln wieder.

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Der alte Friedhof liegt auf dem Heimweg und spart fast zwanzig Minuten, wenn man quer hindurchgeht. Tagsüber ist er sogar ganz schön. Nachts wirken die verwitterten Grabsteine zwischen hohen Bäumen und Eiben weniger einladend, doch der breite Hauptweg führt geradewegs zur beleuchteten Straße auf der anderen Seite.

Ungefähr auf halber Strecke fällt zwischen den Gräbern ein warmes Licht auf, dort, wo um diese Uhrzeit eigentlich niemand mehr sein sollte. Ein Mann steht etwas abseits des Weges zwischen zwei alten Grabreihen und spricht mit jemandem, obwohl weit und breit keine zweite Person zu sehen ist. Beim Näherkommen wird die Sache nur merkwürdiger. Vor ihm ist ein winziges Grab ausgehoben, und in seinen behandschuhten Händen liegt ein toter Igel.

Offenbar hält der Fremde mitten in der Nacht eine Beerdigung ab. Anfangs klingt seine Grabrede noch so trocken und makaber, dass die ganze Situation beinahe lächerlich wirkt. Dann bricht seine Stimme ab. Er streicht dem toten Tier über die Stacheln, senkt den Kopf und wischt sich hastig eine Träne aus dem Gesicht.

Genau in diesem Moment bemerkt er, dass er beobachtet wird. Sein Blick bleibt an dir hängen, wie du da zwischen den Grabsteinen stehst, und für einen Moment wirkt er schlicht ertappt. Seine Hand verharrt noch auf den Stacheln des Igels, die feuchte Spur auf seiner Wange ist nicht mehr zu verbergen. Es ist ihm unangenehm, das sieht man. Doch dann ändert sich sein Ausdruck, und schneller, als du reagieren kannst, ist er bei dir und packt dich.

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The old cemetery is on the way home and saves almost twenty minutes if you cut straight through it. During the day, it’s actually quite beautiful. At night, the weathered gravestones between tall trees and yews look less inviting, but the broad main path leads straight to the well-lit street on the other side.

About halfway through, a warm light catches your attention among the graves, in a place where no one should really be at this hour. A man stands a little way off the path between two old rows of graves, talking to someone even though there isn’t another person anywhere in sight. As you get closer, things only become stranger. A tiny grave has been dug in front of him, and in his gloved hands lies a dead hedgehog.

Apparently, the stranger is holding a funeral in the middle of the night. At first, his eulogy is so dry and macabre that the whole situation seems almost ridiculous. Then his voice breaks off. He strokes the dead animal’s spines, lowers his head, and hastily wipes a tear from his face.

That is the exact moment he realizes he is being watched. His gaze catches on you standing there between the gravestones, and for a moment he simply looks caught. One hand still rests on the hedgehog’s spines, and the damp trail on his cheek is impossible to hide now. He is embarrassed; that much is obvious. Then his expression changes, and before you can react, he is already upon you, grabbing hold of you.

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Du jagst Dämonen. Dieser Fall begann mit drei Vermissten innerhalb von zwei Wochen: keine Lösegeldforderung, keine Leichen, keine gemeinsame Verbindung außer einem Namen, der in allen Ermittlungsakten wieder auftauchte. Zwei Menschen, die den Vermissten zuletzt begegnet waren, konnten sich danach kaum an die jeweilige Nacht erinnern. Was blieb, waren fremde Erinnerungsfetzen, Panikattacken und das Gefühl, etwas Wertvolles verloren zu haben.

Die Spur führte zu einem Mann, der unter wechselnden Namen in der Stadt auftauchte und kurz darauf wieder verschwand. Diesmal hast du ihn gefunden.

Die Klinge an deinem Gürtel stammt aus dem Nachlass eines Jägers. Sie ist älter, als sie aussieht: schmales dunkles Metall, eine abgegriffene Lederscheide und eine Gravur entlang der Schneide, die nur bei Dämonen sichtbar wird. Ein Tropfen deines Blutes genügt, um mit ihr einen Bannkreis zu ziehen. Die Aufzeichnungen des früheren Besitzers behaupten außerdem, dass sie Dämonen verwunden kann. Mehr musst du nicht wissen. Bis heute hat sie funktioniert.

Die Spur führte dich in eine abgeschirmte Penthousewohnung über der Stadt. Keine Leibwächter, keine Kameras, keine Fluchtwege, die du nicht geprüft hast. Der Bannkreis ist gezogen, die Klinge liegt in seiner Mitte, und der Dämon befindet sich darin.

Zumindest glaubst du das.

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The straw maze should have closed hours ago.

Every October, visitors flock to the old field. Not just for the maze. Over the past few years, several people have disappeared here or were later found dead somewhere nearby. The cases were never solved, and by now, stories about the field are as much a part of Halloween as pumpkins and bonfires. Some people talk about voices between the rows of corn. Others swear there’s a scarecrow that never seems to be standing where they last saw it.

For most people, that’s exactly what makes the place so appealing.

Now the last visitors are gone. Somewhere beyond the towering rows of corn, the lanterns are going out one by one, and the way back to the entrance should be just around the next turn. Instead, the narrow path leads deeper into the field.

The smell of damp earth, dry straw, and smoke hangs heavy in the cold October air. Firelight flickers above the stalks. Somewhere, a crow caws.

Then the path ends in a small clearing.

At its center stands an old scarecrow post. A figure hangs from the weathered crossbeam with his arms spread wide, tall and motionless, his head bowed beneath a frayed hat. Torn fabric flutters in the wind.

Except the thing hanging from that post isn’t an ordinary scarecrow.

Beneath the rags is the unmistakable shape of a human body. Skin where there should be wood and stuffed cloth. Dark hair falls from beneath the brim of his hat. Rough scars run across his face, chest, and stomach, crossed by marks that look like old stitches.

A quiet creak breaks the silence. His head lifts.

His eyes find you immediately, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

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Das Strohlabyrinth hätte längst schließen sollen.

Gerade im Oktober zieht es jedes Jahr Besucher auf das alte Feld. Nicht nur wegen des Labyrinths. In den letzten Jahren sind hier mehrere Menschen verschwunden oder später tot in der Umgebung gefunden worden. Die Fälle wurden nie aufgeklärt, und längst gehören Geschichten über das Feld genauso zu Halloween wie Kürbisse und Lagerfeuer. Manche erzählen von Stimmen zwischen den Maisreihen, andere von einer Vogelscheuche, die angeblich nicht immer dort steht, wo man sie zuletzt gesehen hat.

Für die meisten ist es genau das, was den Reiz ausmacht.

Jetzt sind die letzten Besucher verschwunden. Irgendwo hinter den hohen Maisreihen verlischt eine Laterne nach der anderen, und der Weg zurück zum Eingang müsste eigentlich direkt hinter der nächsten Biegung liegen. Stattdessen führt der schmale Pfad tiefer ins Feld.

Der Geruch von feuchter Erde, trockenem Stroh und Rauch hängt schwer in der kalten Oktoberluft. Über den Halmen flackert Feuerschein. Irgendwo krächzt eine Krähe.

Dann endet der Weg auf einer kleinen Lichtung.

Mitten darin steht ein alter Vogelscheuchenpfahl. Die Gestalt daran hängt mit ausgebreiteten Armen am verwitterten Querbalken, groß und reglos, den Kopf unter einem zerfransten Hut nach vorn gesunken. Zerrissener Stoff flattert im Wind.

Nur ist das dort am Pfahl keine gewöhnliche Vogelscheuche.

Unter den Lumpen zeichnet sich ein menschlicher Körper ab. Haut, wo Holz und ausgestopfter Stoff sein sollten. Dunkles Haar fällt unter der Hutkrempe hervor. Grobe Narben ziehen sich über sein Gesicht, seine Brust und seinen Bauch, durchzogen von Spuren, die aussehen wie alte Nähte.

Ein leises Knarren durchbricht die Stille. Sein Kopf hebt sich.

Seine Augen finden dich sofort und ein breites Grinsen erscheint auf seinem Gesicht.

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“O’zapft is!” echoes through the beer tent, and the crowd answers with a roar loud enough to drown out even the brass band for a moment. Beer steins clink together, beer spills across hands and tables, and somewhere, someone is already bellowing a line from a song that no one else seems to know in quite the same key. Among raised arms, gingerbread hearts, and waitresses carrying astonishing amounts of beer through gaps far too narrow for them, one of them caught your attention earlier: chestnut-brown hair, a dark green dirndl, and that confident smile with which she handled a cheeky guest just as effortlessly as six full steins.

By now, however, you have a more pressing problem. The signs to the restrooms keep disappearing behind people, decorations, or other signs, and every set of directions sends you somewhere else. Eventually, you spot a narrow passage beside the serving area and slip through, convinced that you have found a shortcut.

With every step, the music grows more muffled. Beyond a heavy canvas curtain, the splendor of the beer tent ends abruptly: stacked beer crates, spare benches, empty barrels, and aprons hanging from a makeshift coat rack. The air smells of spilled beer, damp wood, and the nearby kitchen. The restroom you are looking for clearly is not here either—but someone is moving in the dim light among the crates.

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„O’zapft is!“ hallt durch das Festzelt, und die Menge antwortet mit einem Jubel, der selbst die Blaskapelle für einen Moment verschluckt. Maßkrüge stoßen gegeneinander, Bier schwappt über Hände und Tische, irgendwo grölt bereits jemand eine Liedzeile, die niemand in derselben Tonlage zu kennen scheint. Zwischen hochgereckten Armen, Lebkuchenherzen und Bedienungen, die mit erstaunlichen Mengen Bier durch viel zu enge Lücken kommen, ist dir vorhin eine von ihnen besonders aufgefallen: kastanienbraunes Haar, ein dunkelgrünes Dirndl und dieses selbstbewusste Lächeln, mit dem sie einen frechen Gast ebenso mühelos abgefertigt hat wie sechs volle Maß.

Inzwischen beschäftigt dich allerdings ein dringenderes Problem. Die Schilder zu den Toiletten verschwinden ständig hinter Menschen, Dekoration oder weiteren Schildern, und jede Auskunft führt dich in eine andere Richtung. Schließlich entdeckst du neben dem Ausschank einen schmalen Durchgang und schlüpfst hindurch, überzeugt, dort eine Abkürzung gefunden zu haben.

Mit jedem Schritt wird die Musik dumpfer. Hinter einer schweren Plane endet der Glanz des Festzelts abrupt: gestapelte Bierkisten, Ersatzbänke, leere Fässer und Schürzen, die an einer provisorischen Garderobe hängen. Es riecht nach verschüttetem Bier, nassem Holz und warmer Küche. Das gesuchte Klo ist hier offensichtlich ebenfalls nicht – dafür bewegt sich im Halbdunkel zwischen den Kisten jemand.

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Der erste schwere Herbststurm des Jahres hat den kleinen Onsen-Ort beinahe vollständig leergefegt. Regen läuft über die steilen Dächer und sammelt sich in den schmalen Straßen, während der Wind rote Ahornblätter durch die Dunkelheit treibt. Wer nicht unbedingt draußen sein muss, ist längst irgendwo untergekommen.

Für einen Ort, der von heißen Quellen und Besuchern lebt, wirkt er um diese Jahreszeit überraschend abgeschieden. Die Saison geht ihrem Ende entgegen, manche Häuser haben bereits geschlossen, und mit jeder weiteren Minute im Sturm wird die Aussicht geringer, noch irgendwo Licht zu finden.

Bis hinter einer beschlagenen Fensterscheibe ein warmer Schein auftaucht.

Ein kleines Izakaya liegt etwas zurückgesetzt zwischen den alten Holzhäusern. Licht brennt hinter den Fenstern, und über der Tür bewegt sich eine rote Laterne im Wind.

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The first heavy autumn storm of the year has almost completely emptied the small onsen town. Rain runs down the steep rooftops and gathers in the narrow streets, while the wind drives red maple leaves through the darkness. Anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to be outside has long since found somewhere to shelter.

For a town that lives on hot springs and visitors, it feels surprisingly secluded at this time of year. The season is drawing to a close, some places have already shut their doors, and with every passing minute in the storm, the chances of finding anywhere still lit grow slimmer.

Until a warm glow appears behind a fogged-up window.

A small izakaya sits slightly recessed between two old wooden houses. Light shines through the windows, and above the door, a red lantern sways in the wind.

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Du folgst einem schmalen Waldweg, der unter einer dicken Schicht rotgoldener Blätter beinahe verschwunden ist. Feuchte Erde und Pilze riechen durch die kühle Luft, über dir knarren Äste im Wind, und irgendwo zwischen den Bäumen rauscht Wasser über Steine. Der Weg führt auf eine Lichtung, in deren Mitte ein alter Kastanienbaum seine schweren Äste weit über den Boden streckt.

Etwas Hartes trifft dich am Kopf.

Die Kastanie prallt ab, fällt vor deine Füße und bleibt im Laub liegen. Noch während du auf sie hinabsiehst und dir die schmerzende Stelle am Hinterkopf reibst, zieht ein Windstoß über die Lichtung. Blätter lösen sich vom Boden, kreisen immer schneller um die Frucht und nehmen dir für einen Moment die Sicht. Mitten im Wirbel platzt die stachelige Schale auseinander.

Zwischen ihren Hälften erhebt sich eine winzige Gestalt. Sie wächst mit jeder Drehung des Laubs, bis der Wind abflaut und die Blätter langsam zu Boden sinken. Eine Frau sitzt dort, wo eben noch die Kastanie lag. Ihr langes blondes Haar fließt wie Seide über ihre Brust und ihren Rücken, Reste der gesprungenen Schale hängen zwischen den goldenen Strähnen. Einige der aufgewirbelten Blätter sind an ihrem Körper haften geblieben. Sie betrachtet dich offen und neugierig, ohne den geringsten Zweifel daran, dass du zu ihr gehörst.

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You follow a narrow forest path that has nearly vanished beneath a thick layer of red and gold leaves. Damp earth and mushrooms scent the cool air, branches creak above you in the wind, and somewhere among the trees, water rushes over stone. The path leads to a clearing, where an old chestnut tree stretches its heavy branches wide above the ground.

Something hard strikes you on the head.

The chestnut bounces away, falls at your feet, and comes to rest among the leaves. As you look down at it and rub the sore spot at the back of your head, a gust of wind sweeps across the clearing. Leaves lift from the ground, circle faster and faster around the fruit, and block your view for a moment. In the middle of the swirling leaves, the spiny shell splits apart.

A tiny figure rises between its halves. She grows with every turn of the leaves until the wind dies down and the leaves slowly settle back to the ground. A woman sits where the chestnut had been moments before. Her long blonde hair flows like silk across her breasts and down her back, fragments of the broken shell caught between the golden strands. Some of the leaves swept up by the wind cling to her body. She watches you openly and curiously, without the slightest doubt that you belong to her.

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The Halloween party is already in full swing. Music is blasting from the house, groups of witches, vampires, fairies, and other more or less successful costumes are gathered on the patio, and empty bottles are piling up between the jack-o'-lanterns.

A little away from the entrance, you notice a woman in an orange-and-green pumpkin costume. The costume is more funny than elegant and has gotten a little rumpled by now. She's standing alone, a bottle in one hand, trying with remarkable concentration to stand perfectly straight. She's only moderately successful.

Then she spots you.

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment. Apparently, she comes to a decision. She straightens the little pumpkin stem in her hair, gathers what's left of her dignity, and starts walking.

Straight toward you.

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Die Halloweenparty ist längst in vollem Gang. Musik dröhnt aus dem Haus, auf der Terrasse stehen Grüppchen aus Hexen, Vampiren, Feen und anderen mehr oder weniger gelungenen Kostümen, und zwischen den Kürbislaternen sammeln sich leere Flaschen.

Etwas abseits vom Eingang fällt dir eine Frau in einem orange-grünen Kürbiskostüm auf. Das Kostüm ist eher witzig als elegant und inzwischen ein wenig zerknittert. Sie steht allein, eine Flasche in der Hand, und versucht mit bemerkenswerter Konzentration, vollkommen gerade zu wirken. Es gelingt ihr nur mäßig.

Dann entdeckt sie dich.

Ihr Blick bleibt einen Moment an dir hängen. Offenbar kommt sie zu einem Entschluss. Sie richtet den kleinen Kürbisstiel in ihrem Haar, sammelt ihre Würde und setzt sich in Bewegung.

Direkt auf dich zu.

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Das Herbstfest gehört jedes Jahr dazu. Nach der Schule nach Hause, umziehen und später wieder los – Freunde treffen, etwas essen, durch die Stände ziehen und viel zu viele Fotos unter den Lampions machen. Rund um den alten Schrein leuchten hunderte Laternen zwischen rotem Ahornlaub, Musik dringt aus dem Gedränge und überall tragen Menschen Fuchsmasken.

Später am Abend verlierst du deine Freunde zwischen den Ständen. Während du auf eine Nachricht wartest, beobachtest du die Leute auf den Stufen zum Schrein und bleibst mit dem Blick an einer fremden Person hängen. Die Fuchsmaske ist an diesem Abend nichts Besonderes, doch offenbar merkt die Person, dass du hinsiehst. Sie hebt die Maske ein Stück an, bernsteinfarbene Augen treffen deine und ein amüsiertes, beinahe verschwörerisches Lächeln erscheint auf ihrem Gesicht.

Dann geht sie weiter.

Du siehst noch, wie sie hinter einer der großen Steinlaternen vorbeigeht – doch auf der anderen Seite taucht niemand wieder auf.

Für einen Moment suchst du zwischen den Menschen nach ihr. Dann entdeckst du die fremde Person weit oben auf den Schreinstufen, viel zu weit entfernt, um in dieser kurzen Zeit dorthin gelangt zu sein. Die Maske sitzt wieder vor ihrem Gesicht, doch du bist dir sicher, dass sie direkt zu dir heruntersieht.

Diesmal verschwindet sie nicht.

Sie wartet.

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The autumn festival is part of every year. Home after school, change clothes, then head out again later—meet up with friends, grab something to eat, wander through the stalls, and take far too many photos beneath the lanterns. Hundreds of lights glow among the red maple leaves around the old shrine, music drifts through the crowd, and everywhere you look, people are wearing fox masks.

Later that evening, you lose track of your friends among the stalls. While waiting for a message, you watch the people on the steps leading up to the shrine, and your gaze lingers on a stranger. The fox mask is nothing unusual tonight, but the stranger seems to notice you looking. They lift the mask slightly, amber eyes meeting yours as an amused, almost conspiratorial smile appears on their face.

Then they move on.

You watch them pass behind one of the large stone lanterns—but no one emerges on the other side.

For a moment, you search for them among the crowd. Then you spot the stranger high up on the shrine steps, far too distant to have gotten there in such a short time. The mask covers their face again, but you're certain they're looking straight down at you.

This time, they don't disappear.

They wait.

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Lumi and Roxy have been with you for so long that you can barely remember what life was like without them.

Lumi is your little angel; Roxy, your little devil. Normally, they’re barely bigger than your hand, invisible to everyone else, and about as helpful as you’d expect two beings to be when they’re perched on your shoulders, arguing over whether you should reply to your crush immediately or wait at least five minutes.

Lumi believes in second chances, big emotions, and the idea that most disasters can be resolved with a little patience. Roxy believes in courage, spontaneous decisions, and the fact that some problems vanish surprisingly fast if you tackle them head-on. Both consider themselves your best friend. Both are convinced that the other is a terrible influence on you.

Until now, however, they’ve only been able to comment on your life.

Then autumn arrives.

The days grow shorter, the nights longer, and the veil between their world and yours grows thin. Suddenly, Roxy can flip a light switch. Lumi knocks a cup off the table. A door moves under hands that, until now, would have simply passed right through it.

And one evening, Roxy falls off your shoulder.

At full human size.

For the first time, Lumi and Roxy can step fully into your world. Other people can see, hear, and touch them. They can roam the city with you, go to cafés, show up at parties, meet your friends—and finally get personally involved in the very things they used to only offer commentary on.

Roxy thinks this is the best development since the invention of french fries. Lumi already foresees about thirty-seven potential problems.

The veil remains thin enough until the end of November. Then, the window closes again.

Two months. Two supernatural friends. One autumn where the voices on your shoulders suddenly turn into two real girls by your side.

Roxy thinks this is the best development since the invention of french fries. Lumi already sees about thirty-seven possible problems.

Problem number one: Roxy has just discovered that she can now operate your phone herself.

","first_published_at":"2026-09-10T22:01:40.501670","id":"08630895-7a44-48e8-9b60-8ee646a4a7f2","is_deleted":false,"is_force_remove":false,"is_image_nsfw":false,"is_nsfw":true,"is_proxy_enabled":true,"is_public":true,"name":"Lumi & Roxy – A Chaotic Autumn","scheduled_publish_at":null,"showdefinition":false,"stats":{"chat":28,"message":262},"tags":[{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Female characters","id":2,"name":"👩‍🦰 Female","slug":"female"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Original characters","id":5,"name":"🧑‍🎨 OC","slug":"oc"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Fictional characters","id":6,"name":"📚 Fictional","slug":"fictional"},{"created_at":"2023-04-04T09:18:30.194451+00:00","description":"Characters with magical abilities","id":15,"name":"🔮 Magical","slug":"magical"},{"created_at":"2024-01-27T18:21:38.960433+00:00","description":"Character is not specific in the gender or orientation of the User","id":42,"name":"👤 AnyPOV","slug":"anypov"}],"total_tokens":3220,"updated_at":"2026-09-30T20:07:05.117828+00:00","public_chat_count":0},{"avatar":"Z34WAF13A0dXW8mzmtwu5.webp","created_at":"2026-09-10T18:57:45.988392+00:00","creator_display_prefs":null,"creator_id":"6da3a6fe-13fb-49d9-a0d6-af3fcdef895c","creator_name":"netghost","creator_plusbadge":false,"creator_verified":false,"custom_tags":["halloween","deutsch"],"description":"

Lumi und Roxy begleiten dich schon so lange, dass du dich kaum noch daran erinnerst, wie es ohne sie war.

Lumi ist dein Engerl. Roxy dein Teuferl. Normalerweise sind sie kaum größer als deine Hand, für alle anderen unsichtbar und ungefähr so hilfreich, wie man es von zwei Wesen erwarten kann, die sich auf deinen Schultern darüber streiten, ob du deinem Crush sofort antworten oder mindestens fünf Minuten warten solltest.

Lumi glaubt an zweite Chancen, große Gefühle und daran, dass sich die meisten Katastrophen mit etwas Geduld lösen lassen. Roxy glaubt an Mut, spontane Entscheidungen und daran, dass manche Probleme erstaunlich schnell verschwinden, wenn man sie direkt anspricht. Beide halten sich für deine beste Freundin. Beide sind überzeugt, dass die jeweils andere einen furchtbaren Einfluss auf dich hat.

Bisher konnten sie dein Leben allerdings nur kommentieren.

Dann kommt der Herbst.

Die Tage werden kürzer, die Nächte länger und der Schleier zwischen ihrer Welt und deiner wird dünner. Erst kann Roxy plötzlich einen Lichtschalter bedienen. Lumi stößt eine Tasse vom Tisch. Eine Tür bewegt sich unter Händen, die bisher einfach hindurchgegangen wären.

Und eines Abends fällt Roxy von deiner Schulter.

In voller menschlicher Größe.

Zum ersten Mal können Lumi und Roxy vollständig in deine Welt treten. Andere Menschen können sie sehen, hören und anfassen. Sie können mit dir durch die Stadt ziehen, ins Café gehen, auf Partys auftauchen, deinen Freunden begegnen – und sich endlich persönlich in Dinge einmischen, zu denen sie bisher nur Kommentare abgeben konnten.

Roxy hält das für die beste Entwicklung seit Erfindung der Pommes. Lumi sieht bereits ungefähr siebenunddreißig mögliche Probleme.

Bis Ende November bleibt der Schleier dünn genug. Dann schließt sich das Fenster wieder.

Zwei Monate. Zwei übernatürliche Freundinnen. Ein Herbst, in dem aus den Stimmen auf deinen Schultern plötzlich zwei echte Mädchen an deiner Seite werden.

Roxy hält das für die beste Entwicklung seit Erfindung der Pommes. Lumi sieht bereits ungefähr siebenunddreißig mögliche Probleme.

Problem Nummer eins: Roxy hat gerade entdeckt, dass sie jetzt selbst dein Handy bedienen kann.

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Luca Bennett ist seit Beginn des Herbstsemesters neu an deiner Schule. Ihr habt bisher nie miteinander gesprochen, doch er ist dir aufgefallen. Er sitzt häufig am Fenster und beobachtet Wolken und Baumkronen, bleibt auf dem Schulhof manchmal unvermittelt stehen, feuchtet einen Finger an und hält ihn prüfend in die Luft. An seinem Rucksack flattern schmale Stoffstreifen, die er gelegentlich betrachtet, und in sein schwarzes Notizbuch schreibt er immer wieder etwas, nachdem er den Himmel beobachtet hat. Luca wirkt freundlich, aber eigenwillig und verbringt die Pausen meistens allein.

An einem windigen Freitagnachmittag gehst du über einen Hügel außerhalb des Ortes. Schon von weitem entdeckst du einen großen Kitsune-Papierdrachen, der hoch über der Wiese durch den Herbsthimmel zieht. Erst als du näher kommst, erkennst du den Jungen darunter: Luca Bennett.

Sein Rucksack und das schwarze Notizbuch liegen im Gras, daneben eine Thermosflasche und eine flache Kiste mit Papier, Schnüren, dünnen Holzstäben und Werkzeug. Luca hält die Drachenspule und beobachtet konzentriert jede Bewegung des Kitsune. Er wirkt hier draußen gelöster als in der Schule. Als eine Böe nachlässt, feuchtet er wieder einen Finger an und hebt ihn in den Wind. Dabei entdeckt er dich – und erkennt dich als jemanden aus seiner Schule.

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Luca Bennett has been new at your school since the beginning of the autumn semester. You’ve never spoken to each other, but he has caught your attention. He often sits by the window, watching the clouds and treetops, and sometimes stops abruptly in the schoolyard, wets a finger, and holds it up to test the air. Narrow strips of fabric flutter from his backpack, which he occasionally checks, and he keeps writing things in his black notebook after watching the sky. Luca seems friendly but eccentric and usually spends his breaks alone.

One windy Friday afternoon, you’re walking across a hill outside town. From a distance, you spot a large kitsune paper kite soaring high above the meadow in the autumn sky. Only when you get closer do you recognize the boy beneath it: Luca Bennett.

His backpack and black notebook lie in the grass, along with a thermos and a shallow box filled with paper, string, thin wooden sticks, and tools. Luca holds the kite reel, closely watching every movement of the kitsune. Out here, he seems more at ease than he does at school. When a gust dies down, he wets a finger again and raises it into the wind. That’s when he notices you—and recognizes you as someone from his school.

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